Culinary Conundrum, or What Will I Be When I Grow Up?

Dear Dr. Sunday,

There are certain times of the year when I'm very satisfied with and challenged by my career--times when I'd go so far as to say I get that peace-filled and remarkable feeling that I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing, when I'm supposed to be doing it. This, I believe, makes me very lucky, and I truly appreciate my employment. There was a time when I was sure I had my dream job.

But:

There are also certain times when my mind is overwhelmingly distracted from my work, and it's mostly to think about cooking. It's considering recipes, researching techniques, planning menus and reasons to entertain, constructing shopping lists in my mind, wishing I had more money so I could cook more things.

I love food, but I love cooking so much more. It's challenging and frustrating and satisfying to a degree I've only experienced elsewhere in personal romantic relationships.

So I wonder: am I in the wrong profession? Should I be cooking? Should I go to culinary school and have the chance to cook so much more than I do now? Or am I too old (almost 27, sheesh) already to consider such a thing? And do I not have enough natural talent? I'm really not that confident in my cooking, even though I manage to do a lot of it. I'm never quite happy with what I make, but the experience is always satisfying.

I guess I'm worried that: a) I'm pressing my luck--I already have a kickass job, b) I'm too old, and c) I'd end up being even worse than the trainwrecks that are eliminated in the first few weeks of every season of Top Chef. Plus I have a real and true and highly irrational fear of cracking eggs (terrified of the possibility of a partially developed chick inside).

I'm feeling delusional, but also kind of excited. Am I crazy?

Curious,

not-a-chef

Dear Not-A-Chef,

Finding one's true calling in life isn't always easy. There are people I've known personally from childhood, schoolmates, family friends, who always seemed to know where they would be going-- and simply fell into line, lived the life, and are thriving or at the very least comfortably surviving in their own little niches, never really having had to question their routes. In some of my more somber hours, I envy them the simplicity of their lives, the ease with which they appear to travel the paths of life, and wonder if they've ever spent the anguished and exhausting sleepless nights that some of us (like myself) still endure to this day.

And just as your story relates, I know people who work jobs that are very fulfilling, yet want for more, or perhaps simply wonder what else there could be. On a personal note, there is a man I know, a close blood relative of mine, who works a very honorable job which he loves-- yet he too, dreams of other things, at times, knowing that he possesses a passion (and honestly, even with my personal connection to him, I can state OBJECTIVELY, a true talent as well) for something else. Still the passion he desires to pursue is a bit less practical and immediate, for the needs of his life and his family, so he devotes himself to that which he must do to provide, while occasionally dabbling or even diving into the passion which haunts the quiet places of his soul.

Even for myself, I can state that I've walked this line. I'll go ahead and admit for the readers, as I have to my close friends, that I dropped out of college, walking out on a rather substantial scholarship to a very reputable institution, for the sake of pursuing careers in music and writing. I've spent my years since high school alternately supporting myself, sometimes in part, and sometimes in full, with my passions-- writing, recording and performing music, or various aspects of free-lance writing, not to mention the occasional art commission/sale, audio production, or event promotional role. While this is lovely, I also know that as an independent artist, I don't get health care or a 401K, and I'm lucky to have a savings account or even a place to rest my brilliant and beautiful head, so I've also made damned sure that, as needed, I've kept day jobs.

I promise this personal, expository narrative will soon become quite relevant to your circumstances, and I appreciate your patience, which you will find rewarded in a matter of a few brief paragraphs.

In the early days of leaving college, and the years that followed, I was a teen, or a lad in his early 20's, arrogant enough to believe that no harm would ever come that would require, say, the need to visit a hospital. Thanks to my upbringing (very folksy and rural, coming from a long line of bold and stoic people very close to the earth, with a liberal helping of German stamina, Irish courage, and Native American wisdom), I've been able to heal myself and keep myself well-preserved, despite years of very hard living. However, periodically, I've sustained injuries beyond my own abilities, such as when I broke my knee a couple of years ago (onstage, while playing a guitar solo--I'll spare you the details here), which once more revealed to me the benefit of having a very good "day job" which paid my bills and provided me with the high-level health care that allows me to walk, run, climb trees, fuck, fight, and maintain my yoga regimen to this very day. Even now, I work two jobs (one in finance, one in public relations) while continuing to make music (beautifully, I might add) and pursue all of my other ambitions (some more serious than others), which often actually make me some money-- a nice thing, to be sure, but more importantly, satisfies my desire for adventure, passion, and magic.

When I was recovering from the aforementioned knee injury, my father drove me to and from the surgery that was required. In an opiate haze, I recall resting on my bed in my apartment, while my Dad ran to McDonald's to get a fish sandwich for himself (it was a Friday during Lent, and he's Catholic enough to be like, forty-third in line for the next Pope). Dad came back, and asked again exactly what had transpired, and I told him. We had a discussion very similar to that which I have already mentioned to you, and he said it was good that I was wise enough to keep my day job while pursuing my passion. I agreed with him, and he told me this: "Sometimes, there is value in taking risks-- living life without a net. But if you can have what you want WHILE MAKING SURE that the basic needs of your life are cared for, you'd be a fool not to do so. Everyone wants to have a cake and eat it too-- that's the best of all possible worlds, son." Now, while he did tell me afterwards to cut my hair, stop wearing makeup, and to start eating meat again, since the vegetarian thing is probably why I got hurt, since I was already halfway to being a girl and when the fuck was I going to snap out of that hippie bullshit already, seriously, etc, I still consider him, in most respects to be perhaps the wisest person I know, and almost as smart as I am. Almost.

This is my advice for you, my dear: You should follow your dream. I do think, however, that you should do it in such a way that you do not sacrifice the life you have, at least for the moment. Sure, there's romance in the idea that you drop everything to flee to some far-off city to learn the culinary arts at the hands of venerable masters, but the truth is, you can have your cake and eat it, too-- and in the process, learn how to make the kinds of proverbial cakes that astound and astonish, that are as much a joy to prepare and devise as they are to eat and to share. Work with your schedule-- make some sacrifices for yourself and for your art. Figure out how to attend cooking school while still maintaining the job that you have. You will, then, have quite a bit of time to ascertain which life suits you best. Maybe you end up becoming a chef, and loving it-- and maybe you keep doing what you're doing, but go even further towards astounding the people who love you most by preparing meals of such amazing depth that your passions are sated, desires met, and your happiness is assured. The fact that you're willing to ask yourself this question, rather than dismissing it as some foolish dream, tells me that you're onto something worth pursuing.

I've given this question a lot of thought, and every time I look at it, I realize how totally right and very fucking smart I am. I think you're ready to take this step-- maybe you just need the impetus of hearing from someone on the outside. Follow your dreams, but save yourself the peace of mind that your "day job" will offer. You'll stay satisfied and you'll learn a lot about yourself. That's the kind of education that only life itself can provide.

I hope this has helped you. If you need further consultation, you know where to reach me.

Always Listening,

Dr. Sunday

PS-- You're never too old to follow your dreams. Betting on yourself is NEVER pressing your luck, and reality television is about as far from reality as you can get.

And for the record, the eggs that you purchase from the store are not ever fertilized, and thus will not contain any sort of embryonic chicken babies. I can state this categorically. Unless you're buying your eggs from a man on the side of the road, or driving to a farm to get them right out from under a hen, you've nothing to worry over, I assure you.