The right food at the right time can give you nearly everything you need. In my case, I was back at the Beer Bus and had just pounded a tuna burrito from Saint Burrito. The balled-up tinfoil and a stained napkin were being held down by what remains of my beer.
I had just come out of the gym and needed a late lunch/ refuel. Protein, carbs, a bit less fat than your normal burrito, and 5% alcohol to help soothe the muscles. Beer doesn’t get enough credit as a post-workout beverage if it’s consumed within reason. John L. Sullivan, the legendary “knock out king” of 19th Century Boston, had an equally legendary drinking problem. All his work and fighting couldn’t keep his daily Kidney Pickling from turning his muscles slack and flabby. “Moderation in everything, including Moderation,” says verbal knock-out king Oscar Wilde.
“[…]and I have filled him with the spirit of God, in wisdom, and in understanding, and in knowledge, and in all manner of workmanship […]”
– Exodus 31:3
Despite all my writing about The Way of the Floured Hand, the happy moments in the bakeshop, and how fulfilling it is to work with my hands (I’m pretty sure I would self-mummify at a full-time desk job), the fact is this shit is WORK.
As much as I may like the work, and as good as I am at it, at a certain point in especially busy weeks I find myself saying “I wanted to be a pastry chef… and for my sins, they let me become one.” Whether it’s persnickety chefs, crowded kitchens, or cooks that regularly seem too dazed and bewildered to understand what “hustle” means and manage to be underfoot even while I’m standing still, this calling of mine is good at reminding me that I’m doing it for pay, and they’re gonna make me earn that pay.
“Deep roots are not touched by the frost.” – J. R. R. Tolkein. Photo by Daniel Watson on Pexels.com
“It’s goddamned exhausting. I’m so tired all the time.”
I’m in one of my favorite coffeehouses in Southeast, having just had a light lunch after my workout. A woman sitting across from me is generously sharing her table and its electric plug ins until a friend of hers is meant to arrive. We’re not talking, but I gather she’s a teacher- she’s in a hoodie in a coffee shop on a Sunday afternoon, flipping through resumes, books on pedagogy, and Classroom Safety manuals. I can only imagine what’s going on in her world at this moment, but I recognize the beleaguered groan as she clicks through her laptop.
When school children learn about this moment in American history, I wonder what the textbooks will call it. I personally vote for The Great Exhaustion- a moment in history where the only things there were plenty of were arrogance and opinions.
Having a “gratitude” mindset, a “gratitude” practice, or an “attitude of gratitude” can sound and feel a little weird. For myself at least, I like the idea of mindfulness a bit more just because being mindful inevitably involves being grateful- for everything, every moment, every unique second of your life- without leaning into overly humble-sounding BS.
Maybe it’s a bit of a linguistic trick, but follow me on this- it’s hard to take things for granted when you realize they won’t last forever.
No man is an island, Entire of itself. Each is a piece of the continent, A part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less. As well as if a promontory were. As well as if a manor of thine own Or of thine friend’s were. Each man’s death diminishes me, For I am involved in mankind. Therefore, send not to know For whom the bell tolls, It tolls for thee.
John Donne
sonder [ son-der ] noun the feeling one has on realizing that every other individual one sees has a life as full and real as one’s own, in which they are the central character and others, including oneself, have secondary or insignificant roles: In a state of sonder, each of us is at once a hero, a supporting cast member, and an extra in overlapping stories.
Dictionary.com
It’s none of my business why someone is wearing headphones when they are walking around town, what they are or are not listening to, or why they chose to wear gigantic ones that look like a vintage glam version of a Korean War radio setup.
Especially when I take the bus or go to the supermarket, it’s hard not to notice mostly people my age and younger wearing large, studio-style over-the-ear headphones. I imagine they are a lot harder to lose track of than earbuds, might be more comfortable on the inner ear, and avoid the waxy grossness that in-ear headphones face. They might also be more cost-effective compared to earbuds for the time being.
More than anything though, I bet they help with overstimulation in noisy areas and visually broadcast to others “leave me alone.” I can definitely feel the need for that.
I tend to carry a small pair of off-brand earbuds around with me, but I don’t use them nearly as much as you’d think. In fact, except when I’m specifically trying to focus or I’m listening to an audiobook, I like hearing and connecting with what’s around me. Not for any grouchy, holier-than-thou, “put down your phone and touch grass” reasons either. Those opinions and the people who have them irritate me.
It’s because I’m a writer and a storyteller, and to tell good stories you have to learn to listen and find them first.
The Black Hat Baker 