Knew that I was in for it
On the day that I met ya, I met ya
Brighter days turned to gray
If only I kept ya, I kept ya

Before the morning came, you left with all the light

And it’s a little bit darker in the room
A little bit cold for June
A little bit, little bit
A little bit, little bit

And it’s a little bit heavier to breathe
There’s a little bit of you in everything
A little bit, little bit
A little bit, little bit

A little bit, little bit

A little bit slow but now, I’m broken down
I’m giving up hope that we can make it out
Oh, baby, how am I supposed to go on
On my own, my own?

Before the morning came, you left with all the light

I’m gonna be a bit more vulnerable than usual today, because I’m feeling a bit more vulnerable than usual.

For the last 12 years or so I’ve been in love, her name is hospitality. Anyone I’ve dated in that time has always been the mistress, never the person I was thinking about on nights I couldn’t sleep. In fact it played a big role in why I’m not married right now, which is probably for the better.

As I write this I’m reflecting a bit on a couple things. Last night a dear friend called me out on my issue with not working more. With the company I’m in now I work 40 hours a week, 41 if I’m lucky. I don’t do well with it mentally, it makes me more anxious and more depressed, because I have so much time to think and so much free time. I know a lot of people consider working 40 hours either a lot of normal, but I grew up in restaurants, 40 hours is midweek. Your week is over at 60, 70, 80 hours, and I fucking love it. I love it more than I’ve ever loved almost anything. Presley is the only thing I’ve ever loved more than restaurants, and for the first year or so that I had her I was still working 6 days a week.

I really like streaks, I like to try to see how many days in a row I can do something, last year I did a cold plunge like 98 days in a row. I was really proud of that because I reinforced the habit of just showing up. Some of those cold plunges were two minutes, some were 8 minutes. The point was just do it. When I was 18 working at saloon I remember I worked 3 months with 1 day off, and I was proud of that. The longest shift I worked in that time was something like 19 hours and the most money I made in one day was $900. It was a blast, partially because I had something I was working towards that felt obtainable, partially because it was always so fucking busy that the rush you got working that bar was unlike anything else.

I remember a night where as a team we murdered, we didn’t miss a beat all night. A guest left a note on a receipt for us, it said “you guys work at fucking hyper speed”. I might actually still have a picture of that one. I didn’t really face how I became a workaholic until last night though.

When my friend called me out for working too much I got a bit defensive. I asked if he knew my upbringing. He said he had an inkling. So I gave him the short version. The first 7 years of my life I was the most spoiled person on the fucking planet. I learned how to ride a dirt bike, and had a dirt bike and a go-cart before I even had a pedal bike. I went snowboarding every year, I had everything I wanted. It felt like all of that went away overnight. I know it didn’t but in what felt like 24 hours I went from spoiled to having nothing, and no place to live. That all came from my parents becoming drug addicts.

For those first 7 years my dad worked harder than anyone I ever knew, and he brought me along when he did side work. I learned how to tie in an hvac unit when I was like 5, something some grown men still can’t figure out even though it’s their career path.

I realized yesterday that I don’t work because I feel like I need to work harder than anyone else, shit my work is so good I can actually work less than others and accomplish more. I work so much out of fear. I’m afraid that if I don’t work as much as I possibly can I’ll lose everything I worked for the last 12 years. That fear is rooted in watching my dad lose everything, house, cars, all of it. In that process he also lost his family. By the time I was 12 and my sister was 24 she had legally adopted me. My dad was homeless, then in prison, then homeless again.

I’ve never touched a drug besides weed and mushrooms, so I don’t have to worry I’ll become a drug addict and lose everything, but seeing my dad lose everything so fast put a fear into me that in 8 years of therapy I haven’t been able to shake.

I actually talked with my mentor today and when I said I wanted to follow in his footsteps he said don’t fucking do it when it comes to your personal life, it’s not worth it. He says that because from the time he started in restaurants when he was 14 to now, which he just turned 60 a couple months ago, every relationship he had failed and there was one common denominator. Work. He said it’s not worth it. He said he’s lucky that at 60 he found a great woman and has learned to take his foot off the gas a little, but whatever I do don’t make that mistake.

He’s been working in restaurants for 46 years. 17 years longer than I’ve been alive, and 34 years longer than me. Hahahaha what a fucking trip. I thought about the last 12 years and what I’ve accomplished, I’ve made a list of all the one’s I could think of. It’s as follows:

1. Bartender at 18
2. Beverage director at 20
3. Level 1 cicerone
4. Level 2 wset spirts
5. Level 1 Somm through the court
6. Barsmarts
7. Barsmarts advanced
8. MRA bartender of the year 2017
9. USBG spirits professional
10. Bartended a dinner at the James Beard House
11. Worked for 3 James beard nominated chefs
12. AGM for a James beard winning chef
13. Guest bartended at one of the best cocktail bars in the country
14. Featured in the herald
15. Featured on dining playbook x2
16. Cooking for a cause charity event x3
17. Allergen awareness certified
18. Servsafe food manager certified
19. Tips on premise
20. Tips off premise
21. Consultant x3
22. Opened 3 restaurants
23. Opened a liquor store

I’ve done pretty much anything in between too. After 12 years, or 4,380 days I realized something. If I don’t have anyone to share that with then what was it all for? it’s all meaningless if I sit here with all these certifications on my wall alone.

I also realized you could take all 23 of those accomplishments, and the 50+ cocktails I’ve come up with and you could take all of it away, if I could spend a single day with a specific person I care about. It made me realize maybe work isn’t the most important thing. Maybe for the first time in my life there is someone I want to make a priority over work. I’d give all 4,380 days and throw them away for one day with that person, because I bet the human connection of that would be more fulfilling than any of those accomplishments.

It’s never been about the work. It’s been about the people, it’s too bad it took 12 years to realize that. In a lot of ways I look at the last 12 years as a failure. A waste of time. All for nothing. What’s the point in it if at the end of the day you aren’t happy with who you are and don’t have someone to share it with.

Nonetheless, since I don’t have someone to share it with, I’ll continue right on schedule. I’m going to write two books, and try to open a restaurant or two in the next couple years. Maybe I’ll find someone when I’m 60. I know Tom will be disappointed in me, but he had part in setting the fire in me.

Where the skies are gold not gray,

J.