I Won't Ask Permission to go to the Bathroom

I will never ask permission to go to the bathroom. 

That anyone else would have jurisdiction over my bodily functions is simply ridiculous. Although this decision could be attributed to my extreme stubbornness, I will give the credit to being homeschooled for my early life and the freedom that it allowed. My life is a product of the days I spent reveling in the slow time of being young and discovering my infinite infatuation with a good story. 

Let us stop here and start once more at the beginning. How does one arrange the narrative of their life? Chronologically or otherwise?  

I was young, then I wasn’t. There was a short time I learned how to play fiddle in Sweden, a chunk in public high school, a year spent delving into the the relationship between culture and cuisine, eighteen months when I woke up before the sun and prepared morning doses of caffeine for the sleep deprived, a considerable portion where I fell deeply in love with the nuances of cooking, a point when I discovered how to carry big trays of food without mishap, spent a bit traversing the globe, shook dry martinis, took up the piano, and chopped up whole fish into smaller edible pieces. 

When I asked my Dad for my first job at five years old, I experienced my first hit of delight from creating something that had value and getting paid; I’ve been an addict ever since. This addiction is the perfect fuel to propel me down this path of discovery.

Growing up, my parents bought, ran, and sold various businesses. I saw them succeed and fail, the sleepless nights, self-doubt and the knowledge they gained from these tribulations. Maybe this is why I consider myself something of a workaholic and feel the subtle allure of entrepreneurship.

It’s why I spent three and a half years working from hostess, to busser, to server, to bartender, to line chef, to sushi chef just to unravel the many facets of restaurant life. It’s why I felt compelled to pay for myself to travel the world and uncover the person I am outside of my comfort zone. It’s why I had to feel the malaise of returning home after a journey of that proportion, just to realize the importance of never settling for the ordinary. And it’s why I applied to Praxis, knowing full well that it would challenge me in ways I didn't yet comprehend. 

This brings us to the present.

This piece did not flow out of me. No, I pulled each stubborn word from my brain, fighting as I typed it. I have no doubt that this next chapter and the first line will contain similar and vastly more difficult tests. With the start of Praxis, I know that obstacles, struggles, frustrations and hopefully, refinements and successes, await me; I wouldn’t have it any other way.