In a few short months I’ll be 5 years removed from my old life. The restauranteur life is what I’m referring to, the puppet of Southern Culture Hospitality Group -SCHG. In one hand it feels like I just left in the other it crosses mind like a long lucid dream from another world.

I’ve remove myself so far from that life looking back becomes completely surreal. The 8 years I committed. The time I spent creating that life up until then. It’s like watching a long documentary and the main character gets replaced three quarters through the series. I can pull myself out of the actual show and watch it from the outside and reflect. I can see “me” in all my chef coats, Carhartt black pants, crocs standing in front of that collection of prep tables in my back kitchen. 6 eye burner, double convection oven at my back, low rumbling 8 foot hood system containing all the gases and odors. 20,000 plus hours in that spot directing kitchen traffic and prep lists.

It’s surreal because I used to miss it. Yearn for the system, the noise, cluttered chaos. It matched my mood, my mind.

I used to crave self destruction. It sold tickets to the show. My own little show. His own little show. I have no problem separating me and my old self as separate entities because we are. We are joined at the hip but longer the mind. The more I acknowledge this, observe the more it becomes fact. Just in the last few months I’ve begun to see old husks of me as opposed to mirrored reflections.

I’m older, grayer but leaner and calm.

Poised

I’m looking at SCHG Chad right now through the lens of memory and I see cocky, tired, overwhelmed

Lost

He’s smiling, a face of false bravado. I can smell the leftover vodka on his lips from last night. If it’s Sunday brunch then it may be the 20 oz styro of mimosa/redbull he’d inject into his bloodstream to keep him pumped for brunch. The look of frustration when the last of his line cooks finally arrive 3 minutes before the opening act.

I used to think this was my path

My dream come true. I worked all around the clock to get here.

He did I mean.

Am I harping on this old life again? Is it residing for free in my head?

No. Perception is what I’m sharing.

I’m putting this baby to sleep for good. Because it’s time. It’ll only be revisited for when I’m ready to write it all down in my story.

Trauma alchemized into memoirs.

10 years of my life. You have to include the build up and the release too because it took a couple of years to shake.

Extinguishing old dreams that never resonated.

It’s therapeutic to bury these feelings in a proper manner. A proper burial.

I still have an old chef coat hanging in my closet. The one I wore most days. I liked the zippers instead of the buttons most of the time my hands were too tight to unbutton the buttons after work. Quick unzip and I was ready to roll to the bar for the vodka reward. In two hours I’d have a rocks glass filled with deflated limes, punched with stir straws. I used them to pulp the limes it made the burn of the alcohol go away. I’d drink 4 or 5 before deciding if I wanted to make it a “shot” night. Then it would be lights out for the rest of the evening. I’d wake up hating that guy. HATING

Never hate yourself for being.

This chef coat that still hangs in my closet but it gets put away today. Hanger and all. There’s absolutely no reason to have this memory hanging around anymore. Why did I keep this coat in my closet for so long?

Symbolism, hanging history. Reflected remembrance

It’s stayed around until it was ready to be discarded. I get it. You think you’re done but there’s always something there to remind me. Old Naked Eyes reference Gen xers. This coat won’t go into the attic. It doesn’t get to stick around.

Nothing personal. You just don’t belong here anymore.

I think I kept this coat around for a subconscious “just in case”

Just in case

We all know there’s not going to be another “just in case”. I think this is my first moment accepting this. There won’t be another Southern.

Diner

Bar

Restaurant

I’ve subconsciously held onto that feeling without even realizing it. The “hey you know I just might one day!”

Nah. I’m good. I’m really good.

*grabs coat

*takes one final look

The chef coat now sits in my trash bin outside. Folded up. It’s odd because there’s still a the old part of me trying to go back outside to bring it back inside.

A vocational security blanket.

Sorry Linus. Time to let it go.

Dream another dream this dream is over.

*page turned

I’m literally looking at that guy behind the prep table right now.

He’s smiling, he thinks he’s got it all figured out. Stained coffee cup in hand, wusthof in the other. Staring at the prep list that never ended.

Living the dream. Full of that gusto that’s going to be pulled out from under him soon.

That smile would fade in a few years. It would no longer be his passion it would take over his life. His persona. The system would envelop him.

I want to tap on the glass and tell him “hey! It’s going to be a tough ride for a while. You’ll be fine. I’m waiting for you on the other side”

I’m wrapping this era up. Putting it in a box and carefully placing it in its own sacred corner. It’s time. I’ve already made peace with the time it took to reckon with it. I used to introduce myself as Chad the old owner of SCHGP (I left a letter out whoops) now it’s just Chad.

I like just Chad

This is how I process things now. I don’t reflect daily on the old, I acknowledge and I move on.

Reset my settings.

Wisdom? Maybe. Or I’m finally finding my wave. A new coat to wear or a life without ever needing a new one.

Peace ☮️