I think as much about the bad tv and delivery Thai as I do the ensure, booze, sex. Which for me later became can of campbells soup, 40 of budweiser, isolation- when I could no longer mentally- or in any way really, afford more or to actually go to a bar or to have the kinds of friends I'd had- we were. I think about trying to stay out of the gyre that was endlessly pulling you, me, the rest of us down then, about what it is to not only feel like but actually be the central figure in my own life, to care that much about myself, hold the line of dignity, find self respect, herculean indeed. And with the conditioning we seemed to share- the codependency we lived by- just the idea of this was just... gross. And embarrassing- something else to be ashamed of- wanting to live. I remember once being told back then when I mentioned the idea of going to a yoga class because I could barely walk when I woke up in the morning that self care was the ultimate vanity- as though just the very basics of admitting vulnerability, getting a paycheck, sleep, days off- were to be scorned and symbols of weakness, taking oneself too seriously, or worse more seriously than someone else's desire to see their own dream brought to life on the backs of those of us who maybe only held on to ourselves then by chasing the oblivion we found. A sort of vortex of self preservation whose entry promised survivability at one door and obliteration at the other. Each time we woke up in the morning we knew which exit we'd chosen, or been lucky enough to find as we groped our way through the darkness- the same one we entered through, we had indeed survived, just to find ourselves back in the very circumstance we were trying to escape. And wasn't it fun?
Fuck, if that is what I thought fun was, I have no idea what fun actually is... It's hard to believe the importance of self, the truth of just how magnificently important YOU are, but every "I won't" is an assertion of this, another bolster on the path. Whether it's leaving a job or, or the industry altogether, or turning down "just one more" shot of whisky. I'm glad that you've also had the awareness that Mr. Molina wrote of in that letter, God bless him, and may he rest- that you have held on to yourself and have not forgotten, that something in you always pushes back and that you listen to that small voice, let it get louder, that you have been able to bring yourself out where he couldn't. Keep going- mostly for yourself by the way, but also because we need you to matter to yourself. We don't want to lose you the way we've all lost so many, the way you lost him.
“A sort of vortex is self preservation whose entry promised survivability at one door and obliteration at the other.” Oh Cari-luckily we made it out and away. Love you
Omg, this couldn't be a more perfect piece to read right now. Just went to a friend's funeral yesterday who we lost to alcoholism. Your words couldn't resonate more. Thank you <3
"Maybe that’s the concept of being elite. I am not elite. I am human, painfully human. I can strive, but I will never achieve, and if I don’t have forgiveness for myself in my failings, then something bad can happen. To me, by me." I really felt that. Thank you.
I loved this piece, maybe the most of your incredibly good writing. It was revealing, heartfelt, and resonated with me, even though my restaurant years are decades ago.
Really really needed to hear this today. Read this today, I mean, but I am HEARING it in my soul. I have a friend and talented sous leaving the industry in a couple of weeks, moving to a corporate kitchen daytime hours and benefits. Very glad he made that decision. I think of this so often-- the huge levels of heart and creativity that we are all willing to POUR, FOREVERish, when it really only fumes because there is so little left, into these bewitching but toxic projects. The culture of never enough is just wrong wrong wrong wrong on every damn level.
“The isolation of the job was dangerous for me, I could live in the lost hours and no one would know what I was doing.” sums up the 90’s in Seattle kitchens so succinctly.
Millicent. Before I saw this, I put on Songs Ohia / Lioness earlier in the day. I always loved the song “Being in Love” - it’s a song I memorized after only hearing once. So beautiful.
As soon as I read the first few lines of your post I knew it was him you were talking about. A couple of months ago I met Dan Sullivan in the city at his wife’s art opening in Chelsea.
As soon as I figured out who he was I told him I was so sorry about Jason’s death. He referenced how it had been ten years.
Your writing is beautiful and I’m glad you’re here doing it. I hope we see each other again sometime soon.
I think as much about the bad tv and delivery Thai as I do the ensure, booze, sex. Which for me later became can of campbells soup, 40 of budweiser, isolation- when I could no longer mentally- or in any way really, afford more or to actually go to a bar or to have the kinds of friends I'd had- we were. I think about trying to stay out of the gyre that was endlessly pulling you, me, the rest of us down then, about what it is to not only feel like but actually be the central figure in my own life, to care that much about myself, hold the line of dignity, find self respect, herculean indeed. And with the conditioning we seemed to share- the codependency we lived by- just the idea of this was just... gross. And embarrassing- something else to be ashamed of- wanting to live. I remember once being told back then when I mentioned the idea of going to a yoga class because I could barely walk when I woke up in the morning that self care was the ultimate vanity- as though just the very basics of admitting vulnerability, getting a paycheck, sleep, days off- were to be scorned and symbols of weakness, taking oneself too seriously, or worse more seriously than someone else's desire to see their own dream brought to life on the backs of those of us who maybe only held on to ourselves then by chasing the oblivion we found. A sort of vortex of self preservation whose entry promised survivability at one door and obliteration at the other. Each time we woke up in the morning we knew which exit we'd chosen, or been lucky enough to find as we groped our way through the darkness- the same one we entered through, we had indeed survived, just to find ourselves back in the very circumstance we were trying to escape. And wasn't it fun?
Fuck, if that is what I thought fun was, I have no idea what fun actually is... It's hard to believe the importance of self, the truth of just how magnificently important YOU are, but every "I won't" is an assertion of this, another bolster on the path. Whether it's leaving a job or, or the industry altogether, or turning down "just one more" shot of whisky. I'm glad that you've also had the awareness that Mr. Molina wrote of in that letter, God bless him, and may he rest- that you have held on to yourself and have not forgotten, that something in you always pushes back and that you listen to that small voice, let it get louder, that you have been able to bring yourself out where he couldn't. Keep going- mostly for yourself by the way, but also because we need you to matter to yourself. We don't want to lose you the way we've all lost so many, the way you lost him.
“A sort of vortex is self preservation whose entry promised survivability at one door and obliteration at the other.” Oh Cari-luckily we made it out and away. Love you
That was really long. Sorry.
Omg, this couldn't be a more perfect piece to read right now. Just went to a friend's funeral yesterday who we lost to alcoholism. Your words couldn't resonate more. Thank you <3
"Maybe that’s the concept of being elite. I am not elite. I am human, painfully human. I can strive, but I will never achieve, and if I don’t have forgiveness for myself in my failings, then something bad can happen. To me, by me." I really felt that. Thank you.
I loved this piece, maybe the most of your incredibly good writing. It was revealing, heartfelt, and resonated with me, even though my restaurant years are decades ago.
Fucking A. Love you, you articulate, cut to the bone woman.
Yes. This, 100%. Louder indeed.
Really really needed to hear this today. Read this today, I mean, but I am HEARING it in my soul. I have a friend and talented sous leaving the industry in a couple of weeks, moving to a corporate kitchen daytime hours and benefits. Very glad he made that decision. I think of this so often-- the huge levels of heart and creativity that we are all willing to POUR, FOREVERish, when it really only fumes because there is so little left, into these bewitching but toxic projects. The culture of never enough is just wrong wrong wrong wrong on every damn level.
“The isolation of the job was dangerous for me, I could live in the lost hours and no one would know what I was doing.” sums up the 90’s in Seattle kitchens so succinctly.
So beautifully written and so much to resonate with here. Thanks for your bravery and honesty in sharing these very human struggles
Millicent. Before I saw this, I put on Songs Ohia / Lioness earlier in the day. I always loved the song “Being in Love” - it’s a song I memorized after only hearing once. So beautiful.
As soon as I read the first few lines of your post I knew it was him you were talking about. A couple of months ago I met Dan Sullivan in the city at his wife’s art opening in Chelsea.
As soon as I figured out who he was I told him I was so sorry about Jason’s death. He referenced how it had been ten years.
Your writing is beautiful and I’m glad you’re here doing it. I hope we see each other again sometime soon.
💙Megan