It started out innocently enough. Fresh out of school and brimming with knowledge, working a great internship-turned-job, taken under the wing of an amazing pastry chef, and making contacts all over the industry. Living the highlife, I thought, with one fist pumping the air in victory and the other gripping life by the balls. I was on top of the world. Then, I caught a glimpse of her: a stunning vixen leaning back against the bar- my dream. My eyes locked onto her and I stared, captivated by her beauty, her perfection- everything I wanted, everything I strove for, and hoped to achieve embodied there in that one perfect vision.
And wouldn’t you know it, she was staring right back at me…
“If it seems too good to be true…” a faint voice echoed from the back of my mind, “then you’re probably still sober.”- Words of caution from a chef instructor of mine. I realize now, of course, that she was right, but at the time her advice went both unheeded and misunderstood. Drunk as I was on ambition and idealism, I watched as my dream cut a languid path toward me, and saw only perfection: her radiant gaze blazing with the promise of success; lurid lips whispering all of my achievements to come; and her hips swaying like the inexorable tick of a clock, assuring me that her arrival into my arms was only a matter of time. Even as she drew closer- almost close enough to reach out and touch, before sliding past me and strolling off in the most flirtatious of ways- even then, I caught only the sweet scent of victory rolling past me in her wake.
Had I been a bit more sober at the time, a bit more humble, I’d have seen that old cougar for what she was- desperate, attention seeking, preying on the young and foolish, and with no intention to deliver on the seductive promises she gave out so freely. But no, ambition is one hell of a drug, and I was blind, stumbling, non-verbal drunk on the stuff. So up I stood, and off I went, to chase after that hopelessly immaculate dream, and to hell with anything that would stand in my way.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I fully support and encourage people to strive for the loftiest goals that their minds can conjure. Aim high, aim often, aim for your every desire, and anyone that tries to deride you be damned. However, you should at the very least give some thought to those goals, and to whether achieving them is actually possible.
I didn’t.
My aspirations were filled only with the most perfect of lies, flawless in every aspect but their absolute impossibility. That last little detail eluded me, however, either through willful ignorance or youthful arrogance- likely both- and I was left chasing after something that simply could not be caught. Anytime I came close, I managed to convince myself that I was not quite close enough, and I’d push on, push harder, push past where I was and on to the next place, desperately hoping to finally catch up with her. I never did, of course, but that never stopped me from trying. Even once I recognized the impossibility of my pursuit, I still kept at it- too conceited to admit how foolish I had been; too proud to stop and admit defeat- I am nothing if not stubborn.
Though my drive and ambition pushed me far in the industry, with each goal I achieved there came a twinge of disappointment. That old cougar would slide up beside me, and coo into my ear how much better things would be if only I’d leave with her, follow her somewhere else. Inevitably, I would tilt my head back, drink deep that ambition until she looked good again, then stand with the unassailable confidence of a drunk, and agree. And damn it, each and every time her response was the same:
“Go on ahead,” she’s purr, “I’ll catch up with you.”
~ZtB
No comments:
Post a Comment