The Stars and the Cookie Jar

I've been very fortunate; I've been able to investigate a lot of career paths and I have the luxury right now of time to consider what I want and where I'd like to go in life. And I've kind of snuffled lazily around this for a while, but I think I've made a decision about the next ten years or so. I don't want to be a prep cook in anyone's restaurant, and I don't want to return to graduate school. I'm sure I'd like to fall feet-first into a baker's apprenticeship, but I'm not going to relocate us to a bread city like San Francisco, be impoverished and underslept and unhealthy while I work for four or five years at getting it right, and never see my wife except for three hours in the evening. That doesn't mean I'm not passionate about sourdough or the way my brunoises look. It doesn't mean I don't want to be a writer. I've just been restless over the past few months, as I've felt my focus shifting.

And the shocking conclusion is this: I want to go where we need to go and do what I need to do to provide for my wife and a (hopefully) growing family. This is what I want. To do. With my life. This is what makes me happy. Rubs my Buddha. You get the idea.

Holy shit.