There’s no such thing as good grief
Haven’t eaten in three weeks
Skin and bones when you’re not near me
I’m all skeleton and melody

There’s no such thing as good grief
Sleep with you in a sex dream
And I’m pretty sure you don’t miss the way
I put all my demons on display to your pretty music

One more time
Play me something, I won’t sing
I’ll be quiet, play me something
One more time, I’m listening

There’s no such thing as good grief
Took two months to pack up your things
But I left a box at your parents’ house
Don’t know whether to feel sad or proud

I don’t usually share two posts in one day, but when I was driving home I got an email that made me realize something really strange. The email was from a guest I served last night, a kind couple who started at the bar and moved to a table. They were celebrating their anniversary as well as the woman’s birthday, I went over and asked if the table was okay and they said it was perfect and asked if I’d be their waiter. I said I’m actually not a waiter but one will be right over, and then they asked again and I understood what they meant. I said I’d be happy to serve you this evening. The gentleman said they saw me walking around bussing tables, running food and drinks and I looked like the perfect person to make a memorable experience. I’m not sure what that looks like, but it certainly isn’t me. I love making a guests night so I served the table from start to finish, we chatted a bit, I got them to enjoy some wine they were skeptical about, dinner, dessert the whole thing.

The gentleman emailed me late this afternoon to thank me for making such a personalized and memorable experience, and I thought to myself how much joy moments like that bring me. All good things right?

WRONG.

Immediately after I thought about how the reason I enjoy serving guests, the reason I enjoy taking care of people, is because since presley passed away, it’s the only thing that brings me true joy. And so I began to panic. I only have one thing in life that brings me genuine joy, and it’s my work.

I started to scramble and have a panic attack trying to think of other things that bring me joy, or moments of joy I’ve had since her passing. I can count them on one hand and I don’t know what to make of that. I’m going to list the moments of joy I’ve experienced over the last year and a half.

1. My stage at 1928
2. Going candlepin bowling with a girl I had/have a crush on.
3. Painting pottery with that same girl.
4. Serving the team of anesthesiologist’s from mass general on Wednesday.
5. Serving this couple on Friday.

That’s it. 18 months, 530 days, 12,720 hours, 763,200 minutes, I’ve had 5 moments of joy.

It scares the shit out of me, and I don’t want to say that there’s no such thing as good grief, because the grief of losing Presley, the experience of unimaginable loss has made me a much softer, gentler person. A kinder person, with integrity. It’s turned me into a person who is soft and kind, but has no problem being angry and violent to stand up for others. Our society has become a bit weak in some senses, often too gentle, and while I like to take a gentle approach, I am also no nonsense and no bullshit. I will tell you exactly how the fuck it is, and as a leader of a team of people, I will quickly remove you from the team if you are bullying other members of it because you think you’re better than them or better at what you do.

Don’t get me wrong I couldn’t have a bigger ego about how good I am at hospitality and personalized experiences, my ability to make balanced cocktails, to make cocktails fast and consistent. I know damn well I am good at all those things, but I don’t need to walk around making other people feel less than to know it. Today I spent time in the dish pit at work, last night I bussed a ton of tables, I fold peoples napkins, I’ll sweep and mop the floor. There is nothing I ask of anyone on my team that I wouldn’t do myself.

So while I’ve become softer and more gentle, I still have the ability to be the world’s biggest dickhead. And I think it’s important to be able to be both.

That being said, I’m walking through this world, day after day, and I’m not experiencing pleasure, I’m not experiencing joy. I lost this thing in my life that was the light. It was the warm hug at the end of a long day, it was the light at the end of the tunnel, and now I cant help but wonder if I’ll ever find that again.

I think I’m in this strange season of knowing certain people can’t remain in my life, but also knowing that I have love to give and I’ve reached a point where I think I could give it in a healthy productive way to the right person. Ultimately, I’m not sure that person wants it, and that’s okay, meant to be. Kismet.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid that this living without joy will have a profoundly negative effect on my mental health, and lead to my death. But then again I’ve always said my nerves will be the death of me.

There is such thing as good grief, but where’s the balance?

Where the skies are gold not gray,

J.