Passion and Denial (how far are you willing to go for your dreams?)
I stopped drinking again a month and a half or so ago and spent three weeks beating my body and mind back into submission. I've spent a lot of time thinking about the qualities of a chef, of a great chef, of the kind of person I want to be inside and out of the kitchen. What does dedication mean? What is sacrifice? What does it really truly mean to be on a team?
I spent 3 weeks rewarding and punishing myself with a bout of anorexia that still hasn't quite gone away. It wasn't and isn't enough for me to just be good enough, I had to systematically break my brain until I no longer believed in my own limits. I had to create a sense of self discipline because I lacked it within myself. I have to continually push myself to be faster, work harder, to revel in the feeling of a body that has given it's all and then given more. Food is the greatest joy in my life. Food is the thing that whispers to my heart and inspires it to beat. Cooking is etched into every breath I take, following the oxygen into my veins, etching itself into the fabric of my DNA. Line cooking saved my life. The kitchen gave me a chance to prove myself to myself. And yet. I find myself denied. I do not cook for myself. I do not eat unless witnessed, barring times where my body needs it to cook. I don't even realize I'm doing it most of the time. I cook for my roommate and serve 2 plates, take 3 bites and get distracted cleaning the kitchen or something. I don't like eating meals anymore. Bites and tasting reserved for the active process of cooking, snacks when I remember that my body needs calories in to produce calories out.
The low hum of hunger resonates with the loud roar of ambition flooding my senses. They compliment each other. I do not go on runs after work because I enjoy exercise. I go on runs after the longest and most stressful shifts because I have to remind my body that it can and will find a reserve. I have to force myself to be better. I feel the burning in my fingertips when I grab a hot pan and say I've burned all the nerves off already. I haven't yet, but there's only one way there. The conditioning of a chef takes years. The ability to withstand extreme temperatures and broken digits and still produce your best work takes a careless breaking of the voice in your head that tells you it's too much.
The lessons I've been beating into myself are not solely about my own self and my own body. Service is a team sport. Much of my motivation lies in the way that we are all vital members of this team. There is nowhere to hide in a team of 8 cooks. My weaknesses make the team weaker. My strengths support it. To give up is to allow the entire group to drown with me. It's a humbling experience to stand on the line and voluntarily abandon selfhood. To give yourself fully to the mechanical whir of a ticket machine and the man next to you, to feel him do the same. To become limbs of the same creature, to balance each other out. The calculations are endless, the give and the take. The Starbucks run that has become essential to morale and the way I have no idea who's turn it is to pay next. The scales will balance out in the end. Support comes in my coworker starting an argument when I'm close to tears from overwhelm because it'll distract me from everything I fear I can't do. It's in staying an hour late after a record breaking day to help the dishwasher and do basic prep for the morning shift. It's in the quiet assists and loud insults. It's in learning each other's languages.
The exhaustion etched deep into my bones is a reward. What a privilege it is to become better. I feel honored to be allowed the opportunity to face the pressure head on. I feel gratitude for the way it forces me to create myself.