Kicking The Bucket With One Foot

Moving Along

June 26th, 2026

I wrote this blog entry about leaving Hilton the week before starting my new job at Bullard Tavern. Of course, I forgot to post it until now. I’m almost three weeks into my new job. I’m starting to develop a routine and starting to earn the respect of my coworkers. Everyone at Bullard starts on the Garde Menger station, and usually spends 6-12 months there before moving up to Plancha. I found out yesterday that after only two and a half weeks on Garde Menger, they’re already moving me up. I’m excited to work the Plancha station; I’ve frequently found myself stuck on Garde Menger in my career, so to be moving up so fast is very validating of the fact that I have learned and mastered the skills it takes to work Garmo. Anyway, here’s the original post I wrote while I was leaving Hilton:

Well, the day I’ve been waiting for two years is finally here. I’m leaving Hilton. If you know me, you know how hard working for Hilton has been for me. A restaurant where everything comes out of the freezer? Where food safety laws are frequently treated like suggestions? Where the few things made fresh are made using recipes stolen from internet blogs? My entire career up to this point has been farm-to-table. I’ve focused on restaurants that value sustainability, ethical consumption, low-zero waste facilities, community spaces, and outreach programs. My first job was at a tiny cafe in Washington, where I sold the eggs from the chickens I was raising to the cafe. I worked every position in that restaurant, including FOH, so I was in the unique position of cooking the egg that I facilitated the laying of, serving it to the guest, and then showing them a picture of the chicken that laid their egg. It doesn’t really get more farm-to-table than that. I didn’t know it at the time, but that was the beginning of my career, the first time my passion and what was expected of me intersected. I went to culinary school, and because culinary school is ridiculously expensive, I worked full time through it. Everyone told me I would burn out any day now, and I didn’t listen. I knew better. I knew I could keep going for as long as I had to. But I was starting to feel it, the pain in my back, in my feet, the stiffness in my joints after standing on the line for 15 hours straight. I felt it when I laid down in bed at night, in the loneliness that settled into my bones. I told myself one day I’d meet somebody, and that would solve all my problems. I thought if I had someone to hold me at night, I wouldn’t mind the long hours and the pain and the rigorous schedule.

I went on my externship, and, despite having told myself I’d take it easy during externship, I found that I was bored. I had never just worked one job, it was always one job plus full time school, or another part time job, so suddenly I was only busy about 70 hours a week at Post Ranch Inn, and the rest of the time was mine. I ended up getting a second job, Big Sur Bakery, because I couldn’t stand to not be busy. I was facing severe isolation living in Big Sur, and I reacted with a streak of hyperdependence that was hard to break. I couldn’t let anybody in. Then I met Bee. My hyperindependence shifted into complete and utter codependence. I couldn’t do anything without her. When I graduated, and realized I had nowhere to go, I told her I was going to live in my car for a while, and she insisted on coming with me. We drove all over northern California, Oregon, and Washington; I showed her all the places I loved as a child, and even introduced her to the family that had disowned me a few years prior.

Eventually we got tired of sleeping in the car, and I started to run out of money. We got an apartment in Portland, and started setting down roots. I got my job at Hilton, the first place to offer me a position in Portland. Bee refused to get a job for many months, and the pressure of financially supporting us both drove a wedge between us that we couldn’t fix. I broke up with her and sent her home to California. So then I was stuck here, no car, no family, one friend, and a job I admittedly hated. But for the first time in my life, my job came with absolutely no pressure. My friend introduced me to alcohol, cigarettes, mushrooms, poppers, and marijuana. The alcohol was the main issue– the first time I woke up three hours late for work because I drank too much too late, I was sure that I was done for. But when I got to work, everyone asked if I was okay, and the worst I got was a slap on the wrist. The fourth, fifth, seventh, ninth time it happened, they stopped being quite so understanding. But the worst punishment I ever received for my tardiness was a conversation about fixing my priorities, and making good choices.

Since I turned 16, my work was my main priority and identity. Suddenly, I could prioritize time with my friends, experimentation with drugs and alcohol and sex, and really catching up on the experiences I probably should have had in high school or college. I showed up to work still drunk from the night before, and no one noticed. I fell madly in love with my best friend, and he didn’t feel the same. Eventually, it drove a wedge between us, and I lost him, along with my other best friend, who he did love. I was devastated, heartbroken. My mental health was in the gutter, and I didn’t see any reason to keep trying, especially when my job was so unfulfilling. But life moves on, time keeps passing. I tried to find some meaning in my work, tried to find small joys in the things I could control. Eventually, it didn’t hurt as much.

I would have never been able to admit I needed what Hilton offered. When I graduated from the CIA, I heavily debated leaving the culinary industry. I didn’t know if I could keep going. I told myself that the time living in my car would be the break I’d been promising myself for years. If you’ve ever lived in your car, you know that it’s definitely not a vacation. I was more stressed than ever, and worse still, more broke than ever. I started to worry that I’d be stuck at Hilton for the rest of my life. My coworkers had all been there 17+ years, and told me in no uncertain terms that I’d be there too before I knew it. I was so scared that I’d worked so hard for nothing, just to waste my talent and potential at a Hilton hotel, where the absolute best I could do would be becoming a Hilton “chef”, whose main job was paperwork, and who rarely cooked anything. I resented Hilton for all that it represented, for not making things fresh, for not following food safety standards, for making me worse. My own standards slipped, and I let myself not care about my job for the first time in my life.

I’m finally ready to care again. I’m ready to try. I’m ready to be proud of my work again, to make choices regarding drugs and alcohol that won’t affect my career. I’m ready to do what I’ve always known I was capable of; I’m ready to impress people again. I missed it. All of this to say, that after two years of rearranging my priorities into those of a normal person with a life outside of work, I’m ready to try and find the balance I’m so in need of. I met a guy who I very much enjoy spending time with; I’m nervous about my new schedule, and whether or not it will allow me the freedom to continue living my life in a way that brings me joy and fulfillment despite it all. But I know there will be a lot more fulfillment coming from work, something I’ve been desperately missing in my life for the past two years. I’m excited, ready to care about my career again, ready to work towards something bigger than myself. I’m ready to learn again, to spend time actually improving my craft rather than just maintaining it, or getting actively worse. I’m excited, excited to work with ingredients I’m unfamiliar with, excited to feel the pressure again and come out on the other side of it improved.
Turning The Page

February 1st, 2026

So, the long-awaited time has come: I can finally mark a new item off my list, and it’s a big one. I have published a book. It’s a book of poetry called Growing Feathers, a Collection of Thoughts, and I’ve been working on it for the better part of two years. I say that, but honestly, for most of that time I was just writing poetry in my free time as a hobby, an outlet—never thinking it would be published anytime soon. I occasionally shared a poem or two with friends, but for the most part, no one in my life knew I wrote poetry.

That’s because, frankly, it’s embarrassing. Especially for someone trying to present as a man, admitting I wrote poetry was hard. Admitting I wanted other people to read it was even harder. Asking for feedback on artistic expression is almost always embarrassing, but poetry is especially so—it’s intensely intimate and personal.

I think of poetry as my best coping mechanism, in a world where there are so many worse ones I could (and do) frequently choose. As I said in my introduction, I published this book in the hopes of allowing myself to choose that outlet more often. It worked. I’ve been writing at least twice as much ever since I started formatting my already–written poems into a book. I realized I needed more poems than I had, so for the first time in my life I intentionally tried to write poetry.

That had never been my process before. For years, I’d get overwhelmed, sit down at my computer, and write whatever I was feeling. It usually looked like a poem, though I never intended it to. Line breaks matched my fragmented thoughts better than complete sentences could. The whole thing rarely took more than five minutes, and then I’d never think about the poem again.

Digging through old documents to find work for the book was a trip. I’d written so much about so many things without ever really considering the meaning behind my words. I started analyzing some of my poems, and occasionally sharing them with friends, which was as exciting as it was challenging. I also began writing about topics I’d intentionally avoided, like the loss of my parents, or the best friend I lost this past year.

Many of the poems ended up being love poems, the story behind them being long, complex, heartaching, and unrequited. Typical 20s problems, I’m told. I’ve been assured the pain fades, and it does get easier. At this rate, my memory fades so quickly that soon I worry there will be nothing left to think about the whole situation. My parents, though, are a loss I’ll be working through for the rest of my life. Beyond the hurt of their abandonment, there’s a lot of anger. It’s the hardest thing to write about; often I have no words. Unlike my other poems, where words seemed to appear on the page, here I flounder. Still, I’ve found my favorite poems are the ones that were the hardest to write. My least favorite are about lesser topics, lesser losses.

After I published the book, I was more motivated to write than ever before. I was also manic at the time (I was recently diagnosed with Bipolar 2), but that’s neither here nor there. I wrote eight poems in a single day, blowing my previous record out of the water. Then I stagnated. I couldn’t finish a poem. I kept starting things and hitting a wall a few lines in.

I still have a lot of half–poems I can’t seem to finish, but there’s time. That’s another thing I learned from making this book: sometimes I’ll think I’ve hit a wall, then come back weeks or months later and finish it, or rewrite the ending entirely.

I’m about forty pages into my next book, Sprouting Wings. I’m trying not to rush it. Time is the main thing stored in the pages of my books. Growing Feathers captures a period of my life that I enjoyed, but am very happy to leave behind. If you know the story (and it’s a good one), there will always be pain in my heart from the evil polyamorous love triangle that kicked me out so they could be together. But I’m leaving it in the past. I’m literally turning the page. My next book needs the same level of growth, and I need to give myself time to get there.

I’ve sold seven copies of the book, plus four to myself. Eleven print copies exist in the world. My goal is to eventually sell twenty, which will probably involve peer-pressuring my friends into buying it. I never expected a bestseller. If even one person is moved by my work, or feels a little less alone because of it, then I will consider it worth sharing.

Lately, I’ve been struggling with something everyone says all people in their 20s feel: the sense that I’m running out of time. I feel like I’m failing at being an adult, like there are things I should have figured out by now that I’m still lost on. Tax season is looming. I’m dreading it as much as one can dread a thing. I’m drowning in student loans. I’m looking at moving in July and wondering if I can afford it, how to drive a moving truck, and how to avoid paying rent in two places. I often can’t stop myself from drinking. I miss my friends– almost all of them live hours away, and staying connected over the phone feels impossible. It’s overwhelming, and I don’t feel like I’m handling it well. I wish I could say I find comfort somewhere, but the truth is I worry constantly. Still, as I said earlier, we take it one day at a time. And I’d love any advice anyone has.

I’ve also been thinking a lot about Big Sur. I’ve decided it’s officially my goal to move back and get a job at Post Ranch Inn again. I know there are other options—I don’t even have to leave Portland to find farm-to-table dining—but I’ve felt called to go back there ever since I left. The feeling only gets stronger. My work there feels unfinished. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. The food is unmatched. I dream about walking the aisles of the Monterey farmers market, biting into a fresh plum, or driving for hours just because it’s so beautiful. I’m not usually someone who makes decisions based on scenery, but Big Sur, Monterey, Pacific Grove– there’s truly nothing like it. I’ve never felt more like I was doing something good with my life. I was making food I could be genuinely proud of. I’ve tasted glory, and it’s a fresh Monterey peach. How could I ever settle for less?
Making Progress

November 17th, 2025

I wrote a post about a month and a half ago and forgot to click “Publish”. Here it is, exactly as written, and I will follow it up with a few updates.

Hello Blogisphere,

Today is day two at my new job as a line cook for Ranch Pizza at a convention center. Working at a convention center is cool because every day I get access to a new concert or sporting event. Service ends before the games/concerts, so after work, if I like the artist or am interested in the game, I can sneak in and watch for free.

Getting a second job was a hard decision, as I’m fully aware of how burnt out I still am. I worked myself half to death for many years before I landed in Portland, and by the time I graduated from the CIA and put down roots, I could barely handle 45 hours/week at Hilton. If you follow my blog or my Instagram, you know a fair bit about why Hilton isn’t the type of work I want to be doing. A restaurant where quantity is valued high above quality, convenience matters much more than healthfulness, technique, or flavor, is the stuff of my nightmares. My passion for cooking revolves around sustainability, ethical farming practices, and high quality food. That doesn’t necessarily mean fine dining; there are plenty of more accessible types of cuisine that still meet these standards, but fine dining, or at least farm-to-table dining, is where I’ve been the most passionate about my day-to-day life.

It’s been 90% of my career. I started working in restaurants almost six years ago. I’ve worked in eight professional kitchens to date, not counting culinary school, and I’ve often held at least two jobs. Of those eight, only three haven’t been farm-to-table. I started within my niche and never really felt the urge to leave it. I ended up at Hilton about 1.5 years ago due to financial desperation, and still haven’t had the opportunity or savings to leave. When I started my job search, I was looking for a fine dining position to replace Hilton, and instead was offered a part time job at a decidedly not fine dining pizza place. Ranch Pizza at the Moda center faces some of the same problems as Hilton; when producing food for that many people, corners inevitably get cut. Marinara sauce is made cold using canned tomatoes and an immersion blender. Ranch is made 22 quarts at a time, and no one has time to do a taste test. That being said, most of the ingredients we use don’t come from Sysco, unlike Hilton. The dough is made fresh by hand, and the pizzas are never frozen. The bar was low, but I was determined to find a job that was better than Hilton, and I have.

Taking it on as a second job was a challenging decision. I’ve recently gotten back into some hobbies I used to enjoy. I’ve been spending my free time with the people I love, trying to focus on consciously deepening relationships with people that I know are good for me. I started going to therapy and have been making an effort to improve myself one day at a time. I have a lot to work on. I need time to work on it if I ever want to improve. The last time I took on a second job was when I began this blog. If you remember, I started it with the intention of being able to afford some of the bigger ticket items on my list, but found that I had no time for any of the list while working 100 hour weeks. I’m definitely shy of 100 hours with my current set up, but I do believe that anything past 70 hours feels about the same. I don’t miss being exhausted all the time. I don’t miss my body hurting so constantly the way it used to. I’ve grown used to 45 hours/week, and honestly I’m not sure if I can go back to doing more. I’m scared.

I’ve never really faced this belief that I couldn’t handle something. Growing up, I was often told how hard the path I was choosing would be. My dad said there were too many people going into the culinary industry for me to make any sort of name for myself. The same goes for my identity; I’ve been told countless times how much harder transitioning would make my life. I’ve always been able to brush it off and keep pushing. At some point in the past two years, I lost that ability. I can’t say with any certainty that I’m capable of more than I’ve been giving. But I have to try. I’m so tired of groveling to my brother for rent money. I’m tired of having to tell myself “no” when I want to do something I enjoy. I’ve been working very hard for a long time, and had been making good money. I got used to a lifestyle that I enjoyed living, one with room in the budget for a cup of coffee on a bad day, or to treat myself to a meal out when I didn’t want to cook. Now I’ve lived once again on the other side, the side I hid from for so long. I remember my parents struggling to make payments, explaining to my brother and I how it was either groceries or rent, and I spent so long running from that life. I told myself I’d never find myself back there, and now I have. It sucks. I want more for myself. So, I have to try, no matter how tired I am. I have to believe I can do it. I have to look in the mirror each morning and say “you can do this” until it sounds less impossible. Even if I can only manage three months, I keep telling myself, that’s progress. Progress is all I can ask for. So for now (not forever, mind you), I will try anyway, despite my brain and body telling me to give up.

Sometimes I’m fraught with the knowledge of how easy it would be to work at Hilton for the rest of my life. Many of my coworkers have been there 20+ years. There is no way I’d survive it, but I could manage it for a while. The easy way out is never satisfying, though, and I know that despite the burnout, I’m capable of more. After doing Sober September with some friends, I have realized how much I hate feeling hungover all the time. I hate being in a constant state of recovery. I’ve realized that the party needs to stop, and that, for lack of a better term, it’s time for me to once again “lock in”. I need more. I need to do more. I need to be more, otherwise, all the work I’ve done already was for naught. And that’s a reality I can’t accept, won’t accept. So we try. We push on. We do the best we can with what we have, and maybe we fray the rope a little bit, knowing it’s better to be slightly frayed than drunk and miserable all the time. I hope this comes off as somewhat motivational rather than a cry for help. I’m officially asking myself for progress once again. Let’s see what happens.

Now for the updates:

I’ve been working both jobs for almost two months now. It’s hard, but we’re almost to December. In December, I’ll be eligible to lower my monthly payment for my student loans by some undisclosed amount. Hopefully, this will negate the necessity for a second job, although it doesn’t mean I will quit right away. I will continue to push my way through the work for as long as I can, and I’m beginning to accept that come July, I will need to find a roommate or three. I’ve really enjoyed living on my own and having the freedom that comes with it, but even temporarily, the money I’d be able to save if my living situation were cheaper is worth the lifestyle change it would require of me. I’ve been thinking more and more about moving back to California, and how I would need to have a car before I even consider attempting to move. This means that I need to save enough for a car, a monthly car payment, and car insurance. On top of that, I would need to have several months of student loan payments saved so that I’d be alright while I looked for a job. Suffice to say, it will unquestionably be a while before I move back to California. I knew this already, but it’s nice to think about the finer details and consider it more thoroughly. It remains my end goal, though. I wonder sometimes if the goal of moving back to Cali is preventing me from fully enjoying my life here in Portland. But I would also argue that it motivates me, and the knowledge that this isn’t what I’ll spend the rest of my life doing is helpful when the days start to feel a little too repetitive.

In other news, I’m still waiting on illustrations for my book, Growing Feathers, but the manuscript remains there and ready to publish. I’m about twenty pages into the sequel, Sprouting Wings, and I think it’s some of the best work I’ve done. I’m excited to publish, but more than anything, I’m excited to move on from that chapter of my life. The poems in Growing Feathers are almost all relatively new and almost entirely about the same experience/people. I’m ready to move on, and I’m excited to be able to literally, physically close that chapter of my life and move on to the next. I’m proud of the work I’ve done in the sequel, especially because it means diving into some issues I typically try not to think about (hello, mother). I’m proud of what I’ve written, and I’m excited to have it out there in the world. For now, though, it remains a waiting game, one I am not patiently playing.

I haven’t written much on here about the situation from the past few months. I find it incredibly hard to write about, and honestly I feel it may be better to keep it under wraps. I will say it was the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced, and I’m incredibly proud of myself for how well I’ve bounced back. It’s been a very rough few months, and I’m looking forward to the next few being relatively free of drama.
Rebuilding

September 11th, 2025

Hello again Blogisphere,

Once again, it’s been a while.

I’m not sure how to start. A lot has changed since my last entry, some of which I truly don’t know how to write about. So I’ve decided I won’t. Suffice to say this: I lost two of my best friends, the people I considered family. One of them came back, but the other remains at a distance. Above everything, this change forced me to confront my codependency, which was running rampant unchecked. I was made to confront my own reactions and feelings, and base them in rationality. It was hard. I needed help. I went to a psychiatrist and was diagnosed with BPD and Bipolar 2. I’ve been taking antipsychotics for just over a month now, and have found them to be making a huge difference in my mind. I struggled to come to terms with that, as well, but now I am grateful to have more answers.

That wasn’t the only thing that changed. I moved apartments just as things were blowing up with my friends. I moved from NW Portland to SE Portland, which is a very different area. I moved to an apartment that is half the size. I doubled my commute, so I started taking the buses. Turns out it’s not that hard. I decorated; having never decorated my old apartment after my ex moved out, this was a big deal. It’s my space. It feels like home, cozy rather than cramped. For the first time in my life, I have complete control over my home. I have a balcony and a washer/dryer in the unit. Boots likes it too!

I started seeing a therapist in addition to the psychiatrist. I made a conscious effort to get closer to my other friends, and was successful. I feel like, despite the loss, I have a much bigger support network than I did previously.

I picked up an old hobby, stained glass making. I bought all the materials right before I moved, and made my first few pieces a few days after moving in. I’ve also been writing a lot; I’m publishing my first book, “Growing Feathers”, any day now. I spend a lot more time on my own these days, so it’s nice to have a hobby again. I briefly started reading again, but find myself in a lull at the moment.

The only thing I have left to change is work. I have an interview at a fine dining, sustainable, farm-to-table restaurant in a few days. To be honest, I desperately want this job. I am grateful to Hilton for everything they’ve given me, but it is so far past time for me to leave.

I also checked a big item off my bucket list: be in a movie. Technically, I said “be an extra” in a movie, but I was one of the main characters, which I think definitely satisfies the ambition. My friend Sam was filming an elaborate student film and asked me to be an actor. I had such a good time and am so excited to see the results of “Daughters of the Wind”.

All of these changes are hitting me at once. As a lover of routine, it’s been a hard couple months. I’m grateful to be doing Sober September with two of my close friends, and am trying to practice taking care of myself, my cat, and my home to the best of my ability. Overall, I feel like all of these changes happened for the best, or at least there was something I was supposed to learn from them. If I get the job, I will be living my ideal life, aside from financial troubles. I’m excited to see what life looks like a few months from now. I’m cautiously optimistic.
I contain multitudes.

March 24th, 2025

Well folks, it’s been a while.

I’ve been reflecting much on the past year. I am coming up on my one-year anniversary of working at Hilton hotel. Along with that, my first year of living in Portland is also coming to a close.

This city has already seen me through so much. I moved here last May with my partner, my first real relationship, who I then believed to be the love of my life. We moved in together after only four months, taking to the road and living in my car, as I didn’t have a place to stay. Eventually, we ended up in Portland, and, as luck would have it, we got a nice studio apartment near downtown. I set to work looking for a job, Doordashing to fill in the gaps, but the two of us lived almost entirely off of my savings. A tale as overtold as any; I ran out of money, the relationship fell apart, she went home.

Alone in Portland, experiencing my first ever break up and struggling to remain passionate about my job, I realized I didn’t remember how to be alone. I stopped taking care of myself. The standards for myself that I had always maintained were lifted. My years of working excessively felt pointless; I had been killing myself, destroying my body, mind, relationships with friends and family, for a career that had given me what? The money I had worked so hard for was gone. And the topic I had always been so passionate about, the act of creating fresh, wholesome, nurturing food, seemed light years away. Here where the sun rarely shown, it often feels impossible to imagine farm-to-table dining. Unlike in sunny California, where I walked 40 feet down to the Chef’s garden to pick tweezer-plated garnishes for service. There, there’s no escaping the inevitability of Goodness in food. I took for granted the opportunity I had. I complained about pretentiousness and inaccessibility, and denied the part of me that lived to be challenged, to have my precociousness recognized and applauded. Throughout my life, I had been quietly building up an ego by pushing myself harder than those around me seemed to be. I developed standards for myself that were miles above the expectations set for me. Each day was a challenge to push past those standards. Looking back, I wish I’d tried even harder.

Working and living there, I had very limited socialization with anyone who wasn’t a coworker. My days off were spent aimlessly driving the winding roads of Big Sur and Monterey, stopping on the beach when I had no where to be. Skydiving when I could afford it, practicing writing with my left hand just because. Reading as much as I could. Writing. I was alone all the time. I was hyper independent, and craved emotional connection, unable to admit how unlovable I felt. When I finished my externship and returned to the CIA to finish my degree, I met Bee. She liked me, and that was all it took for my hyper independence to dissolve into complete codependency. We weren’t a good fit, although I couldn’t admit it at the time. She had very specific culinary tastes, fearing almost anything she hadn’t tried before. I stopped cooking. We reheated frozen meals and I forgot I ever used to cook elaborately for myself. After she left, I wasn’t sure I remembered how, and I lacked the motivation to try. I was conscious of the fact that my work at Hilton was the worst I’ve ever done. I didn’t care. In California (and every job before that), I made certain I arrived to every shift at least 20 minutes early. Hilton, I thought, should count themselves lucky if I showed up at all. I told myself I was just passing the time there, knocking some of the burden off my student loans so I could afford to return to California. I wanted to subvert the burnout I had felt since Big Sur, and thought that by working only one job for the first time without also attending full time schooling, I would be able to undo years of damage. I never actually rested. I leaned heavily into weed. Partially because I couldn’t sleep, and the pain in my back was becoming unmanageable. Mostly, though, I was escaping. I didn’t like who I was becoming, and knew I couldn’t return to who I was.

I rebounded, hurt my friends, made poor choices that I wish I hadn’t made. I started drinking with friends, and kept drinking after they left. I showed up to work drunk or high, and found I could still do my job with minimal effort. The quality of my performance dropped, but I work alone most days. The chef highly prioritized dinner service, and no one noticed the shift in my behavior. I melted into the situation I was in. There is such a culture around line cooking: cigarettes, weed, shift drinks, post-shift drinks, pre-shift drinks, bodies that we’ve put through the wringer, aches and pains that went deeper than just physical. I found myself working one-on-one three days a week with someone who’d been working at Hilton for 17 years. I consider him a friend, but also fought with the knowledge that if he knew my identity, he’d lose all respect for me. Together, we commiserated endlessly about the low-quality items we served. Neither of us made any effort to change it. The arugula was constantly wilted and dirty- why couldn’t I bring myself to wash it? I feared I would never get back my passion for cooking. I got sad again, truly sad in the way I’d always feared I’d go back to. I stopped looking at the future; I thought only of the next day, the next night, the next drink or smoke or opportunity to tune out again. I became reckless with my life. I put myself in dangerous situations, and was shocked when I got hurt. I uncovered a little more bad in the world than I knew there to be previously. I grew up a little more.

I’m starting to find my way back. I’m not sure what changed, really. I had a wake up call at work, after months of continuous degeneration in all aspects of my life, an unexpected source said “I know you’re capable of more”. I started trying again, and recognized how good it felt. I washed the dirt-covered Sysco arugula while dreaming of the wild mustard greens picked from that garden. I washed the lids on my squeeze bottles, cut plastic wrap into perfect squares, placed labels onto pans perfectly straight with crisp, clean edges. I realized how desperately I missed the challenge to do things the right way, rather than the easy way.

I went grocery shopping today. The past few months have included a strange burst of kleptomania, I think encouraged by the general theme of recklessness I’ve so embraced this year. I’m not proud of this, but I couldn’t seem to stop. Today, I didn’t steal anything. I was shocked at how many things I found myself wanting to cook. I strayed from the frozen isles and into the sections that used to call to me, ingredients and products I would have to work for. I finally feel ready to work again.

I have a lot of work to do on myself before anything can truly change. I am being considered for a position as a dinner cook at Hilton. I’ve worked brunch service for most of my career. When I found myself working dinner service, it was always accompanied by either full-time school in the mornings, or a brunch cook position at another restaurant. Currently, I’m working only one job. For the first time in my life, I have time for myself. I’ve been spending it with friends, vices, whoever would keep me from being alone. Working dinner at Hilton would give me the opportunity to practice some of what I lack the skills in, such as protein cookery. More importantly, though, it would completely change my schedule, leave my mornings free and my evenings too busy to fill with a drink or six.

I remain nervous about the things I don’t feel capable of doing on my own, but I will continue to lean on my friends. I will slowly allow myself to start taking steps toward my future. I’m still trying to determine what that looks like, but I know it’s more significant than 30+ years at Hilton and early liver failure. I’ve been feeling hopeful for the past two days. It’s the first time I’ve been hopeful in quite a while. This past year has contained multitudes. I really hope I can make this stick for a while.

-James Jones
Spontaneity

November 27th, 2024

Here we go folks…

The last few weeks have been a riptide, but finally the current seems to be calming down. I may be just in a good mood, but my current take on life is quite positive. The past month has come with many changes; some have been good and some have been quite heavy. I struggled for a few days, and am still rather uncertain of a few things, but I’ve been subtly shifting my focus and my mindset to keep up with the pace of this rapidly changing life.

I was recently given the opportunity to return to Big Sur, where I completed my culinary school externship. Big Sur is very special to me, as the food scene is mostly fine dining, farm-to-table is the expectation rather than a selling point, and there’s an intoxicating emphasis on quality and perfection at every step. Big Sur was my first experience living (essentially) alone; the first time in my life in which I didn’t have classes to keep up with, I had the freedom to do anything and everything. Contrarily, it’s also a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. Most people who live in Big Sur have two jobs, partly because of the culture surrounding the area, but also because there’s very little else to do in that town. As a lover of hiking, camping, reading, and beaches, I loved living in such a place. I worked 6 am to 11:30 pm five or six days a week, and I spent my days off cooking for myself. My life revolved around freshness and seasonality, quality and artistry. I consider it to be some of the best work I’ve ever done.

It was also unfathomably isolating. I have always struggled with social skills, putting myself out there and meeting people. Working so much allowed me to hide within my passion. I spent an entire summer speaking almost solely to coworkers, and consistently spent hours just driving alone in my car. I was completely self-sufficient and hyper-independent. When I left Big Sur, I was incredibly burned out, which was unfortunate considering I left to finish my degree, an accomplishment that by no means alleviated my burnout. I’m still fighting that burnout, and I know that if I returned to Big Sur I would once again find myself working two jobs. My career would excel, and I would likely revive the passion I’m slowly killing by working at Hilton. But I don’t think I could handle it alone, and, more importantly, I’m thinking I may just not prioritize my career for once. Ever since I got my first job in a restaurant about five years ago, everything else fell to the back. My mental and physical health, the academic expectations I had set for myself, my friends and family, hobbies and other passions, the kitchen took priority over everything. I’ve missed out on countless things for work, and I burned myself out in the process, exacerbating mental and physical health issues, and missing out on my teenage years. Now I have my own studio apartment in Portland. I have a job I tolerate and even enjoy occasionally. I have friends that I love dearly, and I just got a cat! I think I may allow myself to enjoy my early 20s for a while and see where that gets me.

When I was first contacted about returning to Big Sur, I felt like I had to go. I still feel slightly guilty for passing up such an opportunity. My younger self would have gone in an instant. But I’m considering it a sign of significant personal growth that I’m willing to prioritize myself over my career. Honestly, I’m proud of where I am and who I am, even if I’m not proud of the work I’m doing. I’m still working with good people, and I continue to hold myself to a high standard, even if I’m the only one doing so. I’ve been working my new position for a few weeks now, and I enjoy it much more than what I was doing before. Work is almost always manageable, if not enjoyable. And although money is tight, I’m still finding time to have fun. I make plans with people most nights, and lately you would almost think it comes naturally to me. Since I’m actively choosing to stay here, I feel very empowered to make the most of it. I’m going to try to embrace the forthcoming changes as best I can. I’m going to try new things, meet new people, and treat myself kindly whenever I’m able. I’ve spent years fighting off my natural tendency for harmful or self-sabotaging behaviors. But I’ve finally developed a community that fights and watches out for me. I don’t have to fight as hard to keep my head above water.

Finally for the part that’s relevant to the blog: I got a walk-in tattoo! One of my closest friends took a trip with me to Ocean Shores, a tiny, gloomy, picturesque beach town in Washington state that I grew up visiting often. We had many incredible adventures, including a drunken night-time walk to the beach in the rain that I ~mostly~ remember. We met some unbelievably cool people (s/o Howard ily), and each got walk-in tattoos from the same guy at the same time in the same spot. He got a four-leaf clover and I got a little jellyfish on my left inner arm, just below the wrist. The longer I look at it, the more shaky the lines become, but I genuinely love it even more for the imperfections (although I will be getting it touched up asap lol). While this was technically an act of spontaneity, I never once felt afraid or anxious. It just felt like another demonstration of how much I’ve grown in the past few years, and especially in the past several months.

Until next time!

-James
Reading Out Loud

November 1st, 2024

It’s been a while since I’ve done anything really tangible for the blog. I have been dealing lately with themes of fear and recognition, the formidable burden of being known and knowing oneself (S/o Elenore Shellstrop iykyk). It’s hard to fathom how drastically my life has changed in the past month. I have some updates on my own life, then I will share the new item I have checked off my list.

Firstly, I broke up with my partner of almost one year, with whom I had moved to Portland and rented an apartment together. The change was for the best, and my life has been so much more my own of late. I now live in the studio apartment on my own, and although I did not anticipate paying the entire rent myself, I think that for the duration of my lease, it will be doable. I have been greatly enjoying living on my own again, and have been pleasantly surprised by how little I’ve actually had to be alone since she moved out.

On that note, I met someone on the first of October, and now, on the first of November, they already seem to be a focal point in this new life that’s forming around me. In the style of Portland, we remain label-less, a dynamic that is as new for me as it is natural. I’ve enjoyed navigating a relationship that is never more than I want at any given time; incorporating intimacy in its many forms without expectations. I feel more at home here now, as if Portland really is the right place for me. I have much to learn and much more to experience, and I am so looking forward to what other changes Portland may bring as time goes on.

Career-wise, I was recently given the promotion at work that I had been so desperately vying for. Technically it’s a demotion, putting me back into a position I have worked many times in many different places, but I think that’s why I wanted it. Soon, I will have a consistent schedule with rarely more than 50 hours a week at Hilton. In the works as well, a chocolate company that wants to hire me part-time as an executive pastry chef/chocolatier. The story is absurd and surreal, and I will tell it more in-depth at a later time, once the dust has settled.

Finally, it was on my list to go to a poetry reading or open mic and read an original poem. I had been planning, since I wrote the list, to read a specific poem but I decided last minute that piece no longer felt relevant to me. Instead, I shared something I began writing during my culinary school externship in Big Sur. I finished it right before the reading. It took place in a tiny eclectic coffee shop called “Dragonfly Coffee House” that hosts an open mic every few weeks. I brought with me two friends, both of which are English majors at heart. Neither of them planned to read anything, but both caved in and read beautiful pieces. I am glad I went and was surprised at how good I felt afterward.

Here is the poem I read (I can’t figure out how to fix the formatting):

Sous vide duck breast with Marcona almonds

Precious little portions,

Twenty different courses

A never ending supply of petite and unreachable.

how-did-they-do-that?

what-is-that-made-of?

compliments-to-the-chef.

Zero thoughts to all the others who make the kitchen go round.

For us, we are grateful to be there

In the presence of excellence

In the shining light of Chef, our hero, our Lord, our Savior

That line was blasphemous, yes, but we don’t get

Sundays off anyway.

A week off in August.

I cook for my family

Precious little portions.

“Delicious” they say, “but where’s the rest of it”?

I have become used to fastidiousness

Rules that have been beaten into me remind:

4 oz of pasta on a plate

2 oz of sauce

How many pieces of garnish?

And it all must be served hot, so move quickly.

When I shopped for groceries

I looked for “organic” “non-GMO”

And when I dined out, words like “farm-to-table”

and “local-growers” caught my eye. I reveled

in my particularity and speculation.

I turned up my nose at corn byproducts and

Overly processed oils.

Every bite was calculated, methodology that was backed by science

And by the knowledge that my parents wouldn’t understand.

I’ve cleared the toxins from my diet

but can’t get them out of my life.

As a kid we ate mac and cheese with

Processed hot dogs from the food bank.

Cheese quesadillas for breakfast and crackers for lunch

And mom and dad would skip dinner when they

said they were tired. Even as kids, we weren’t fooled.

Years ago, sitting on the edge of my bed,

My dad tried to warn me that I was too ambitious.

It only took a few months to prove him wrong

And now when he’s finished with the dinner I made him

He can eat his words as well.

But he never will; those words were bitter, acrid on the palate;

It’s easier to turn them down and opt for something sweeter.

But I’m tired of trying to make myself more palatable for him.

I waited and prayed and held my breath in the hopes that one day…

One day what?

In a well-run kitchen, everything is planned.

In a well-run kitchen, food is prepared using techniques that were

Carefully taught, dutifully studied, and now executed with an

Excess of casualty.

The connotation of the food you serve is far more valuable

Then the actual level of quality.

Food can be made to taste better or impress more

Simply by adding a backstory,

A methodology,

Giving context to each bite and meaning to each calorie.

When I was younger, I cooked for them nightly.

I never thought about my technique, my methodology,

My fastidiousness or acridity.

I never once reveled in my snobbishness, or considered

The context behind a dish.

But those nights of cooking for them were my context

So now I will starve myself like my mother

And her mother before her

And the Chef All Mighty will be impressed by

Just how much value I can give to a single calorie

And by how many tiny precious portions it takes to satiate ambition.
Trudging Through

September 6th, 2024

I post on this blog almost never, but I reread my old posts often. The version of myself that started this project is nowhere to be found. Since the beginning, I have both grown and regressed. I have answered so many of the questions I asked in prior posts, but most of those answers only came with more questions. I am not the same eager, happy person I was at the beginning of this project. I hope he is still in there somewhere, but try as I might, my words come out much more cynical and negative. I no longer feel the gratefulness I once felt for the time I have left.

I believe much of this is due to extreme burnout. I have been working full time while full time in school since I first started in this industry. Originally, I told myself I was pushing so hard so that I wouldn’t have to work through college. Then, I was pushing so that I wouldn’t have to work after I came back from externship. Then, it was to help reduce the impact of my student loans. Time and time again, I promised myself a break from the work, but I consistently lied to myself. I tried to take a break after graduation, but the trip was not restful or peaceful by any means. It was fun and exciting and emotional, but not restful. I arrived in Oregon and began my job search already burnt out. I found a job that would happily work me to death, and thus far am sticking with it. My back pain has gotten worse since I started the job, so I now must budget for pain management, as well as all the other never ending expenses.

I’ve been having trouble trudging through it. I get up in the morning, take 12 minutes to get dressed, and make my way to work. After I leave work, there’s always something that needs to be taken care of. I get high most nights, and once my back hurts too much to stay upright, I usually wind up in bed around 10. My girlfriend prefers to sleep much later, so she’ll leave the lights on and the tv playing until closer to 12. Sometime after that, I’ll fall asleep, and wake up 5 hours later to do it again. The moments that differentiate the days are few and far between, and they almost always cost money, so there’s an element of guilt to everything I enjoy. I can’t imagine I’ll have the money for the more exciting items on my list anytime within the next 20 years. I know most of what I make will be going to my student loans for at least that long. I want to prioritize this list, but I also desperately want to prioritize top surgery. At this rate, I won’t be able to afford to legally change my name until I’m middle-aged.

Is this really all there is? I’m going to work my life away doing this? I miss Monterey and Big Sur and cooking Farm-to-Table. I miss being passionate about the work that I’m doing. I miss putting out good food that I was proud of. I miss learning and exploring and doing. I think of opening my own restaurant and it seems like the only light at the end of the tunnel, but I remember how much money I would need for that and it seems so far in the distance. The fact about working at Hilton is that most days, a box knife would be just as useful as my chefs knife. I’m tired of prepackaged food that doesn’t taste like anything. I’m tired of assembly work; I miss real cooking. I miss the art of it. I want more then this, but I don’t think I could possibly work any harder for it than I already have.

I want more than this.

Haven’t I earned more than this?
How the times go by

June 24th, 2024
Well, well, well, if it isn’t the blog I abandoned. It is now almost July, and I haven’t made a post since April. Also, my April post was written in January, but kept in drafts until April. To conclude, you’ve only gotten one post out of me in almost 7 months. Oops.

No need for excuses, but to catch up:
1. In April, I graduated from culinary school at the CIA in St. Helena, Ca., with a degree in Culinary Arts.
2. My partner and I went on a road trip for almost one and a half months. We slept in my car and did a fair bit of hiking, camping, and sightseeing.
3. I officially moved to Portland, Oregon, and recently signed my first lease- 12 months, with my girlfriend. I moved in at the beginning of this month, and she’ll officially move in at the end of this week.
4. I recently accepted a position working in the kitchen at a Hilton Hotel’s restaurant.
Some notes:

Graduation: My close friend and roommate, Antonio, and my girlfriend came to support me at my graduation. My parents and twin brother did not.

Road trip: California to Oregon, to Washington, to Oregon, to California, to Oregon, then I went to Washington while she went to California, then I went back to Oregon, and soon she will come back to Oregon as well. Stayed with a close friend in Washington, and got to introduce my partner to the place I grew up.

Moving: The decision to move to Portland was based on several factors, but we were especially interested due to the presence of several friends in the area. The road trip was long, and we had a million new amazing experiences, but we were both eager for some stability and familiarity.

Job: The onboarding process seems to be pretty slow. I haven’t officially started yet.

The most recent challenge I have checked off the list is…

***buying furniture***

When I unloaded all my stuff into my new apartment, I was shocked to realize I didn’t own a bunch of book cases and mattresses and chairs. I’ve only ever lived in pre-furnished situations before! It’s been an interesting challenge that led to many frantic “how little money can I possibly spend on this” Amazon searches. My partner is moving the last of her stuff in in about a week, then she will help/take over the decorating and furnishing. But so far, I have bought a mattress, a small shelf to go in our closet, a futon, and two wooden bookcases. It’s been a journey, but my apartment is starting to feel more like a home and less like a sad empty box. I’m excited to see what changes take place once we’re a little more financially stable.

As for the more exciting challenges on my list, I am once again greeted with a disturbing lack of money to accomplish them. The choice between going scuba diving and paying for groceries is easy and hard. I suppose I chose an odd time to start this challenge, but I’m incredibly glad that I did. And despite the fact that it’s been many months since I’ve posted, I have certainly had many adventures over the past few months. I’ve seen some amazing things and had some incredible experiences. Unfortunately, with the amount of student loans I have, it will most likely be quite a while before I’m able to check more big-ticket items off my list. But what’s the harm in having something to look forward to?

I can’t really say when I’ll be posting again, but I can promise it will be sooner than 7 months from now. Thank you to everyone who keeps up with my blog. I have big dreams of one day turning it into a book of my adventures, but we’ll see where it goes.

Until next time,

-James
Firsts

April 2nd, 2024

Prescript: I wrote this on January 26th and forgot to actually post it. So, here it is, completely as I wrote it many months ago:

As per usual, I am almost a month behind on my writing. Thanks to the kindness of some friends, I was lucky enough to start my year with another big ticket item on my list: indoor skydiving.

Considering I already went actually skydiving last summer as the first item I crossed off my list, indoor skydiving felt a little anticlimactic. I had a great time, though, and would love to one day be able to freestyle fly the way the instructors did. Each turn was only 60 seconds long, and our flying was controlled the whole time by an instructor. I would love to be able to move about in the air like on my own, but moves like that require a lot more training than I had received. Someday, though, once I’ve finished the other items on my list, I may revisit that goal. I got to do this on January 1st, so I started 1/1 off with something I had never done before.

This year has contained a lot of firsts for me already. My girlfriend and I made our relationship official at the start of the year. This is my first official romantic relationship, and so far the experience has come with many firsts for both of us. I also bought my first car this year; as things with my family have gotten even more complicated, my grandparents decided they wanted to revoke the car they had gifted me. I needed a new vehicle quickly, and got very lucky with a used Jeep Patriot that will hopefully be more suited for my needs than the Nissan Altima I had been driving. This brought about even more firsts- the first time I got my car detailed, the first time I had a car towed, the first time I had to work with the DMV aside from when I got my drivers license, and more. I also purchased my own car insurance and health insurance, and am specially budgeting for the first time in a long while.

The first month of the year is almost over, and I am so excited to see what other firsts I experience. In all honesty, though, I am also very afraid. This year I will graduate from culinary school and have to start repaying my loans. I will be moving in with my girlfriend, and taking the next step in my career. I don’t know if I’m ready for all of it. I’m so afraid of something going wrong and skewing my plans. I know there are no guarantees in life, but I feel as though the proverbial rug has been swept out from under me too many times in the past few years. Waiting around hoping everything works out is not my strongsuit. But still, we press on. I feel confident that everything must settle down eventually.