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grownupthinking-blog · 8 years

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Perspective

PERCEPTION

AKA - seeing the man behind the curtain and still thinking he’s a wizard.

Sometimes growing up makes you realize a lot of things you took for granted when you were younger. Your parents aren’t always right about everything, food doesn’t just magically appear in your fridge, or the Santa at the mall isn’t the real Santa (spoilers, I know). But then there are other things that you just have to learn as you go, like car insurance sucks, health insurance (I’m American) REALLY sucks, and buying property doesn’t always mean cheaper month to month bills. You have to do your dishes. You have to scrub out the tub and toilet. You are the one who has to vacuum, sweep, mop and take out the trash all the time. There isn’t anyone there to catch you if you fall. You need to make your own doctors appointments. You need a job, that you may or may not like. It’s all part of growing up and it’s all what shapes us into the people we are.

Growing up, your parents/guardians instill in you values and beliefs that you just assume are universal truths. “Everyone eats dinner at 6pm” “Thursdays are always burger nights” “Clear your plate when you’re done eating.” (Forgive me, I’m a chef by trade, so food is my metaphor or choice). It isn’t until you get away from them and live for a bit that you see how the rest of the world lives. Not even class differences, but much smaller than that – going to a friends house and seeing what they eat for dinner, how they arrange the furniture in their living room or even which parent does which tasks. IT’s one of those eye-opening experiences that makes tou think about the way things are and how they potentially could be – it makes you ask, “Why?”

And that’s when conflict starts. “But why do I have to make my bed every morning?” “But why do I have to do the dishes before I go to bed EVERY NIGHT? They’ll still be there in the morning.” “Why can’t we eat dinner at 8pm instead of 6 so we can go see this movie?” I remember asking my parents why we didn’t go out to eat more. We were relatively well off family, everyone was always home at a decent hour and I wasn’t asking for a Michelin dinner – just Portillo’s or something easy. I always got dirty looks from my parents and they asked, “Well, are you going to pay for it?” I was nine years old. I was more interested in collecting Pokemon cards (the original 150) than collecting dollars and coins. It became a sticking point for me, so much so that I would stay at a friends house, at least 3 nights a week, for dinner because we would go out somewhere. My friends parents had no issue getting all of us some cheeseburgers from McDonalds or Hot Dogs from the place around the corner. It saved them time, made everyone happy and was inexpensive. The nights I would come home for dinner were always spent sulking because I didn’t want to eat the Shake and Bake nonsense my Mom would make, or the gray steak Dad would make (our broiler was not very good). So I went on trying to avoid coming home for dinner. Avoid the problem and it would just go away, right?

Fast forward 6 years. I’m 15, in high school, just got my braces off and I have my first boyfriend. Coming out in high school was not something I was ready to do. I had told a few of my close friends and that was good enough for me, but “flaunting” it was not something I was prepared to do.

**Sidebar: I, as most young, scared gay kids, covered by fear with active homophobia. I never hurt anyone (to my knowledge) but I used to think of it as a bad thing. I’ve since grown up, but we’ll get to that.**

I had my boyfriend and we were together outside of school whenever possible. He lived by school, so I would always say I had to stay for an extra rehearsal or something and just go to his house. Both of his parents worked late, so we would usually have the house to ourselves for a few hours. Things got pretty serious pretty fast. Six months in (remember we’re 15) we decided to tell our families. Well, he told his family, and I chickened out. I remember calling him from the laundry room in my parents basement, crying. I told him I wasn’t strong enough, or good enough for him and we needed to break it off. It wasn’t fair for him to be with someone who couldn’t bring himself to admit the relationship to his family. I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t strong enough. I broke up with him. At the time, this was the best course of action I could think of. Avoiding the problem, once again.

Jump ahead another six years. I’m 21, living “on my own” with roommates on our college campus in an apartment my Dad is paying for. So adult. I’m doing small catering gigs out of our apartment to pay my rent and casually seeing someone. I’m pulling Cs in my classes (I used to be an A student) and I’ve gained about 80 pounds since coming to college. It comes time for winter finals, and I end up sleeping through my last one. I’m already doing poorly in the class, but theres no way I can make it up. I end up failing the class and I get put on academic probation. This is very new for me. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t avoid my parents finding out – the university mailed a letter home. I took the next semester off to “figure everything out.” I went to see a therapist. He told me I have “performance anxiety.” That didn’t register with me. How could I have performance anxiety? I have been performing on stages since I was 7. His evaluation told me that the performances I was used to – being in large groups and not really singled out – didn’t affect me or my life like the ones I was currently doing. Tests in classes that I knew I needed for my degree. Coming to terms with people – one on one – in relationships that could lead to something more fulfilling, more real, than just hanging out and having sex here and there. These were the things that were giving me anxiety, that I were afraid of.

So I dropped out of college. It was definitely a mutual decision. I went to talk to my advisor and dean, and we came to the decision that me retaking courses and pulling my grades up wouldn’t be enough, and I’d end up somewhere mediocre when I graduated. I didn’t want that, and honestly I wasn’t happy in the career I chose. I thought the material was interesting and exciting, but the day to day drudgery was eating at me soul. I wasn’t happy.

I moved home, mustered up some courage, and enrolled myself in a culinary school…without telling my parents. They weren’t very happy with me. We had a few fights, one lasting about a month where my Dad didn’t really speak to me, and one big one at the end. The final one happened all over the house, us following each other screaming and crying, and ended up with me making the biggest admittance I’ve ever made to anyone in my life – “I just want you guys to be proud of me” was what I told my parents through tears. It was one of those “a-ha” moments that only came about because I had nothing left in me – nowhere else to hide.

Over the last six years, I have gone to culinary school, graduated and worked countless jobs around the city networking with chefs and people I never imagined I would ever meet, moved out on my own (for real this time, mortgage and all), bought my own car, and have had the same job for almost two years now. I’ve dropped the 80 pounds I’ve gained from college and try to eat healthy whemever I can. Ironically, it’s taking me quitting the job I’ve worked the past two yeasrs for me to have this “a-ha” moment.

I have been a chef for the last three years at two places. The first was a grocery store and butcher and the second was a restaurant. Both have taught me more in three years than my seven collective years of college ever did. And the latter job has taught me to question everything again. I’ve been asking “why?” again – and not accepting “that’s just how it is” as a legitimate answer. I love the restaurant industry. Looking at it from afar and seeing how many people it gives jobs to, how much the industry as a whole does for every single person every single day, and seeing the individuals who come in, bust their asses for a minimum wage paycheck, and are satisfied with a pat on the back and a “good job, see you tomorrow” really make me take pause. The great things people can do when they accept each other, put aside their differences and come together is great, but also seeing the hard work, dedication and sometimes overworking it takes to just get the doors open really makes me proud to do what I do. I’ve seen life from a lot of different viewpoints over the last 27 years, and I feel like I’ve seen the man behind the curtain. I know pain for losing someone you love and I know the joy of seeing new life come to be. I know how to start a business and I’ve seen businesses I’ve run nosedive when I leave. I’ve seen people flourish in jobs we’ve given them after a tough life on the streets or even jail time. I’ve seen rich, worry-free grown men who think they’re shit doesn’t stick humbled to the point that I have to teach them how to clean lettuce properly so the customers and their restaurants don’t end up chewing on sand.

It’s important to keep perspective and know where you’ve been. Some people say that you should never look back because it distracts you from looking forward, but I disagree with that. Looking back gives you the knowledge you need to be able to move forward and be greater than the sum of your parts.

I am a man. I am gay. I am white. I am loving. I am generous. And I am Human.

We can all fight about politics, race, gender, inequality, pay, or even how to fold a bedsheet. When it all boils down, we’re all human, and we need to work together to be great. As one of my best friends and mentors put it, “Everyone just needs to do their fucking job. Stop fighting and complaining, just do your job.” Our jobs are to be greater than the individual. Let’s do it.

#grown up #bedtime thoughts #adulting #truth #honesty #deep thoughts

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