During times of great stress, I tend to make drastic hair decisions. As of a couple days ago, my hair is quite short.
So, I am sitting here at my desk with my “Brittany Spears Syndrome” hair, drinking my Great Lake Brewery Beer (Edmund Fitzgerald, to be exact), and wishing the weekend away. The “Fifth Term Practical,” is Tuesday and all I want it to be is over. The test involves two raspberry mousse cakes (complete with chocolate garnishes), 50 chocolate truffles and 3 loaves challah bread. The test itself shouldn’t be too terrible, but it compounds with the looming fact that school is almost over….again….and that means B-I-G decisions need to be made…again.
I’ve learned that the moment you make one big decision, another one always follows close behind. And I’m not talking about the decision of eggs for breakfast with lunchtime deli-meat selections still hanging. I already feel physically exhausted by the job-searching process and it hasn’t even shifted into full gear. Like getting yourself to the gym when you’re still sore from the day before.
Coming to culinary school was a tough decision. There were many tears, too many pro/con lists to count, a bit of heartache, heaps of anxiety and, or course, several haircuts. The culinary school decision, itself, stemmed from a list of others, beginning with quitting law school, but also including leaving Boston, moving back to Ohio, and forsaking my aging marketing degree for the dream to make cookies all day.
While perusing facebook (in a vain attempt to distract myself), I learned that the law class, with whom I began my adventures, graduated this very weekend. Not only does this cause me to reflect upon my possible, alternative lives, but acts as a reminder that I graduated from undergrad exactly three years ago. In my movie (the one in my head), the “5th Term Practical Sequence” is juxtaposed with shots of the law school graduation…perhaps images of my perfectly constructed mousse cake, contrasted with dusty and tattered torts and civil procedure casebooks…
Anyway, the decision to come to culinary school felt so monumental that it’s hard to believe it’s almost over and I want to linger in it a little longer (Don’t worry Daddy, I won’t actually.) Time just keeps to speeding up, and I’m still trying to bask in peace I’ve found here.
It’s not the job search that’s the source of anxiety, but sculpting my life in the way I’ve always imagined. It might be hard to believe, but sometimes, my imagination gets a bit carried away, creating fantasy, movie-like expectations for myself. I don’t just want a job, I want a happy ending.
In the meantime, my hair now fits beautifully under my toque. So, tomorrow, with my perfectly contained hair, I will face the practical, grateful for the decisions that I’ve made, and get ready to film my next scene.