Service

What the kitchen taught me about holding it all together.

There’s a moment in service where everything starts to slip.

The toast is catching, the eggs are going over, someone is talking to you, and you’re trying to remember what was meant to go on which plate.

You’re standing in the heat, juggling pans, trying not to burn anything, trying not to forget anything.

There’s a rhythm to it when it works. A kind of dance between two people in a small space, moving around each other, knowing what needs to happen next without saying it.

But when something goes wrong - and it always does - it throws everything.

You have to pivot. Adjust. Find a way to bring it back. All while smiling, answering questions, being calm, being warm. And underneath it all, you’re running through ten things at once. Trying to keep everything from slipping.

And lately, I’ve realised that life feels a bit like that too.

The constant interruptions. The noise. The feeling of never quite finishing anything. Trying to be calm, present - while inside you’re juggling a hundred moving parts. Trying to be everything to everyone, without dropping anything.

Calm on the outside. Paddling furiously underneath.

And maybe that’s just what this season is. Not perfect. Not calm. But somehow, still holding together.