Make what you will of it....

Thematic week. Depression. I'm not caught in some dark and self absorbed mood, the idea has simply arisen over the last week or so. It seems actually as if it's a fairly common theme in the workplace, which is surprising considering the level of levity that can occupy a restaurant before and after service. I had no idea depression was so rampant amongst people in my industry. I have seen the doubt in my compatriots, I have felt it in myself (it is not an unfamiliar companion). I have doubted myself, questioned my choices. I have gone without sleep, I rarely attend to a regular eating schedule. I have felt as if I could drop to my knees and not go on. I've stood at the line with my head swimming, unconscious of were I was or what I was doing. depression has chased me from time to time during my life. More or less than anyone else? Difficult to say..I am only me. I do know that I have felt true satisfaction and exhilaration as well. For every moment of question and doubt there have been equal sensations of gratitude and freedom. We are a conglomerate, those of us who have found a home in this business. A conglomerate of pains, successes and dysfunctions. There is however a sense of freedom and choice. I have never felt more out of control in my life than in the kitchen. I have never commanded my environment more than when I am in the kitchen. The intensity and focus required to be successful extracts true extremes of emotions (or perhaps those who can truly allow themselves to be extreme can truly find success in the restaurant). Simply because there is a high rate of depression within an industry does not mean the job itself is depressing. I argue that the hospitality industry, the service industry, is a clearing house for the anguished, foul mouthed, misfit geniuses who could find no other home. We are the few, the proud, the broken, the nomadic searchers looking for something more, yet not willing to find it in the mundane. One has to be flexible, dynamic, fearless, and a little bit fucking crazy to put in the hours, the energy, to suffer the machinations of the day to day square. One has to be euphorically manic in order to slap on a smile, make small talk, cater to the whims and bizarre fancies of customers adn do it with actual sincerity. And when it is all over, when the dust has settled, when it is quiet. We are left alone, spent, having given what we can to those who would gladly take it. Some with appreciation, others in blind consumption. We run high, we run low.