To Adriana, my LBs Rob and Alex, and all the underdogs. Thank you for the inspiration.
Imagine a vast and well-gated community. Its interior inhabited by millions of people. Bounded not by the grandeur of Roman pillars, but by concrete walls composed of Suffering and Doubt. Ambition rarely penetrates here. Motivation is more fleeting than wisps of cigarette smoke. Casts of grey clouds hover above the neighborhoods below where every Monday and Friday are garbage day. Being driven is a social stigma because the best view is believed to be in hindsight. Peeking at the mountainous terrain as it fills up the rear-view mirror, it is realized they are merely landfills of tossed dreams surrounding the community. Every inhabitant speaks tongues of past-tense verbiage and pretends to be of assistance. The neighbors across the street are more artificial than breasts in Miami and the ingredients of the store-bought cookies you ate last week combined. If anything, sulking is free. Pressing the snooze button on your alarm clock is common societal practice. Best of all, there is no pain to be felt or inflicted. Broken hearts and failures need not apply.
Welcome to the cookie
cutter life, a life not of your own command. A life pre-determined for those
who choose to play it safe and not become who they desire to be. Where
snoozing is not losing. Maybe you know a resident or two. Although home in the cookie cutter life is far from permanent, the majority voluntarily stay behind.
The kitchen was my Holy Mecca, my Taj Mahal...my place of absolute comfort. The smell of sautéing garlic and onions, a favorite aroma, brings forth memories of Saturday mornings when my parents would cook for the family gathering to take place later in the afternoon. From the moment I could use my parents' kitchen stove, I would hone in my would-be chef skills. The Food Network was the bible and I listened intently to the prophets: Emeril, Alton Brown, and Ming Tsai just to a name a few. You would think my life was destined to be in the kitchen, but obviously it never unraveled that way. In my early to mid-twenties, I was scared. Very scared. My peers were off and running. Some transplanted themselves to other states and countries, some were already 1-2 years deep into their careers, and others seemed so sure of what they wanted out of life. Me? I had an idea. A slight fuzzy idea, perhaps. Yet there I was, without an ounce of courage to step out of my comfort zone and pursue it. I often wasted time, day-dreaming and wondering, how they did it.
What traits do they possess?
What "it-factor" do they have?
And guess what. I
realized there is no damn formula. There is nothing characteristically
different from me to them. What separates the successful from the unsuccessful is fear. Yada yada. Cliché, I get it. Fear is always self-inflicted,
but where does it really stem from because life is good until someone or
something hurts you. It is pain. Thus, the natural tendency to avoid pain
frequently occurs within us at all costs. Whether it be avoiding heartbreak in
a relationship because of a previous experience or knowing not to pet the
neighborhood porcupine again. Fear of pain is a paralyzing instinct. It vice
grips our potential like when "Shaquille holds a pill". It is those
who choose to fight through pain that become the most successful, regardless of
the outcome. I think I realized this when looking back to an encounter with an
advisor during my reckless days at UCF. She had told me to pick another major
and that I had not a fighting chance of getting accepted into professional
school. Oh, what Mike Tyson-esque haymakers to my ego those words were. I had
never been so butt-hurt. I walked out of that office entrenched in
embarrassment and completely discouraged. To be fair on her advising duties, my
grades were shittier than taco bell toilets at 2am. What a feeling it was. Felt
it right down to my core. For the next few years, I found myself unsure of what
I wanted to do. Cowering back to my comfort zone was the safest and least painful
route I knew to take. My dreams were tossed, temporarily, to the side.
Pain is a good thing
sometimes. Pain brings you down to Earth. Pain reminds that you are human and
can teach you many things. Most importantly, pain is not meant to last. I
remember my first burn in the kitchen. Or the first time slicing a finger. Did
that stop me from finessing the kitchen? Hell no. Much like sprained ankles to
an athlete, these things are simply inevitable. If you are true to the game,
these should never stop you. Fear should never stop you. January 2014 was the
time I decided that I was no longer going to be bounded by fear...fear of
failure, fear of hearing what I did not want to hear, fear of being hurt. Best. Decision. Period.
Today, I am literally living out my wildest dreams. Chicago? Optometry school? I could not have fathomed this to be remotely possible if you were to ask me where I would be right after that dreadful encounter with the advisor. I am in a major city, pursuing to become the first doctor in my family, and living down a few blocks from my niece. The cookie cutter life seemed like a sweet deal before, but a facade it truly was. The once insurmountable walls of Sorrow and Doubt can crumble down when you become aware, alert, and conscious of the undeniable fact that Fear and Pain are products of your imagination. So, wake up! ⏰
Clean out your baking
pans.
Dust off your whisks.
Measure out your flour,
eggs, butter, and sugar.
And turn up the heat.
It's like the old saying, "You are what you eat".
If you know exactly what’s being put in, then you will know exactly the result.
Why live in fear when you can live out your wildest dreams instead? Food always
tastes better when you make it yourself. Fuck fear. Fuck the cookie cutter life
and bake your own damn cookies! 🍪
In thy words of Big Sean: "One time for all my n****s that dreamed it then real-lifed it"
