No Reservations

I’ve had a recurring dream lately. But it doesn’t come in the evening. I have it during the day when I’m serving lunch. The dream revolves around security, success, and happiness, what they mean, and how they’re related.

Security is something we’d all like to have. It comes early for some, and for others, late. Some find it easily, while others labor relentlessly for just a small piece of the pie. When you have it, there’s less need to worry. I wonder about the importance of security, and if it comes at a price.

Success is harder to figure out. Perhaps it’s a moving target. If you do what you want, how and when you want, and don’t struggle, you have success atmo. My observation is folks have an easier time judging the success of others than they do their own.

Happiness is the most important meal of the day component. It’s a condition more tied to the heart than to the head. It can’t be planned, or quantified, or even deconstructed. You’re either happy or you’re not. Unlike being secure or successful or pregnant, you can’t be almost happy.

Practice, perseverance, and paying attention have given me a lens that makes hindsight easy. I can second guess, have an opinion, and take it all less seriously. Sooner or later, the taking it seriously stuff and the bleeding for your art attitude vaporizes. And when it does, you’re left in your own courtroom as both the jury and the judge.

It’s easy to confuse a busy place with one having security and success. The struggle may stay in the kitchen, but it affects the mood in the front of the house. It’s a high price to pay, and a check I’m happy to delay writing.

We can’t pick our dreams, but if we could, I’d wait all night for this one: To wake up and have a single reservation. Not four hundred and one of them. Or even twenty one. Just one. When the table is cleared, I’d set it again. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

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