Letting Go

It would be fair to say that few people thoroughly enjoyed 2020 - one could even go so far as to say few people didn't have an outright bad time. Taking into consideration all of the shortcomings offered to us by this storied year, I've found myself coming to the realization that while I did not have much to show in the way of physical accomplishments for the year, the greatest thing to come out of 2020 was an ability to slow down and spend time introspectively.

In the fall of 2014, what would've been seven years ago this November, I opened a business; a bakery to be exact. I was in my early twenties, I had just graduated at the top of my class from one of the top three culinary schools in America, and I was in what I now know to be one of the most emotionally unstable and exhausted places in my life. My career was rising to new heights, while my personal life lay in scattered pieces on the pedestal that hoisted my accomplishments toward the sky. Outwardly, I appeared to be a shrewd business person - one with an eye for detail, and a promising ability to grow a blossoming empire from what seemingly amounted to a dandelion seed. The start may have been a slow one, but within two years I found myself entrenched in an industry that promised opportunities beyond my wildest imagination: the wedding industry. I became the preferred vendor for the area's only all-inclusive wedding venue - where the average starting ticket price hovered around a sizable down payment on a country club house. Between carrying out existing contracts, fielding new inquiries, and fostering a relationship between myself and my newest couples, my workdays quickly became ten or more hours, seven days a week. My husband, and toddler, would often accompany me on deliveries just to grab hold of what little time with me they could, and often I would have so many deliveries in one weekend I would have to send my husband on his own. I saw growth, I saw dollar signs, I saw everything I had ever thought I wanted - but I didn't see the toll it had started to take on me. I had no time to spend with my family, but no matter how much I seemed to give my clients, they always wanted more. More of my time, more of my attention, more pieces of me. I slowly began to realize that this culture that had been built, this proffered idea that showcasing your success - both as individuals, and as a couple - could only be done by outdoing everyone else in your social circle on that one day that should be about nothing more than joining together with your chosen mate; this culture was not my culture, and these people were not my people. When I asked myself what was most important, I looked back to my own wedding: an intimate elopement with barely anything more than me, my husband, a minister, and our witnesses. I found more worth in the marriage than the wedding, and by taking part in these nuptial circuses I felt like a fraud; I was lying to these people, when all I truly wanted to do was tell them to run - find a place that made them happy, and enter into a marriage, not a dinner show.

In 2020 I was given the opportunity to take a step back from this industry, I was given the needed space and time to take a deep breath and ask my self "am I happy?". In no uncertain terms, and with no room for negotiation, I realized the answer was a resounding "no". I submitted formal resignations to everyone, and made the decision - the first one I had made to better myself, and my family, in a long time - to shut the doors to my bakery for good. I started treating myself with the same care and grace with which I had forced myself to treat others, because at the end of the day I realized the relationship I most had to learn to nourish was my relationship with myself.

So, my resolution for 2021 is simple: love myself. Care for myself, as I cared for my clients. Nourish myself, as I nourished my business. Be patient with myself, and allow myself to grow, and learn to walk away from things - even dreams - that no longer nourish your spirit. In 2020 I learned that at the end of it all, in the stillness and quiet of being alone with yourself, the most important thing is that you like who - not what - you've become.