MEAT

The next table. The next chef. The next story.

The tee. Limited. First drop.

Nine years. Walking, calling, talking, going into places I once stood outside of — too afraid to walk in. I held back. I didn't want anyone to see me. And the thought of being around other people, in those rooms, felt like I didn't belong — like my presence alone might offend someone.

But I kept going.

And I've seen it through every set of eyes.

The host — smile on, battles hidden. The bartender — serious on the surface, something softer underneath. The chef — always running. Toward something or away from it, hard to tell. And the owner — for some, this is the dream they've been chasing their whole life. Between the concept and the first night of service, there are surprising setbacks nobody warned them about. Things you only discover when you're already in it — and by then, you just have to keep going. And then there are those for whom this isn't the first time. The challenge shifts — can we top what we built before? For some, yes. For others, the second chapter never quite finds the same room.

This book is for all of them.

Some childhoods are easy. Mine wasn't.

This is not a story of what I was taught. It's a story of what I lived, what I felt, what I figured out along the way.

Becoming something not learned — but explored, experienced, and still learning as I go.

Nobody celebrates the small stuff. But the small stuff is everything.

Getting out of bed when you're depressed. Getting through the meeting you were nervous about. Taking the first step toward something you've been putting off. Making a new friend. Or just that you kept meating.

This is for the ones who showed up today — even when showing up was the hardest thing they did.