Well, Note to Self

Before you quit your job and announce you are headed to the beach to go to culinary school; at least have visited the place.

Oh no, I wait until my position is filled and savings is half spent before I meander down to check out what is supposed to be my future. Half the day spent on the West side of I-95 had me in tears. It was a tad on the desolate side and reminded me of why I had got myself into this state of affairs to begin with. Moving to that house in the country those what, some eight years ago, automatically stranded me on an island for one. I forgot how to have conversations with humans and forgot that my couch didn't have to be glued to my ass at all times.

I came upon rundown questionable neighborhoods where I finally ran into people; oh wait no, I think those are gangs. Tried to shift quickly and get the hell out of there?

I suddenly began to cry and wonder if I really liked cooking at all. Five miles down the road to Woodbine I convinced myself I didn't and retraced my steps back to the hotel. I start to load the car and realize I haven't even checked out the school. Turns out it is on the East side of I-95.

I search the same street for over an hour. I go from end to end and see the sign Coastal Georgia College with and an arrow pointing one direction, then I get to the end of the road and see the same sign with the arrow pointing the other way. What the hell. Finally I just take a left, through a neighborhood, and think dang, it sure would be nice if all the sudden it just popped up out of the middle of no where. (Because then I could live in this neighborhood and walk right to school; or ride my bike like a sixth grader.)

Shit, all the sudden, there it was. Literally in the middle of no where. This beautiful, new, fancy building with a Taj Mahal top roof in the center. I imagined students chopping the holy trinity and perfecting their risotto. Which by the way; I have never seen on a menu as an appetizer the way it is in Hell's Kitchen. Oh no, I panic. This won't be like Hell's Kitchen will it?

I decide I will only take left turns for the rest of the day and will worry about Gordan Ramsey later.

I head into St. Mary's, and begin to look for a living space in my price range. Which is funny. I don't have a job; so what exactly is my price range?

There is something very strange about this place to me. I thought I would feel different here. Like, excited and drawn to it. I imagined it would feel like I belonged but I am worried I don't. I feel no connection; the water isn't even calling me. Actually, I can't figure out how to get to it; really get to it; to dip my toes in, how ironic.

The sound of the song Fear plays in the background and creeps into my senses and I start to sweat. Wait, that could be because the air is out in the car. I want to be 8 years old again. I hate the heat. Why am I thinking of moving further South? Why can't I just bloom where I am planted like everyone else. Oh, that is right; we all don't; most of us just gasp for water and sunlight and make the best of the flora we become, even if it is just weed flora. Hey, it is a form of being alive.

I am not sure what to do. I can no longer tell the difference between my panic for moving forward and my panic for staying stuck in the familiar.

Note to self; get the air fixed. You are in for a long ride.


Recipes: "A crust eaten in peace is better than a banquet partaken in anxiety." Aesop

Roadtrips: I need a map. I can't keep wasting time going right when I should be going left; or East when I should be going West.

Renovations: You can learn to cook anywhere. But where do you go to learn how to become the best that you can be? Your personal legend. Or do you even have to go anywhere? Maybe the journey is from the heart, to the brain to the soul. And not from Athens, to New York to Dillard to St. Marys to Battleview. Or maybe it is both. Either way, you have to face your Fear.