The logistics associated with my culinary adventure rivals the strategic inner-workings of an Amazon fulfillment center. I have plotted and mapped routes, analyzed costs, and woven a delicate plan of care for my son who accompanies me for the first time this week. The rain, however, also accompanies us bringing airport delays and reducing the durability of my plan to the strength of wet paper.

During the weekday, I had returned to the office to draft presentations, whiteboard plans, and review the works produced from the steady motion of 5 sets of hands. At night, with less than a 1 oz. ladleful of energy left to offer, I wrote a paper on the history of black pepper and researched the prevention of food borne illnesses. I practiced knife cuts on potatoes and onions that were cooked into a warm stew that we ate for dinner. The excitement of what was in front of me felt dim compared to the tiredness of my eyes. I wondered if this endeavor was pure madness. And yet, I’m here at the airport waiting for our flight to board and tomorrow I will put on my uniform propelled by a spirit I cannot touch, and see what the day brings.

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