Biting off more than I can chew

 I had this amazing idea earlier this year. I suddenly realized that in 1985, I was in the vicinity of my father from January 1st through December 31st. Why not write about the whole year, just like I had done for 1984?

I was excited and rushed in, looking forward to the discoveries I would make on that journey.  I had forgotten that one-third of the way through 1985, an atomic bomb went off on the road that I was traveling. On April 3rd this year, that story came to an unexpected halt. I was innocently writing and then realized there was a river of depth I was unprepared to cross. Ever since then, I have existed on the banks of that story, pacing around like I had something to do before crossing, but the reality is, I have no idea how to cross the water.

Photo by Quasi Misha on Unsplash

I have to turn around and consider how to do it. I conveniently remove my responsibilities by saying it is not my story to tell. Deep down, I know there is plenty I could tell without taking liberties that do not belong to me.

I know it is because the story is fragmented, which I do not understand. Thirty-nine years ago, I skydived into adulthood in a land I did not understand. My scars have stories I have not thought about enough to tell. I know that I should, but I do not know how.

I have not given up. I am just sitting here by the fire, resting and considering how to cross this river. I do not give up. My tenacity might be complicated and indigenous, but it pushes back with equal force. You will see me on the other side of this. I will do it in my own time.

The Exploded View

 When I set out to edit The Longest Day, the first story that I wrote in 1996 about the loss of my father, I thought that I could finally do it.  It is a piece that based on the story it tells, has covered over the mass tense and grammatical shortcomings. These were done because of the torture it was to pull those words from inside me and put them onto paper and keyboard.  Despite how much I have written this year, revisiting The Longest Day at this depth is nothing short of time travel itself.  The surprise for me is that the sharpened edge of emotion has not eroded in the last 27 years. I have decided if it has not yet, it never will either. I am determined to press on through the storm that bears down upon me each time I start walking down that editing trail.

The first time around, I needed to get the words out, but that was not enough.  The idea of remembering my father, to tell the world that he was here and during the journey through the pages of reading, he was again for a little while. I have told myself that this in some ways brings honor of existence to him.  I have to wonder if my motivations are more self-serving though. This was my way of not letting go of him, to defy that which there is no defiance.

I will not allow this to hold me back and prevent this story from reaching the place it deserves.  Again, just like in 1996, it is to pay tribute to one of the best friends I ever had.  There is no limit to the drive I can have when it comes to honor.  I continue to reach deep within and tell the story, knowing that it is going to be the roughest ride, but I don't care.  There are some things in which the source of energy has no limitations, and this is it.

Tuning in

 October is new and the weather is on borrowed time. It is perfect. Sunshine, light breeze, crow cawing in the distance.

I am sitting outside the main entrance to APD. A large roof, supported by two brick pillars. I suddenly notice bungee cords wrapped around the pillar closest to me. Why? Then I realize, it must be suspending a sign or banner of some sort that is facing the other side.

As I look up, a small SUV passes on the pickup and drop-off lane that is a few steps lower than my current level. In the back seat, a small dog makes eye contact with me. Childlike, it just sits there. Small to midsize, ginger, pointy standing-up ears, happy. I know from this 2-second encounter something about this dog's relative standing within its household and family. 

I had to do it. I got up off my seat on the bench and verified that I was right about the banner and supporting bungees. Yes, Dartmouth Health. It is cool to be clever with trivial things too I suppose.

2023 has been a great year for writing but deep down, I am concerned about the trend in frequency. I keep telling myself it is because I am working on bigger things and while yes, that is true, I am also copping out. Going over the two stories about losing my father is very difficult, but that is no excuse to hide behind them.

Everyday life has a way of wearing you down so that anything we set our minds to takes a beating. It is important to not give up. I have to remember what one writer told me once, oh about 40 minutes ago." If you don’t write, you are not a writer." Then I paraphrase and assess,  "If you write all the time, most of what your writing is probably crap. The great thing though is that those times that you’re writing is crap are practice for the times when your writing is incredible. You cannot have one without the other."

The pressure is on

 What happens after one writes an entry in a blog for 7 days in a row? The inclination is to pull over to the side of the road. To reflect. To analyze what just happened. But then I remember my thought process from 7 days ago. I was asking, why can’t I be more consistent in writing? It was then I knew pulling over was not the answer.  This thing has a second gear and it is time to use it. 

There is a bigger picture here too. Too many times when it comes to cooking I have done this symbolic pulling over to the side of the road. I will devalue my abilities before I move into the next gear because I get stuck in my own head and allow all of the obsolete traditional voices to beat me down into uncertainty.

I have learned some very interesting facts recently. Before COVID-19 began, 16% of all Chinese restaurants closed permanently. This was due mostly to the generation of people running these retiring with no one able to carry on the legacy. COVID-19 did far more damage. By mid-2020, according to CNN, America saw 59 percent of its Chinese restaurants shut down.  While some of these reopened, consider all those who were somewhat close to retiring, struggling with inflation, and the extreme loss in business volume in an industry in which profit margins are narrow.

This fact was recently discussed in a podcast examining what it takes to make Chinese food as available as it used to be. The answer is not good. This is the part I forget. Chinese, well, Asian food altogether, is not easy to make.  Yes, you can follow a recipe and make Asian food. But, it is really a state of mind. An Italian, French, Mexican, or American chef cannot just whip up Asian dishes, and be in the zone that defines it. You have to live it. 

If you put me on the TV show Chopped, no matter what is in the basket, I am going to honor Asian cuisine in some way. It is who I am. Sure, I love tacos too, but please I used to live on the South Texas Gulf Coast. It comes with the territory. My Asian experience came with over two decades of hard work, wins, and yes, failures. “Gotta pay your dues if you wanna sing the blues, and you know it doesn’t come easy” right?

All of that hard work has refined me. I am hard-pressed to find a dish out at the restaurants that I can’t make better. In fairness, I am not running a business. The economics of feeding the masses are not an issue for me at home so those ingredients that I can add more of to make my dishes robust are not practical when you are running a business. But it does tell me that culinarily, I can hang with these folks. With the massive losses to Asian food service, we need to carry on.

This means that I not only owe it to me to shift into the next gear, but I owe it to the industry. Things are different today.  The chefs without restaurants movement is getting bigger every day. I am good with this. Personally, I have been moving things around to prepare. There are great things coming and it has to be done my way. For writing, for cooking: stand by second gear.