The winery where I work has an excellent view. It’s a major selling point as far as our clientele goes- people can look down on the valley over vineyards and woodland while sipping a glass of wine and take it easy. It’s a magnet for photos and set dressing when weddings and celebrations buy out some space.

When I arrive to work early in the morning, that view is usually all mine- but I don’t take advantage of it at all. I have work to do.

That’s no one’s fault but mine, of course. I get in early because that’s when The Baker shows up. I get the most space and most access to the ovens for a limited time before the rest of the kitchen rolls in mid-morning to afternoon, and I need to get to work.

So I show up early, knowing I have work to do, but I always want to walk out on the patio where the guests sit- where I absolutely don’t belong during business hours (and in fact would prefer not to be)- and just soak up that view for a moment. The stillness. The vastness. My smallness. The soothing balm of scale and insignificance to start the day, and keep with me while I obsess over rolls, bites of cake, and bits of chocolate that manage to mean everything to me… and absolutely nothing at all.

I never do, though. I have work to do, and I don’t get paid- OR pay- to enjoy the view.

I came across this interesting opinion on the “miraculous” Mediterranean diet (a sentiment that’s been echoed for other “blue zones” of the world) and realized several things at once:

First, I had fallen into the same trap. The view and natural beauty and peace and serenity even for a moment were right friggin’ THERE… but I was too busy to take time to enjoy it. No one would stop me. No one could… but no one had to. I was doing that myself. “Internalized” something or other I guess.

Second, collective American culture requires everyone to fall into this trap. We must work. We can’t afford to stop working. Whatever hobbies we do for fun should be profitable if we are any good at them. This isn’t “good work ethic”- it’s killing our humanity. I have to imagine that being a “workaholic” is treated as a mental illness in other parts of the world.

Third, this exact idea is part and parcel of one of the essays in A La Carte: “Restauranting as Interactive Storytelling.” We sell this view, this atmosphere, this image of serenity as surely as we sell wine and food. “Pay no attention to the people behind the double doors- you are the star of the show. Just pay your bill, and food and fine drink will appear out of nowhere while you relax, enjoy your surroundings, and feel at one with the cosmos.” The story we sell is “this is your mountain villa you share with friends. Your manservants bring you fine wine and food- all you need do is relax and enjoy.”

There’s no shame to this, of course- anyone in business knows the difference between the product sold and the benefit or pain point being sold and answered. Our products are food and wine. The benefit is a fantasy.

Finally, in spitballing this entry with my wife, Emily nodded and said “You know, when I see friends take pictures of scenic views on vacation, I forget that we have those kind of views right here. Mount Tabor has a great view and it’s free. So are the Oregon beaches. So are the state parks where there are hiking trails and waterfalls. We just have to go out there and see it… but we never do. We’re too tired, we just wanna relax, we wanna stay in…”

“I just takes doing,” I think… “but after doing all week, you just wanna be for a day or two.”

As I write this, I’m sitting on the patio of the Rum Club. There’s no “view” to speak of- unless watching traffic negotiate itself between SE 7th and Sandy is your idea of a view. The Rum Club itself is small- the bar and patio together are maybe the size of my apartment, with significantly more sunlight and significantly less cat-related stains on the floor.

But it’s a hot day. I’m sitting on the patio drinking a punch made with agricole rum and lime. I’m not hungry- I’m thoughtful and quiet. I wanted a “boat drink,” space to write and to not be bothered. There’s three guys shooting the shit about boats and cycling nearby, but I dip in and out. It’s not for me, though I think learning to sail would be fun, if just to sail out into the middle of the river and take a nap away from anyone that could interrupt.

As far as I’m concerned, I could be on an uncharted island just west of Margaritaville. Job done, mission accomplished. The Rum Club doesn’t need a view- I just created one for myself.

I’m going to settle up and head home shortly. I’ll take a nap, give the cat some love, and then sit up on the porch that has its own lovely view.

Whatever it is I do, I will take my time and try to absorb the moment- what this world has to offer, free and unobstructed.

There is so much good in this world. So much peace, so much kindness, so much stillness and acceptance if we give ourselves permission to accept it. Even in bite-sized pieces.

Fire the gatekeeper in your head and

Stay Classy,