Bearded Gang

My family is a small family and we are a tight one. I love the relationship I have with my daughter and her’s with her mother. We have open conversations and are extremely transparent with our daughter. My wife especially I’m just the guy with a giant club in my hands if I feel like my family is in danger. Our family is small and they are the most precious thing I could ever have.

Our little family additions are dog Lucy and two cats Chipotle and Velcro.

We adopted Lucy in 2012 from a rescue

Chipotle was adopted in 2017 and Velcro adopted us in 2021 via the cat distribution system. This cat was placed here to watch over my daughter. To understand this you just have to live here. The cat has an odd special bond to my kid and well who can blame it? We all do

Chipotle is my trusty steed and as per the norm is nestled beside me in the sofa during my morning coffee. I don’t think I’ve ever been so attached to a cat before. I know it has to do with my change in lifestyle. My heart has gone completely soft in my 50s and I’m home a lot more now.

Every morning when I get up I make my coffee and do my daily ear scratches. Always the cat first she’s closer and then I give Lucy a good scratch and the end of her tail would thump the floor.

Today is the first day I haven’t scratched her ears (if I’m home) in 10 years.

No scratches, no tail wagging beating their own drum on the floor, none of her little excited snorts and sneezes when I came into the room.

Lucy, like all dogs got old way too soon. I know it’s a part of life but it’s ridiculous that dogs don’t get to live longer. Her legs couldn’t hold her up anymore and she was getting dementia. She’s always had a leg issue from arthritis but it got much worse in the last year. She was a pitbull/dane mix and unfortunately Danes don’t live that long and Lucy inherited part of that result.

My wife had the obligation of receiving the news and dealing with the situation. Jess is the matriarch of the family. She’s the rock. I’m the one that can be a mess. She had to make the difficult decision while I was building boxes at the deli. We knew all along it was time but sometimes you just hope for impossible miracles. This wouldn’t be one of them.

Today

I knew this morning would be hard.

And it is.

Her cushion (that she rarely slept on) is still on the floor with her blanket. It’s my unspoken duty to take care of these things today before I go to work. Her food bowl is in the dishwasher. We will be saving that and her collar along with a thousand memories.

I’m not a dog person I’m a cat person. That doesn’t mean I dislike dogs I’m just more comfortable around cats. I prefer cats to dogs our personalities are similar but I loved Lucy like she was a big cat. Often times she was. She was an 80 lb cuddle bug that refused to leave her mother’s side (Jess). Where Jess walks Lucy walked. Even in her final days she would limp in pain to follow her mother around because that’s what good, loving dogs do

She was fierce when she needed to be but a big baby at heart. When I had my jeep I often left her in the car with my daughter with my top down if I had to run into the store. Anyone that knows me knows I’m over protective when it comes to my daughter. It shows the trust I had in Lucy to watch over her. I can recall a giant of a man coming into a record store I had stopped to grab an album, I could see my daughter and Lucy from the register but I had been concerned when this giant and walked past them. As he entered the store he said “I don’t know who’s jeep that is but they don’t have to worry about anyone messing with the kid in the back seat” he joked as he was referring to the warning growl he received from Lucy.

Lucy was our guardian. No one entered our house without her permission. I always slept lousy in our old home until we got Lucy. After that I slept like a baby I knew no one in their right mind would come at her when she was in her prime. If you truly knew her you’d know she’d probably run and hide in the closet. Her bark was indeed bigger than her bite but that big pitbull jaw and gruff was imposing.

We have a close family. She was our second child. This morning is a tough one man. This was my first real family dog. It just might be our last. How do you replace a child of yours?

We have a tiny house but this room feels giant and empty right now. Lucy Goose you got me good today.. even Chipotle notices it.

Dying is a part of living. That’s what I’ve told my daughter on specific occasions when needed and I’m telling myself that same thing right now. We are all energy though and energy never dies. Dogs have souls as do all animals. Thats why they dream. Thats why I still feel her here.

Man

Your mama sure did love you. That’s probably the toughest part for me. I’m here to divert all the pain and grief from my family. I can’t catch this one though it has to process.

That’s why I’m writing today. To process the pain. It helps.

It’s healthy to express the mourning. I’m getting it all out or as much as I can. We knew it was coming it just came a little quicker than expected. You want to run out and adopt a puppy as fast as you can to mask the pain. That’s just not happening. Lucy deserves her space and attention and she’ll get it just like a good girl should.

I’m so glad I get two hours alone time every morning. It’s needed today. A lot of trauma has been dumped on this sofa seat over the last couple of years. This damn dog has really gotten me this time.

Did I mention how tight our family is?

Our family has lost an appendage this week. I’m gonna have to cut this one short.

Rest in peace Lucy “Goosie Goose” you were the bestest goodest girl.

I’m changing.

I’ve been changing the past few years but it’s been on turbo mode the last few months.

My mind or soul has beginning to reject some old habits and beliefs that have rode shotgun with me for my entire life. I’m in reboot mode and man it’s a tough ride. Turbulence but with solid seatbelts.

Anxious but grounded.

Part of it has been a ride I must’ve signed a shitty contract without reading the fine print and then it just dropped me off at a exit with no street signs and said “go find yourself slick!” I had to walk to a gas station and ask for directions to my soul.

The person behind the counter is also me. The old me.

When I refer to these two completely different people I am quick to say that one is no better than the other. Just different perspectives. No identity splits only the paths have. The old Chad built me. This one is trying to burst out of his stale cocoon.

It’s exhausting. Not in the physical sense but spiritual. And even that isn’t what you may think I’m implying. My world is different from my old one. My four years of my “reckoning” wasn’t a side quest it was a pilgrimage, a personal crusade that I didn’t create for myself. Someone else did. All I’ve been doing every waking moment is to find that person. The one the wrote “your reckoning is over”

My reckoning gave me something to do with myself. Now that it’s over I find myself staring into a void.

“Now what?” is asked a lot.

I keep waiting on my certificate or diploma. I’m a reward type of guy. When I work hard I reward myself. I want my life trophies.

It’s like graduating high school with no counselor telling you what to do with your diploma. Man do I feel that one too.

I know it’ll come to me. I’m just impatient.

A lot of things that used to interest me have moved on. Friends and cliques that have clung have been released. Not in a bad way they’re still friends I’ve only dissolved that circle that I thought was necessary.

Work is my struggle. It’s hard to describe the specific situation. I enjoy creating, I enjoy having my own business and working for myself there’s no option for working with someone else again I’m at the point of no return with that perspective.

There’s just these days I’m at my deli and my mind is telling me

“This just ain’t it bud”

I know this

Listen, I could be in much, MUCH worse scenarios. I’m thankful for what I have, what I’ve created. Doesn’t mean that it fits.

Because I’m changing. I’ve been changing but only now do my “clothes” no longer fit me.

No frustration to be detected here folks I’m only narrating what I’m feeling. Or what is to be felt. I’m shuffling through a deck of cards trying to find my new ace ♠️.

In my headphones “Somewhere only we know” by Keane is playing in the background

“I walked across an empty land
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand
I felt the earth beneath my feet
Sat by the river and it made me complete”

“I’m getting tired and I need somewhere to begin”

This song isn’t playing because of coincidence. I’ve mentioned I no longer believe in the existence of coincidences.

Just me reaching out to me. I’ve gotten used to this form of communication now. My trail markers.

I haven’t written much this week my mind is going through another transition of transmission. I’m here but not really. I’ll land soon I always manage to, life has been easier once I figured out how not to land on my face.

I feel the changes before I land now. This one feels different and I’m unable to say more. No I’m not prophesying just an inner statement. I’ve been saying in my head 2025 would be a different year for me and it has been. But I think it’s only brushed me so far.

*twilight zone theme plays in background.

Life’s different now y’all. That’s all I can say. Once you start to figure things out it changes you. I’m not above all the bullshit or any holier than thou thing. I’ve just changed.

That’s all

That’s it

It’s a good one yall but I’m still downloading the game. I’m trusting my trail markers fully.

Peace and elbow grease.

It’s unofficially Graze’s birthday today. July 26th is the official opening, I unlocked Grazeland on a Tuesday last year but lasted about an hour before I closed it again right after I opted to take a covid test when I opened the doors. It was a positive test score I already knew I had something I’d never had before I had been struggling the weekend before but wrote it off as exhaustion from pushing to open. I had a slight fever, no sense of smell and I had an odd brain fog that made it hard to even navigate to work. I shut the deli down for a week because I couldn’t think. I had finalized my menu while riding high on Covid and it was a mess so I spent a few hours inside the deli trying to piece the menu back together. I’d sit on that ridiculous sofa with a blank notebook in my lap. Could not come up with a single word or idea. Did it for three days. We threw out all of our prep and had to start over. I finally opened again with a small abbreviated menu the following Saturday. 15 people came in.

14 of them were friends.

The following Tuesday we had a $200 day of sales. I was already trying to crunch numbers to survive. I had overlooked a significant line on my forecasts and had a small breakdown.

Small business trauma is real folks. I’ve locked a lot of doors, walked away from a lot of dreams I’ve built. I built Graze with my own money. No loans, no partnerships no credit line other than a gold Amex I never used. I had little capital to hold my deli open.

I’ve mentioned here before I was struggling with confidence issues after my last business. It was still fresh in my head. I went from

“I can do anything if I put my mind to it” to “my brand is weak, I don’t have anymore ideas left in me”

I closed my deli an hour early that Tuesday. During my breakdown I texted my wife with a “I can’t handle failing again”

Sometimes it’s her assurances that keep me from drowning.

That low confidence mantra stayed with me until 2025. Throw in a hurricane that shut me down for 9 days with no pay to really test my resolve.

I read some of my old deli blog posts from last summer and I can feel the anxiety. I had never opened a business on my own. Chadcuterie was solo but it was mobile. I depended on other people’s facilities. It didn’t help that both places I worked out of closed down within a year of each other.

Each day I got closer to opening the less I slept at night. I’d lie in bed frozen in fear. It got in my head. The past failures didn’t want to leave. They dug their nails into my head.

Resets are essential to my mental health. I wasn’t allowed any in 2024.

I’m a believer of struggle brings strength. My only issue was in my mind I’d been in a four year period of struggle that didn’t need anymore seasoning. I was pushing myself to the brink of another breakdown. Something in my mind kept telling me that 2025 will different. Not better, not worse just different. It wasn’t a beacon of light just a “breathe Chad”

Once October hit with boxes I was too busy to focus on anything but work.

Charcuterie pays the bills. Sandwiches pay my employee. For the first two months there was no charcuterie.

If I had opened just to make sandwiches not sure where I’d be right now.

2025 rolled around and I’ve been on a mission to fix my noggin. I’ve repaired quite a bit of old equipment in my head. I’m not standing on top of a mountain singing Zippity Doo Da by any means but I’ve made a lot of progress.

I’m grounded. I don’t play games inside of my head anymore. I’ve found peace and harmony with a little help from my soul and family. Whatever was telling me 2025 would be different. Well you nailed it. I’m still processing it but my headspace is much better.

The deli pays the bills yall. It’s not failing in anyway. Something always comes through when it’s a tough week. It’s sorta odd actually. I’ve had to relax my control. I haven’t changed anything in quite some time.

The market part didn’t work out and thats fine. The little things I add to sell do just fine. It could be a little more consistent but we make it work. I’m not trying to rebuild Rome.

My colleague Barry is always dependable and it’s healthy to have a friend working across from you. I’ve gotten much better with talking to folks again and I engage.

I’m on a three year lease with my deli. Signed it in April 2024. I’ve got about a year and a half to decide what to do.

Pros

I’m established.

My rent is affordable.

The area around me is bustling with construction.

Roadwork on my street is creating a few parallel parking spaces.

Cons

The parking is shit. It doesn’t help the neighboring businesses take up 30% of the lot. Situational awareness anyone?

I’m restricted to the size of my place. People like to dine in. I have 12 seats. It gets crowded quick.

Other con? I just don’t know how much service industry I have left in me. It’s stolen a large portion of my life. I don’t say that with malice.

Just recognition. It’s a relationship where you still live together but there’s no more intimacy.

I don’t hate the service industry. I don’t hate what I do.

That’s literally all I have to say about it. Take it as you will.

I’m just changing into someone else and it doesn’t relate to this anymore. I have to be careful how I word this I don’t want my brain to track it the wrong way.

I’m living in a paradox. I want my deli to be like Southern’s brunch. I want a line out the door I want to be king of what I created.

I just don’t have the physical passion to ride that wave anymore. The creative confidence is back. I could add 20 sandwiches in half an hour if I wanted to. I sometimes lie in bed at night and create full menu concepts while I try to fall sleep. The creativity is back.

Writing helps.

That said my deli sandwiches are the best in the upstate. Some of you don’t see the extra steps we take to make it that way. As long as I continue this journey I will always take the extra steps necessary to create a better edible product. I stand by what I said.

Sorry I don’t do cheesesteaks.

So I’m not sure what direction I may go when my lease gets skinny. I have extension options. I don’t mind my landlords they’re easy to work with. I’ve got a few additions I could do to build my business but that means more employees, more leases, more work. Me? I just like spending time with my family at home. Oh and to prop my feet up by a campfire on a ridge line in the woods. I’m catching up for what I’ve lost in time. I’ve earned it gosh darn it.

I’m a cozy as it gets at the moment. I’m smiling more than frowning and that’s a good thing.

Happy anniversary Graze. I’m glad we’ve become friends now.

While I have shedded or outgrown most of my old fantasies of ever becoming a super hero as a child, I have never lost that spark to run to the theater when I sense a good comic book movie is about to be released. I grew up a Marvel kid. I was an X-men fanatic, GI Joe and Fantastic Four fan but my favorite comic book movie was Superman. To me Christopher Reeve was born to play him. I wasn’t too keen on the sequels they were terrible but the numero uno was amazing for a 7 year old.

I watched Superman Returns with one eye opened it didn’t fit me and I’m not sure if I ever sat down and watched it in its entirety.

I’m a Henry Cavill fan. I enjoyed him as Superman. He was a good fit but the characters that surrounded him not so much. Sorry Ben you don’t make a good Batman. I also don’t believe Wonder Woman should be 110 lbs. Flash shit the PR bed and Steppenwolf should’ve stayed as a band and nothing else. It bothered me how the justice league couldn’t do anything until they resurrected Superman. Also I counted around 400,000 fatalities in the Superman movies but hey maybe he got that cat out of the tree for grandma.

There will never be another Christopher Reeves. When I picture the Superman from my youth it will always be him.

Henry Cavill is great too.

But

David Corenswet wears the crown now.

I’ve never heard of the kid. I checked out his acting resume and came up blank granted I don’t watch movies like I used to. Christopher Reeve made it possible to believe that Superman could be almost human. David Corenswet made him human. Superman could’ve been your college roommate growing up or that guy you always seem to run into at the grocery store enough to give them a “hey what’s up!” smile and go about your day. Unassuming, flawed but you’re biting your nails to see him let it go when he has to. They took some of the old Christopher Reeve mystique, added some Brendan Frazier’s The Mummy bravado in his prime with a little facial recognition of Elijah Wood.

It hit. The ball landed outside of the park.

Character development?

The “Justice Gang“ were my favorite part. Mr. Terrific was well.. terrific. His cool persona while delivering some of the best one liners in the movie stole the show.

Guy Gardner matched his bowl cut hairdo and thank god we finally got a Green Latern that didn’t shit the bed. You wanted to hate him and he tried his damn best to help but he was probably my favorite.

Hawkgirl nailed it and I wish I’d seen more of her in the movie.

Lois was finally used as a power character and not the predictable damsel in distress I’m sure I speak for most of us when I say that schtick gets old over time.

Jimmy Olsen was as he should be. In fact it seemed like they plucked him out of the old 50s comics and inserted him in. If I saw this guy walking around Greenville I’d think “Gotdamn he looks like Jimmy Olsen from Superman comics.” His character fits into the show like a well worn pair of jeans. He’s not just a side character.

Steve Lombard (the sports columnist) inserted for comic relief and faked machoism was a great addition for short breaks in between action scenes.

Lex Luther I’ve always considered a boring villain in the comics and movies. I’m a Gene Hackman fan but his Lex made me yawn. Kevin Spacey is cringy And Jesse Eisenburg? Oof

Nicholas Hoult on the other hand nailed it. How well? I wanted to drive to his house after the movie and kick his ass. Hell I’d go after his parents too. I haven’t hated a villain that much since I was introduced to Joffrey from GOT. Halfway through the movie I almost stood up and yelled “will someone beat that fucker’s ass before I have to??”

The dog Krypto. Listen, I hate movies with dogs as characters. I don’t need that component in any movie.

But

This one worked out well. They somehow made a mutt with super powers believable. And very likable. When I first saw the previews I winced when I saw the dog. I take it back now.

Shout out to James Gunn for making a blockbuster film in two hours. Can we make this the standard? I never looked at my watch one time during the movie.

The action scenes were amazing. The CGI state of the art.

The humor was on point and didn’t take away from the drama or saturate the turmoil. *looking at you last Thor movie. I laughed in between gritting my teeth.

The small cameo of Supergirl even looks like a fun tie in and I’ve never liked Supergirl.

This movie did its job. It finally tuned me into the DC universe. Marvel you might want to step it up. The seesaw is not in your favor right now.

Scale of 1-10 I give it a solid 10 for a comic book movie. Last one I ranked that high was Endgame.

If you get bored on a hot afternoon go check it out. You can’t beat the theatre experience. Camelot is always my go to. It’s family owned. (I think)

Cheers.

I needed to shake my writing habits up I’ve been caught up not so much in a theme or echoing subjects but some things I write about spits out an abundance of emotions and I’m feeling low key today.

It’s Father’s Day today and on these Hallmark holidays I often think about what I would be doing right now if I was still in the fox holes of the service industry. It’s 6:40am right now I’d be procuring around 60 fruit cups or swirling poached eggs in a simmering pot of vinegar water *shudders. Perhaps a 5 gallon vat of stone grits. Father’s Day is always second runner up to Mother’s Day as far as restaurant volume goes but not by much. I’ve worked my fair share of these holidays I’d say at least 25 of them. Even charcuterie gets into some of these although not nearly the same volume. I chose not to engage this year. I’m getting smarter with age.

I’m fairly well known for my dishwasher adventures. Particularly Southern always being the culprit. I eliminated the dishwasher position at Habitap when I opened it in a throw the hands in the air “I give up we are all fucking dishwashers here!”

My first job at 15 I was a dishwasher at Quincy’s. I lasted a week before my parents made me quit. I wouldn’t get off of well until midnight and one of the midnight hours I could be found with a beer can in my hand. Actually my stepfather found me with a beer can in my hand while his truck sat in the dark corner of the parking lot and that was all she wrote folks. It would seem he was privy to how kitchens operate after hours.

Real short story when I went to grab my only check from Quincy’s the manager told me I couldn’t have it because I quit with no notice. I said ok and told my stepfather who had driven me to pick it up. Two minutes later we were driving back home with my paycheck in hand.

I’ve never had a problem washing dishes. I’ve bar-backed at the old Sand Flea in the late 80s, washed dishes at an old broke ass night club hotel right off of Mauldin road, bailed many a dishwashers out at the Blockhouse and Arizona when I closed so I could grab a drink before all the bars closed.

I’ve earned my stars.

“Chad, why have you had so many problems with dishwashers?”

I don’t think I’ve had an irregular amount of dishwasher drama more so than after so many years the patterns just wore me down. If I had 200 dishwashers about three were reliable. This isn’t a position people go to school for. You don’t acquire an MBA for dish maintenance.

I get it and no I’m not downplaying the importance of a dishwasher. Have one walk out on in the middle of a Saturday night rush and you’ll see exactly what I mean.

I needed a break from my mental health journaling so I wanted to turn some old dishwasher trauma into some humor. Most of it didn’t seem funny at the time but I’ve made my peace with it.

Mostly

The Drunk Ones

It wasn’t until I worked in the kitchen at the Blockhouse that I discovered that it’s not unusual for employees to come in lit as a rocket. I don’t mean drinking a beer for lunch and then going into work I mean having a good ol time at a cookout with a side of vocation breaks in between. It was common to watch the dishwasher walk across to the liquor store, soaking wet apron still tied around the waste, dripping with sweat (not sure why from the speed of their work) and grabbing a bottle of whatever $6 handle they could afford. I had one dishwasher there who slung dishes for about two years that I couldn’t understand one word out of his mouth because he maintained perpetual brain annihilation during his shift. He actually complained to Charlie about me for taking his six pack of Budweiser he had stashed away on top of the dish machine.

Charlie “you need to control your kitchen better”

Me- “why do you think I’m taking his beer away from him?”

The beer cooler was locked tighter than the safe. If the bartenders left the cooler door unattended for more than three seconds cases of beer would be slung out of the back door. I’d go out to the parking lot like a fucking Easter egg hunt to find hidden beers under cars, behind trash cans or just resting in the back pockets of jeans like an extended can of skoal.

Imagine this being your first KM experience.

I didn’t experience much drama or trauma other than that frequently you’d go back into the dish pit because the servers would start raising hell about pint glasses running out and realize the dishwasher dipped out for the day. I don’t have too many good things to say about Willie but he was good for closing the dishwasher up at night if the dish guy ditched.

Arizona

We had a steady pez dispenser of Hispanic dishwashers at the steakhouse. For each one that didn’t show up I could make a quick phone call to my dishwasher dealer and he’d have another one there in less than an hour. I never asked where he got them or who they were. I didn’t care as long as I didn’t have to do high volume dishes while trying to maintain a 300 cover night. I had few characters I could’ve done without. There was John, who I allowed his radio in the dish pit while he worked as long as he kept it low enough that the restaurant couldn’t hear his repeated shuffle of System of the Down. Each hour he worked the jam box got louder. Each hour I’d go back and turn it down and each hour he’d huff and puff and slowly turn it back up again. We did this for about 6 months. I had much more patience in my 20s. Later I’d fire him for leaving his bowl he had made out of a Russel potato in the freezer.

Drama was low key. Steakhouse ran smooth in the early days. There was one episode a dishwasher had enough and walked out on a Friday night. I spent the evening closing the dish pit. It wasn’t my first rodeo in this situation I had adjusted to this behavior but it didn’t mean I accepted this as a standard as of yet.. The KM allowed him to return to work the next night. I had two rules I still stand by to this day. I don’t rehire you if you’ve stolen from me or if you walk out on me.

I absolutely will not bend on these. The KM didn’t get that memo and allowed him to come back. When I expressed my opinion seeing as I had closed the pit down the previous evening after he (km) had already left for the day he only scoffed and said “now you know what it’s like working in the pit”

The KM and I had a brief discussion outside and the dishwasher was released immediately. The KM also found out that night what it was like working in the pit. We closed that dish pit together that night it needed some extra detail cleaning.

Southern/LTO

Ok now here we go with some fun. It seems the longer I lingered in the service industry the more my dish techs started bending me over the edge of my sanity.

In my 8 years at Southern I only had one dishwasher last more than a year. I don’t count first guy I’ll introduce next even though he was labeled a dishwasher he was more of an afternoon custodian that would sweep and mop the floors before service and wash dishes two nights a week. He worked off and on for us for about 5 years part time during his tenor before finally being asked to leave. As a worker he was solid, dependable and diligent. As a human being he was a pain in the fucking ass. I’m not going to use any names it’s not necessary and I’m sure anyone that worked at SC for more than 10 minutes would know exactly who I’m referring to. I have absolutely nothing against this individual other than he was the nosiest mother fucker you’ll ever meet.

*note I’ve calmed down my colorful language recently but to get into this groove I have to bring some of the old Chad out. He fits here and will go back to resting when I’m done.

The paradox of this individual was he is a minority but was somewhat quietly racist towards any of other minority that worked with me. He was also deaf. He could read lips but badly and often times misinterpreted what you were trying to say. If he didn’t understand what you were trying to say he just thought you were being an asshole to him and often times I was because he’d earn it honest.

As a person he was quite the asshat.

A deaf Prima Donna with a superiority complex.

If you were a minority you were stealing (in his eyes). Many a times as I was drifting off to blissful sleep I’d get a text from him with some obscure pic of an employee walking to their car with purse or apron in their hand. Nothing else, no subject matter or context. The next day I’d come into work and he’d wave his arms furiously and that would mean I’m about to lose 15 minutes of prep time as he goes over his theft conspiracies. He’d point at the pic he sent me and grunt. I’d throw my hands up with a “proof?” and he’d point at the purse and grunt angrily.

I’d repeat it again -“PROOF?” and he’d throw his hands down, hiss at me and walk away.

Sometimes he’d grab my arm, pull me to the front to show me an employee walking out with a bag of food that I personally witnessed the purchase. He almost got me into a fight with the entire kitchen staff of Mojos for accusing food trades with my kitchen and theirs. This was before I’d figured out he was a lunatic. The dishwasher not the owner of Mojos although that fits too. Ive had a thing with neighbors for half of my life.

The dishwasher hated my chef at that time and well, so did half of my kitchen for that matter he’s responsible for most of my grey beard hairs. They had an argument one morning and my deaf dishwasher made a brief charade of what could only be a large rifle in his hands and made a loud “POWPOWPOW!” with his grunts. I guess he could speak sound effects. There were times I’d say his name behind him and he’d turn around. We ain’t talking bass frequencies here folks I’d just say his name aloud and he’d turn around.

Deaf my ass..

My favorite part was when I’d go take a quick catnap on one the sofas next to the fire place in between shifts, he’d take candid photos of me and send them to my partner. Like he was reporting me for sleeping on my sentry job. I’m sure some other asshat in the company tried to use him to spy on me at times so he thought it was ok to do his own recon. After he took a candid photo of my wife while she bartended one night and it got back to me we had one discussion about it and he didn’t stick around much longer after that.

I miss him like a flat tire in the middle of a hot desert.

I hired one guy when we first opened. He had one eye and a fake on that was much larger. It almost looked as if he had fabricated one from a large marble he had found in a play-set and painted an iris on it. The only reason I’m making fun of him is because he was also an asshat. This seemed to be a common theme. He liked to discuss his female conquests while he slung dishes around as Barry and I listened to him dubiously. He must’ve been hung like an Evian bottle because it sure wasn’t his personality or looks. He resembled Chunk from Goonies except he was only 5’7”.

Listen, this was the service industry y’all, no one is safe from insults. Especially if you’re an asshole.

His voice was high pitched, like Mr. Hanky from South Park. On busy nights you could hear him mumbling “y’all be using dishes for some bullshit”.

He lasted about two weeks before going MIA. This is usually the proper route of exodus for my dishwashers. A two week notice is like finding a 12 leaf clover. If a dishwasher hasn’t shown up within an hour of their shift I just assumed their time had run out.

I had a morning dishwasher while we tried lunch at Southern. He’d get weeded during our $300 lunches.

We had one we dared to drink a cup of Worcestershire sauce and he spent the day lying on the floor so he wouldn’t vomit. Sometimes we’d get some ganache and spread it on the toilet seat in the men’s room. “Cmon guys! I know the difference between shit and chocolate!” I say “we” but it was mostly my kitchen staff.

Sometimes it was we..

I had one threaten me bodily harm for throwing out his sippy cup of bourbon into the kudzu behind Southern. “That’s my kid’s favorite cup!” That was his logic.

I invited to help him into the kudzu to find it.

I had a rather large woman wash dishes for three weeks. By large I mean Lawrence Taylor not the Nutty Professor. She was 6’2” and a solid 240lbs. She got frustrated one night and started breaking dishes. I had to go calm here down and I’ll admit for a moment there I thought I was going to throw hands with a woman. And I wasn’t sure what that outcome would’ve been. I had in my mind that I may have to clip a knee to bring her down. She calmed down, went for a smoke and disappeared into the sippy cup kudzu I assume because she never came back. It’s always fun on a Friday night when you leave the line to drop off 20 blazed sauté pans and the dish pit was abandoned.

If I had a dollar..

Well, of course she found her way back long enough to get her paycheck. Speaking of last paychecks I could do a whole ass blog on just those experiences.

I once folded an ex employee’s check into a paper airplane and threw it at them. This was years ago during my steakhouse tenure.

The temps we would call in were hit and miss. Some were ok but they never stuck around. Once they got comfy I’d have to let them know that cash buyouts were no longer an option and they’d disappear. I had one with Tourette’s that would let out a resounding “fuck!” about every two minutes. Still well below par of most of my line cooks. And myself for that matter.

Had another one that had a giant swastika on the back of his leg. I declined his return.

Had another guy that went a little viral on some tv talent competition. And later went viral for using the N word. He was an odd ball. He walked out crying after one of my line cooks called him a little bitch. The line cook ended up being my dishwasher until I could fill in the gaps again.

Listen

I

Don’t

Miss

The

Service

Industry

At

All

Had a confrontation with a dishwasher because he was using his phone while in the dish pit. All I said was “if you’re going to use your phone take it outside.There are line cooks walking behind you with hot pans. If you can’t hear “behind you” you’ll get burnt.”

He called me a slave trader which got a glass rack thrown in his direction. I didn’t know there were glasses in the rack and a few of them shattered causing the entire kitchen to freeze. He stormed out of the kitchen. Later on he would start an argument with me on Facebook and tell me he’d “see me around soon”. I saw him around soon after at a local grocery store and he did the sharpest 90° angle I’ve ever seen.

If I had another dollar for how many ex employees threatened to kick my ass.. That may make a nice blog too.

Had another dishwasher I had to wake up while he napped on the patio. He had stayed up all night playing video games. “Are you sending me home?” Oh no sir you’re not getting out of work that easy. A month later he walked out on a Thursday night. I called his mother up and she told him he had to come back to work. He had the nerve to call my cellphone and ask me to come pick him back up from his house at 7pm.

My longest tenured dishwasher was not terrible. He liked to borrow things from the kitchen. Utensils, dishes, food, my Bluetooth speaker etc. One night after work he got smacked by a vehicle on his moped as he was leaving. (He’s fine except for a permanent limp.) One of my managers went to assist and found steaks, pork chops and some plates scattered all over Pleasantburg. He had them stashed into his saddlebags. As an employer I’ve always been loose with employees eating my food. No one should ever be hungry working at a restaurant.

All I ask is that you ask first.

He probably broke more plates than a Greek wedding. Sometimes I’d stand behind him without him realizing it and listen to him fantasize about killing me while he slammed dishes around. My fondest memory is when he left at exactly 3pm on Mother’s Day (my km had him scheduled to leave at 3 and by golly he did. Brunch ended at 3 also. He didn’t close up. 3pm he left. I spent the next two hours shoring up dish before dinner service. It was a mild 90° outside as I was taking all the trash he left on the back dock. One bag ripped open and I got a body wash of garbage and week old chicken brine.

Head to toe.

I rushed home to change my clothes including my socks they were soaked. I got back ten minutes after dinner service started and the kitchen was already crashing

And

The pm dishwasher no called no showed.

I could write a thousand more words on this position.

One guy came into work so drunk he bazooka barfed all the way from dish to the restroom one hour into his shift.

What a time to be alive.

Ask me again why I got burned out from the service industry.

I think I’m done here. This brought back some wonderful memories. I can almost hear $18 ovals of China shattering on the floor and cast iron pans going through the dishwasher.

Speaking of the dishwashers themselves, they only breakdown on the weekends. Ecolab won’t even look at me anymore after making them tear their dishwasher out of my restaurant on a Saturday afternoon. What’s with those fucking white lab coats anyway? Hot water heaters going out while we boiled hot water on eye burners so we could close down dish.

Man I miss it

I miss all of it..

Being the butt of old dishwasher jokes never got old.

“Are you ever going to open up another restaurant?”

Nah

I think I’m good yall.

Cheers

1282 days since I last held a cold glass of vodka and cran in my hands. I probably held half a dozen or so that night I can’t recall so that’s why I came up with that number. The sixth one is usually when I start losing things. Little things like my memory, motor skills, mind, vehicle (I once reported my jeep stolen because I couldn’t remember where I parked it). It was a defining moment in my life. There’s memories for the recycle bin and I’m here for a lot of them.

Let’s talk about alcohol and the benefits of drinking

Great talk

Next

I watch through a very “unjudgemental” (I make up my own words folks it’s my blog) eye quite a few of my friends, social media friends who live the lifestyle I used to partake in and see remnants of my old ways. The pics you post show friends with big smiles, arms around each other (only one the other is holding a beverage), video footage of shot rounds, toasts of things that must be toasted, embarrassing but fun selfies with one eye looking away from the camera because your blood type is fireball.

It’s difficult for me not to pull your ass out of that pic and shake you. Not in a violent “you asshat!” way more like trying to wake you up from a bad dream that you may never wake up from.

I will never put my sobriety on a pedestal it’s not meant to be. I prefer it to be more of a beacon.

Flashing “come talk to me if you’re ready”

“When you’re ready”

I’m proud to say I’ve got a small handful of folks who have turned the corner from my posts and my words. I don’t preach I have no reason to and it’s just not how this works.

I tell my story to encourage. You won’t quit drinking unless you’ve decided to stop. That’s it. That’s completely it.

We’ll come back to that shortly if my ADHD holds back.

“But Chad you take THC”

Yep I have and I do. I’ve also taken weeks off without it and didn’t want to pull my skin off my body. If I choose to indulge it’s after 7pm. I don’t smoke anything or take gummies to hang out and laugh at cereal boxes all day. It’s controlled, very easily. I usually drink a little mg seltzer for my bedtime nightcap. That’s all I need really and it’s not a need. I like having a cold cylindrical cup in my hand at night. It’s my security blanket.

Beer? I’ll have one. Just one. It’s my life, my rules, my therapy. I’ve gone without beer it doesn’t control me.

And by golly gee whiz it works for me

Man does it ever. All of this.

I’ve mentioned psilocybin in my posts. I’ve taken small doses three times in the last four years and a healthy one for one amazing experience. That’s about it. I don’t take mushrooms with my morning coffee (not this kind) nor do I pop one in my mouth to go for a hike. Although micro dosing can be amazing for your mental health. The government doesn’t like natural remedies it takes money from their pockets. Hard to tax something you can find in the woods.

I don’t micro dose because I no longer have no need.

I have no need because I’ve gotten a firm grip on my mental health.

Did quitting the bottle fix my mental health? Did sobriety erase my depression?

No

But

It was the bridge to all of it.

You don’t put the bottle down and flowers start growing out of your ass.

You have to address a few things inside of you. The system you allowed yourself to get immersed in. The small bouts of childhood trauma, old relationships that latch onto you over time like mental barnacles. You have to identity these attachments and release them. Shadow work.

Why do I need to quit? That’s the easiest question to ask yourself and the hardest to commit to. If you’ve ever even thought once “I need to quit drinking” then you’re already there.

Once you’re on the sobriety train then the hard questions begin to pop up

“Now what do I do?”

“Do I find a new social circle?”

“Will there be an acceptable social circle for me?”

“Will my friends still hang out with me?”

“How do I relax after work?” That was a big one for me. My vodka was my reward for surviving the day. For months my vocation was terrible because I felt like I was withholding my work bonus when I left. That ice cold vodka was my treat to myself. I felt like I earned it. Boy did I.

Can’t have nice things anymore

Alcohol rewires your decision making, emotional control, morals, compulsions. When you drink enough over time those indulges, impulsions, poor judgments are no longer separated by alcohol. You and that other side become one. You start off as Jekyll and Hyde.

Eventually Hyde absorbs Jekyll and you’re just low key Hyde until you have your first drink.

It took me years to get Jekyll back. It took more than taking the potion away. The potion had become part of my daily life and personality.

Hyde is long gone now but it wouldn’t take much for him to come back out.

First year of sobriety was a celebration for me. It allowed me to realize that I was capable of beating Goliath. One year under my belt I could feel my brain healing. I lost 15 lbs and my frown lines started to clear up. The downside I was dealing with anxiety. I didn’t know how to steer my nervous system. It was still in control of me and would be my main battle for the next two years. It took another two years to realize this.

Year 2 the governor on my brain started to loosen up. I started reading much more and implementing meditation but mostly just sitting still with some music playing in the background. My focus was better but I still had my emotional moments. Add the stress of opening another business pushed me a little and some old emotions started to return but I kept the bottle from my lips. I knew regardless of the stress level I was dealing with I refused to roll back that sober day odometer. I shared every step to hold myself accountable. There were a lot of you pulling for me and some pulling the other way.

Year three and current. This has been the defining year so far. I didn’t just face Goliath I knocked his fucking head off. Peace entered my heart on year three. I set my sights on resolving some old trauma and it opened the flood gates. My control over my emotions have steadied. I have my moments, dams get cracks sometimes but I recover quickly and go about my day.

I’ve slowed my gait dutifully. I’m at ease if the deli does $10 or $1000. I find myself no longer reacting emotionally. That was a tough one. Still is. I cry quite a bit. I enjoy it, the tears aren’t the same as they used to be.

From emotional leaks to emotional lube.

Life still ebb and flows but I know how to ride the wave now.

The fear of the bottle is long gone.

It’s not that hard to witness . Anyone who spends time with me sees it now. I’m not the same person. It’s a little surreal. The only thing left for me is to fully recognize that and move forward. Your environment changes, your circle shifts and shrinks. It’s not a bad thing it took me years to realize that circle should be tight. I was trying to fit as many people in that circle as I could. This suits me so much better.

I’m turning 54 soon and I’m just now figuring things out. I’m glad I waited this long. I think I was meant to. Struggle is part of the ride.

You’ll never figure it out going through life as a drunk. That’s as judgmental as I get. If I were here to continue selling tickets to the show it this would be the Super Bowl.

Sobriety can’t be pushed. You have to find it for yourself. That’s the only person that can keep you from drinking.

Always open to talk about it. Coffee in hand.

Cheers yall. ☕️

Caught a fun head cold last week. Mostly head fog combined with congestion and an extra three pounds of flop in my frontal skull region. Phlegm is the most appropriate word ever created for this situation. If I were experiencing this for the first time and someone asked me what the name of the constant leakage coming from my head I’d respond with a made up word like phlegm. It fits no where else.

Phlegm

Phuck phlegm

I used to fight head colds. I’d try to sweat them out to get past. Solid morning run or gym routines. I did nothing this time and took it an extra notch. No walks, no meditations (you can’t do breath work when you aren’t receiving oxygen from either nostril) no exercise. I’d work, go home and Sudafed until bed. I did this for 5 days. It wasn’t terrible just inconvenient. I don’t like carrying a wet backpack around inside my head everywhere I go. Also I was a mouth breather. Yes those people I make fun of.

To top it off it was the hottest week of the year so my mouth was like a convection oven with the door wide open. The only thing I’m grateful for is I don’t have mosquito bites on my tonsils.

It’s odd how random patterns will reappear in annual cycles. One year ago around this time I had my first run in with Covid. Was sick for a week while trying to open the deli and my family was at the beach. Same as this year. Nasty head cold, family out of town, luckily my deli is on autopilot now. I may have had covid again. Who knows anymore? It used to shut the world down now it’s take two aspirins and call me in the morning.

The family dog is getting up there in years. She’s 13 this year, she’s a bigger dog with some Dane in her. I’m not a dog person they’re just too intrusive for me. Doesn’t mean I don’t like dogs I just like them further away from me than most. She’s a part of our family, she’s my daughter’s first family pet and she’s a good girl but now if she even breaths the wrong way she’ll deposit a nugget wherever she may lie. With no one else around to take her out I end up coming home to host a little Easter egg hunt to see where she decided to pass a nugget along for that day. I try to find them before they find me.. Battling with a head cold it’s taken away my sonar abilities.

Found two on the sofa

One in the hallway

Six in the laundry room like ants marching

One by the front door to welcome me home after a 10 hour shift.

When she does go outside her feet no longer like grass so she deposits her leftovers on the driveway right by the door. Pees in the same exact 2ft quadrant next to the door. It makes for a pleasant smell when the humidity hits 110 percent.

Did I mention I’m not a dog person?

Deli did well for a summer week. Always get new faces to come check out the 4.9 star reviews (humble brag). I was concerned about the AC performance during the summer. Last year the deli got hot. I was sweating to the oldies for a month. I decided to discard one of my toasters and the deli has maintained its cooking temperature to 72°. I can live with that. Also I have an almost brand new toaster for sale should anyone need one.

Since I’ve managed to dislodge blockage from one of my nostrils I may go for a walk this morning.

Taking a small break from camping the next week or two. My intuition is telling me to so I will oblige. Possibility that I may climb up Chimney Rock Monday. I feel like I’m suppose to if that makes any sense. Rituals are important to me.

I’m flowing despite the head cold and the heat. That’s a positive thing. I feel a huge clutter cleanse coming. Mentally and physically.

I can always tell when a cold is leaving my body. I get that one random night of 9 hours sleep when my body finally exhales from the garbage and I rest. Woke up at 6 this morning. That’s late for me. No jumping out of bed to catch up, I made my morning coffee, showered and my feet are propped up on my coffee table. I have no itinerary today. Nor will I enforce one. These are the daily changes I’ve prescribed for myself. I’ve got Hozier crooning in my headphones, blanket in my lap, cat nestling shotgun and the house is dog shit free (as far as I can tell). My coffee cup is sponsored by Snoopy kicked back in a red sweater, sunglasses, arms crossed with the slogan “stay cool” branded for me to read when I lift my cup up. Perfect shot if you’re a lefty like me.

“Stay cool” Chad.

Indeed I shall.

☮️

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 ☮️

Words and key phrases I have placed inside of my mental attic.

Hustle

Nose to the grindstone

Grind

Work hard to play hard

My mental attic being the chamber of old beliefs and philosophies that directed my life in the past.

I don’t focus on how much time is left for me to do all things I should’ve done

Could’ve done

I like being still. I don’t mean sitting on my rear end on my sofa although that’s my current location and I’m quite fond of that activity also. I like my mind being still.

Active but still.

I don’t look at my work calendar and fret over orders not coming in at a rapid pace.

I don’t look at my watch and wonder where my lunch rush is.

I don’t mind having a sit in my little recliner at the deli when it’s slow, man it used to bother me when I’d lounge around at work. I’d get exhausted at Southern and take a 5 minute snooze on one of the sofas by the fireplace in between shifts and feel like a POS for resting my feet. Didn’t help that my old busy body dishwasher would take candid photos of me and send them to my partner while I napped. That dipshit could never grasp that someone wearing a chef coat was also the owner.

As a manager I always strived to be the best

As an owner I tried to kill myself hustling to be the best.

I got to be the best at a few things but the crown falls off quick. So does the fanfare and success and that’s how I used to rate myself as a human being. If I worked the extra hours, spent more time procuring new content and food I’d stay right at or near the top. All I did was chase what wasn’t mine. If I caught up to it there would be another rung to climb, another apple dangling from a branch that I wanted to reach for. All the while the real fruits of life were falling to earth all around me while I was clinging to a thin branch.

I look back at three decades of my career and I don’t see hours of grinding, hustling and sacrifice as a badge of honor.

I see it as a lesson. A lesson that I shouldn’t have follow the paths that were imposed on me since grade school.

The harder you work the more successful you’ll become

Nuh uh

It used to drive me crazy when I had lazy employees. Every employee that didn’t hustle as hard as me was lazy in my eyes.

I get exhausted thinking about that mentality.

That guy.

I was manufactured into that mentality. Domesticated to doing things

Enslaved my own mind and anyone that worked under me.

Work ethic is important don’t get me wrong.

But you can’t force it.

You can’t force it.

I remember getting yelled at for leaning by the grill after 9 straight hours of slinging food.

I remember yelling at employees for leaning at their stations too. Man I gave back as good as I got because that’s how I was taught.

Barking at staff for no sense of urgency. I’d give an appendage for no sense of urgency.

Summer in the charcuterie business will keep you on your mental feet. It’s feast or famine during the summer months and it used to get in my head when I’d have a slow day. I remember not so long ago I had 8 people come in the deli all day.

8

The old Chad likes to pop his head out every once in a while to see how things are going when I have idle time.

“Need me to change the menu around? You know I’m good for it”

“Should we post more on social media? Sales are sliding, your forecasts aren’t casting.”

“Dare I say a rebrand?”

Nah

The week after the 8 people came in my sales doubled for that week.

I didn’t have to hustle

I didn’t have to make 10 posts on social media.

The only thing I’m struggling with in my mind is my lease is up in two years. Will my focus and energy for this business continue or fade?

I don’t make it a secret that the service industry is not in my passion wheelhouse. I thought it was but it’s not. It’s inspired me to do a lot of other things and I gave it a shot. One day I will completely divorce myself from this vocation. It’s apart of my journey. What’s next? I can’t say but in my heart I know there’s another chapter coming. Perhaps it’s what it’s all been building up to.

A quiet crescendoing

I can’t tell you what’s next that would imply that I actually know what’s next..

I’ve reached my goal in the service industry not the apex not the zenith but my goal. The top was not where I was suppose to land because I feel like that would mean I would be compelled to further maintain.

The top isn’t always the best option. The top doesn’t always mean you won. It’s taken me a minute to adjust to that. I’ve come in second or third place in more things than I’ve won but you’ll only see the blue ribbons hanging around me. Or used to anyway.

Ribbons no longer define me.

Don’t get me wrong I do smile when people come into my deli and tell me my sandwiches are the best in Greenville. They just no longer have to be if that makes sense.

It’s a paradox for me somedays

I look back and acknowledge that I busted my rear for a good cause. I maintained relevance through hard work and dedication. With a twist of creativity. God knows the ego wants relevance.

I also look back and see the years of domestication absorbing 75% of my life. My real life. We aren’t meant for that. Stop pushing your kids to believe it.

Work ethic – yes

Controlling your way of life? – fuck no

I was terrified when I separated from my old company because I thought I was too old to start over.

It wasn’t a separation it was a graduation.

I literally dont care where my career takes me it no longer defines me. Don’t you fucking dare put my occupation on a headstone.

That’s not meant to be aggressive. I’ve only separated myself from the system. Do with it as you please.

My life is just beginning yall.

Peace and elbow grease.

As I reflect along this ride of post reckoning my mind has started highlighting old trail markers that were inserted in my life at appropriate times to keep me on a path that I hadn’t recognized I was even walking yet.

For any of you that pick these up (my blog entries) randomly, trail markers are my intuition nudges. Some nudge ever so slightly like a breeze while others push you up the mountain. Some hit you in the face like a low hanging branch.

My life is filled with them. Old trails I used to walk in the dark for miles at a time. I tripped over a lot of roots and rocks back then. Hit my head on some branches and slid down some deep embankments that would cause me to start all over again.

Sometimes when I felt lost I’d have to sit on a stump for a while to get my bearings.

Years at a time.

I’d reach the top or so I thought and look over the valley to see another peak on the horizon. A much taller one.

And the pack on my back. Man she was a heavy one. Filled with gear I thought I’d need to carry with me at all times.

Trauma

Anger

Bitterness

Past relationships

Grief

I walked with these items every where I went.

Life got a little easier once I changed my gear I carry to

Gratitude

Peace

Love

Balance

Reflection

They weigh nothing in fact they’re like solar energy for the sun to keep it motoring.

I’ve walked on some long treks. Always walking but not with my head down anymore. I scan the forests, read the stars. I keep the sun in front of me for direction.

West minded my friends.

Not in the literal sense although the west always calls.

All the times I got lost, when I would lose my trail markers there was always a dim light shining over the next mountain. The next sunrise. It always meant to me that I made it another day.

I had another chance.

I carry that light with me now. I no longer have to chase it or sigh when I see it’s still over the horizon.

I look back on that 50 plus year old trail and ask myself “how did you manage not to fall off the mountain?”

Every time I slipped something picked me back up.

Every time I got lost something lit a latern for me. Inside of me.

It wasn’t that simple though. Some trips I’d lay in the mud for a bit and wallow in my own pity. And then thunder would shake my bones and I’d jump up and start running back up the trail.

Sometimes I’d get cold. I’d shiver with eyes full of tears and then the sun would come through the clouds to warm me just when I was about to turn around and go home.

Trail markers

That damn keychain that found me in a parking lot in Cherrydale. “Get high on a Mountain”

I’m literally shaking my head with a big fat holy roller shit smirk. 32 years I’ve had that keychain. The more I carry it the more it has defined my journey.

It’s my talisman. Literally. Holy shit how I’ve always known this but for some reason it hit differently just now. I guess I needed to process it a little more. How do you not lose your damn keys after this long? I don’t think I’m capable of losing them anymore.

Coming across the book randomly “Into the Wild” by John Krakauer at a Barnes and Noble display.

Reading it and becoming obsessed with Chris McCandless’s freedom from structure and systems. The love for outdoors sparked like a cherry bomb when I read that book. I fantasized about tramping around the US. Exploring states I’d never seen, streams, rivers, monuments. And mountains

Before I read that book it took an act of god to get me to go hiking never mind camping. After I read it I started hanging out at Barnes and Noble, reading travel essays.

Financially it just wasn’t plausible I was waiting tables at Arizona steakhouse, making $50 on an average shift.

At the end of my shift I’d play those old poker machines in the mid 90s before the politicians with sticks in their asses pulled them out. I never put much money or thought into those machines. $5 max if I played at work. I put in $2 and won the machine jackpot. All 7s. Five of those bad boys won me $3192. I can still recall the amount. That’s about $7k now folks.

It took a total of about 6 rapid heartbeats for me to figure out what I would do with that little lotto win.

Bought all new camping gear. I had none, zero, zilch.

I opted to take a month of leave from work.

I had to. Absolutely HAD to

And I had an adventure of a lifetime.

It changed me. A had a taste of freedom that contained my soul. Returning back to my old life became a tether that stuck with me for years. Still does during some long weeks in the deli.

After that outdoors became a lifestyle for me. A part of my personality.

I had a pretty big hiccup with a few bad camping experiences (in my eyes). Our group got lost, ran out of water and the dynamics weren’t flexing correctly. It didn’t make me give up the outdoors for good but it put a big fat damper on my expectations of a good time so to speak.

All my trail markers were doing were teaching me about ebbs and flows. For each outstanding experience there may come a time for a not so good one. Hills go up and down.

I found my way again. It took ten years or so. The mountains were always calling. Running became an obsession for me in my early 30s. No provocation just like ol Forrest Gump I just started running. Hell we had the same haircut for a while. Don’t think that haircut was a part of it.

Running brought me back to the mountains.

When I opened Southern I began trail running at Paris Mountain. The busier Southern got the more miles I ran. My stress odometer matched my distances. Some days I’d run 15 miles around those trails and go back to work. Paris mountain became my temple. I’ve hiked, ran over a thousand miles up there.

I’ve been living on my own for 35 years. I’ve moved about 2 dozen times all over Greenville but for some reason I always end up no further than 4 miles away from that mountain.

More trail markers? Man I’ve come real close to fucking up my life in irreversible ways and there’s always been an a rock to deflect that asteroid from reaching dirt.

Random texts in places where texts shouldn’t land.

Potholes keeping me from hitting a truck head on.

Relationships that shit the bed just at the right time. Once I solved that riddle my old relationship trauma deflated like a balloon.

I had to go through my parent’s divorce to know and understand how to strengthen my marriage.

I had to lose my father early to know how to raise my child the right way. I treat my daughter the same exact way my father treated me. I only had 14 years. So I love her everyday like there’s no tomorrow.

My relationship with my stepfather was built after my father’s death. I knew I still needed a father figure to help guide me. He was the best man at my wedding after years of bickering.

I became closer to my mother from living out in rural Piedmont away from old friends and most of my siblings had moved away. That relationship built me. My mother read westerns. Louis L’amour, Larry McMurtry. I’d read them right after she finished. Those old Time Life books about westerns in their pleather binding? I read them over a hundred times.

Mom made me fall in love with the old West. The place that calls to me all the time to this day.

She let me spend my summers in an old camper we kept in the backyard. We had an 100 foot extension cord we’d plug into the side of the house for juice. I spent my summers in solitude in that camper, reading books, creating my own little fantasy world. My mom would unplug the cord to wake me up for breakfast.

There isn’t a night while I’m camping that I don’t think about it.

Echoes= more trail markers

My rise and fall in the restaurant business. Man the bitterness that came with it.

All it supposed to be for me was a lesson in humility and transition. It saved my family.

It saved my life.

It also put my ass in the back of my truck to watch hundreds of sunrises and sets on ridges of Linville. Slowly healing me.

Solitude. Solitude I didn’t know I needed.

Slowly finding my real soul.

I would’ve never stopped drinking if I still owned a bar.

That was a tough fucking lesson for me but when I saw the trail marker peace rang in my ears like a bell. Struggle is a trail marker. It builds up your stamina for those climbs. Man does it ever.

Sobriety is the Golden Gate of all bridges. The trail marker that’s lit them all up like a strand of lights.

String theory is a thing for me. It’s taken me years to align with this.

I’ve mentioned the IG stories that created Chadcuterie.

There’s hundreds of them.

The more trail markers I observe, I pass, my pack gets lighter as it fills up with life’s essentials.

You read that right. The more love I carry the lighter it gets.

“Loves the only thing that only that ever saved my life” 🎶

Literally all you need my friends.

That’s a free trail marker from me to you.

Life’s beautiful yall.