If you would not be forgotten, as soon as you are dead and rotten, either write things worth reading, or do things worth writing.’
– Ben Franklin
You don’t get to decide whether or not you are a mentor. Your apprentices decide that when they determine whether or not they can learn from you- and the absolute greatest feeling on Earth is when your apprentices succeed.
Emily is about to go back to work as schools reopen for the fall semester. Yesterday we hit our favorite food pod for what Emily realized would be the last time she could meet me for a post-shift beer for the semester, and today we hit up a street fair.
Sitting in Belmont Station afterward for beer and writing, flush with the book, pins, stickers, and such we bought from local artists and businesses, I can’t help but think of some of the conversations we’ve had with and about the business owners we know.
One woman is at a farmers market and she makes Haitian marinades and sauces we love. The other day, Emily went by herself and Elsy handed her a new product. “Your husband is going to love this one.”
The owner of one of my favorite taprooms, when I asked for take-home recommendations, would look at the menu and go “I know you go for darker and sour beers, but your wife is gonna love this amber…”
Corporations are not people. Small Businesses are. Small business who have regulars, who know your name and who you build relationships with.
When they vanish, it’s not enough to just write a pseudo-political screed on social media or go “Awww but they’ve been there for so long and they were so good!”
If they were so good… why didn’t you buy from them?
Stepping back into the kitchen after time away feels like stepping into a warm bath. That is, up until you wonder how the water got hot and why it’s getting hotter from the bottom up.
Coming back from South Carolina and the first one in kitchen to start the day like usual, I found myself sighing with relief once I got into the familiar work again after the requisite “let’s see what I have to work with” anxiety.
The kitchen still stood. My team carried on well enough and even set me up a bit so I could slide back in to the groove. You really can’t beat a well-trained reliable assistant when you want to take time off. I came back to the same kind of work, the same personalities and difficulties, and the same serene focus I had taken a break from as much as anything. “Serene focus” sounds better than “conscious detachment” when I talk to my therapist. Positive framing and all.
I have read a few books about management, business, and leadership, so I can tell you this without reservation: If you start sounding like your read business books in normal conversation, 1. I stop taking you seriously, and 2. I will sign you up for a Turing Test.
A little dramatic, but I have my reasons- and those reasons have to do with suspecting you got nothing out of those books.
Why do I suspect that? Because you just put on the language rather than making it a part of you.
Learning to let go is one of those skills that no really thinks of “mastering” until it occurs to them that they need to.
Depending on the circumstances, people can let go of things very easily. When whatever we are dwelling on feels inconsequential or already impermanent, we probably don’t care that much when we lose it or let it slip.
Other stuff, though- the important stuff, the intangible things- can keep us hung up for years as we learn that they were just as impermanent as everything else. Maybe we know that “this too shall pass,” but were hoping to get lucky in a macabre way- thinking we’d never get to see their end and thus it can feel eternal.
All things end, though. It’s the price we pay for getting to experience them at all, and it gives them their worth and rarity. Learning to let go with compassion and grace is vital to emotional wellbeing– and that can include letting go of goals and dreams as well. Giving up on an old dream can set you free to find a new one.
The Black Hat Baker 