It has been a year since I spoke here.
For a full year, I've been wary of words written in electronic space. For a year, I've been occupied elsewhere, still full of thoughts but hesitant to express them. The reasons why are a different story altogether, and not one I'm willing to share just now.
It is the end of easy. Summer has gone and the winds are coming out of the north, stiffening flags and tearing leaves from trees. As the seasons change, so do the concerns. My birthday is fast approaching and I'm forced to consider my mortality and my obligation to the world. I think, therefore I am. I am, therefore I must think.
What do I think about? Life choices. I realized not so long ago that by default, I've made food service my career. This isn't to say that I can't up and choose a new path but in the current atmosphere, that seems unwise.
So, given that I've chosen food service (whether by accident or by design I don't know), I've been thinking that I might share what I know in the context of servings and service, behaviour and appetite, expectation and nuance.
First of all, I know that most people have no idea what they're doing if it involves more than the daily grind. No one seems to know which fork to use. They know they need to be up at 7 and back from lunch at one. They don't know if they're allowed to use teeth when they smile or what words to use in asking where the bathroom is. They don't know that, aside from the rare unincorporated (socially) individual, they all make the same faces that imply the same questions. People who walk in the door expecting to meet other people have a look. People looking for that bathroom have a look. People who come to pick up take-out orders have a look.
In those looks, they look the same.
Bathroom people. You have a faraway, distracted and urgent look. Take-away people, you have a near-sighted and purposeful look. Those meeting others, you don't see what's right in front of you. You're looking into a vague want.
It's amazing.
It makes me think. If we're that predictable about something as simple as enjoying the privilege of eating outside our home (and, if you'll grant me this assumption, there's not a whole lot of survivalist pressure there), what common looks do we have for the bigger things in life? People who have survived war. People whose parents did, inasmuch, torture them. People who can't stand themselves. People who can't see anyone but themselves. You all, in your struggle, have the same tenseness of mouth, you share a focal point, you hold your bodies at the same angle.
Because of my years and years of service to the public, I can see you coming from quite a distance. All of you.
And that's the crux, isn't it? We're all hiding our fears, our weaknesses, our trepidation about what others think. The last thing we want is for someone to see us. To really see us and judge us unworthy.
What makes me sad is that each and every one of us seems to expect that these so-called flaws are going to make others think we are weak or not as valuable or suspect in some way. But, when you consider that every single person you meet or interact with or pass by on the street is afraid and vulnerable in some way... you've got to realize that it is our individual struggle that makes us so able to attach to each other.
So you picked up the wrong fork. I've done that. So you stumbled right to pass someone instead of left. I've done that. So you were embarrassed to ask where the bathroom is because I might know you need to use the bathroom. I've done that. We have all done that. We are all vulnerable. We are all flawed. We are all afraid.
The reservations you make with me for parties of five are actually reservations of asking to be allowed to be who you are. And I'm going to honour them. I will save you a place in this construct. I will help you find your way. I will ease your confusion with grace.
All I ask is that you accept this grace and sometimes return my kindness with some of your own. I need it as much as you do; as much as every one of us does. I thank you in advance for your mercy and I tell you that you are always welcome to mine.
