Enter university. I had a real tough time adjusting to university. For the first time in my life, my best no longer got me to the top of the class. By standards, I was doing well, but not in the way I was used to before.
The big fish was taken out of the little pond, placed into an ocean, where I had to compete with the sharks. Most people adjust, but for me, the perfectionist, this transition took longer.
In my second year at Queen’s University, I had a panic attack because I realized I hated what I was studying, felt majorily inferior, and couldn’t really sleep at night.
I had a sit-down with one of my professors, and he asked me what my happy-place was. The answer? You’re probably starting to put the pieces together by now, but yep, my happy place was in the kitchen (save your woman/sandwhich jokes for someone else).
The kitchen was one place where I could screw-up royally, and it didn’t really bother me. I mean, yah sure, my ego takes a little bit of a blow, but deep down, a mistake is an opportunity to get it right next time.
I ended up taking my professors advice and created a medium to help me seek refuge from my academic struggles.
By third year, I found my groove, and stuck around for another year to graduate (with honors). It was around this time when it became clear that I wanted to go to culinary school.
The strangest part in all of this, is that even though deciding to go to culinary school feels right, I’ve spent the last few months trying to sell my friends and family on this idea. Some are extremely supportive, but most are extremely skeptical– I think I’m going to have to go with my gut feeling on this one.
Over the next two years, I’m going to be doing that whole ‘following my heart’ bit; the idea is to prove to a lot of people that its not a mistake to do so.
Wish me luck. Culinary school, here I come