A Love Letter to My Industry
It’s been a decade long love. Longer really, but let’s not show our age.
When we first met, people talked shit about you, my parents didn’t approve, friends laughed between themselves as they clasped hands and intertwined their fingers with nine to five day jobs and overwhelming student debt. But you lit something inside of me. You saw me for me. You saw the scattered flight pattern of a bird trying to navigate the world outside her nest. You were the wind that carried me through the years. You were bright and enticing. You were flirtatious and seductive. You were laughter and cups running over. You were relationships and connection, you were the opportunity to heal in others what we saw in ourselves. Fruitful and generous. A costume to be donned. A stage. You were the best parts of me, being pulled outwardly, like a magician with an endless score of ribbon tugged from a black hat. Hand over hand you brought forward generosity, service, performance, warmth.
But here I stand, 12 years dedicated entirely to you and with what feels like so little to show for it. I always said I wasn’t the marrying kind but I chose you and in an instant you became vapour. Not a single wedding band in sight to prove that our love was real. Now those kids who sniggered may not be debt free but they have a piece of paper to show for it and isn’t that more than I’ll ever have?
How do I quantify the ways you transformed me? How do you tally the skills I acquired through my love for you? How do I turn this skill set into a form of currency the rest of the world values? Is there a place for a lover like me? One with no fancy certificate but a decade of experience in knowing people, growing people, loving people, serving people?
It scares me how fallible we were without even knowing it. Charging forth gallantly, emitting an Edison globe glow, showcasing a bright, warm landscape of flavours and textures, experiences and adventures. Was I just your Pied Piper? A poster girl with Stockholm syndrome? Encouraging the next generation of bartenders to discard their societal expectations and natural body clock? I would never flatter myself but I can’t help but feel partly responsible for standing on the shores of our industry and shouting “come on in, the waters warm”.
The week before you disappeared entirely, I watched as you began to crumble, slowly at first, then more quickly, panic stricken, spending more time holding tight to a facade that said we were ok, instead of preparing for the inevitable. You must have been terrified. I grappled at the edges, trying to hold on desperately to what I could. Trying to find a life raft to cling to. But my financial security, independence, self worth, it all slipped through my hand like a wine glass at 2am after a few too many. And then a butterfly flapped its wings in New Mexico and overnight our world shut down. Our streets deserted, our venues desolate. No last shift to pay homage to the blood, sweat and tears that we had poured into our homes with our families. You couldn’t even give me a final goodbye. I never strayed. I was faithful to you for 10 years. Sure I would daydream of different lovers, of a different life but I stayed true. Committed. And in my hour of need where are you? I gave you everything and you ghosted me.
Overnight you disappeared and here I stand, swearing that you were real. That what we had was real. That I have grown and learnt after all this time. That what I have to offer is worth something. That I am worth something.
I know I’m angry but surely you are too. You have every right to be. Resentment aside, I can see why you must feel betrayed. We were in the trenches together you and I, helping to sew together the city’s people. Looking back at the impact you had on me, on us, on our town, I can’t help but wonder... were you the fabric, the thread or the stitch that pulled us all together? How did it feel to never be taken completely seriously? To be discarded? To be so undervalued?
The love was real but when has love ever been enough? How much of ‘us’ was an active decision? At what point did we choose each other and at what point did I just start putting one foot in front of the other? Overwhelmed by so much going on that it felt easier to robotically go left foot right foot, one job after the other, shit pay, too many hours? Because let’s be honest with ourselves, starting over again is scary, the fear of the unknown on the other side, risking it all seemed foolish. Braver people have stayed.
Baby, it was real, we know this, but will we know when to call it? How many hangovers? How many anxiety attacks? How many people trying to make me go home with them when I want to stay there with you? How many times do I need to walk into a room and you stop talking? How much more gossip? How many opportunities can you be presented with, opportunities to do the right thing, only to dissolve into dark once again? How many times before I just realise that maybe the good doesn’t outweigh the bad anymore? And maybe baby, maybe you’re just no good for me.
But relationships take work and I would be a fool to pretend that you didn’t meet me halfway. You flew me to countries, introduced me to people I would never have the chance to meet otherwise, gave me a seat at the table. You helped me find my voice. I forged relationships with people that I unequivocally know will last a lifetime. Your friends became my friends and should we split, I’m keeping them. You soothed me when I exasperated how there was just no way I could ever work in an office. You cajoled me when the idea of boarding a train at 7am and 6pm felt like a death sentence. The walls of normalcy and complacency made me feel so terrifyingly claustrophobic and you were there patiently waiting, arms outstretched. Offered in a maze of ever changing rosters, night shift work, summer days spent spooled out on the balcony. You were there in the sun, kissing my cheeks on a deserted beach on a Thursday morning. In my favourite cafes being comfortably quiet, grocery stores easily maneuvered, post office queues shortened, a lack of competition vying for the bank tellers attention on a Tuesday mid afternoon.
I realise now, after all these years, I’ve been my own worst enemy- too tongue tied to speak the truth I was so desperate to name. I think I know now, babe, what I want- I really think I’m ready to take our relationship to the next level. I want the real romance of the simple life; the butt naked authenticity that comes with the comfortability of time- stability, forever sprinkled with adventure, you know? The kind that gets you up in the morning, driven by passion, even after a 3am close. I want my passion reflected in my bank balance- the fruits of my labour providing me with the security I deserve. I don’t want to spend the rest of my days overlooking, ignoring the elephant in the room- I want you to step up in the ways I need you to. I want clear and concise boundaries, and I want to hold you accountable for your actions, I want integrity. I don’t think I’m asking too much, so correct me if I’m wrong, it’s always been my nature to see the best and brightest parts of you. So here I am, laying it down- if you can find it within to promise me these things, or that at the very least you’ll try, every day I will wake up choosing to love you. Warts and all.
Because the road less travelled could be safe and secure but I refuse to think that our life can’t be both of those things and more. It’s going to be different this time baby, I swear.