I’m at my wife’s parents’ house in Columbia, Missouri right now. It’s the day after Christmas. For the first time in nearly 8 months, I’ve been away from Joe Momma’s for three days in a row.
That didn’t keep me from working today. I brought paperwork up here that needed to be organized and I made phone calls that I needed to make and worked on ad designs in the car the whole way up here.
I’ve also slept more than I ever thought possible. I fell asleep at 7pm tonight. No reason.
So much has happened with my life and with the restaurants in the last several months. There are some great stories and some that are boring.
My mom thinks I should write a book about it all. Maybe I should. Sadly, this is the first time I’ve had time to write anything that didn’t have to do specifically with the day to day operations of the restaurant and now that I’ve started I don’t really know what to say.
It’s open. It’s crazy. It’s fun. It’s a ton of work.
I was telling Julie on the way up here that working on our business is not like working for someone. If I had a real job and someone expected me to work 100 hours in a week, I’d laugh in their face. I’d tell them about how I have a family.
For some reason, I’ve made attachments in my mind about the restaurant that justify the work. They make it not so bad and they make the time away from my wife and kid somehow more excusible in the moment. I think to myself about how I’m building something for the future of my family. I think about how it will all be worth is someday, when I’m less busy and am therefore able to reap the rewards of freedom that owning my own business is supposed to offer.
I hope I’m right. I miss my wife. I miss my boy.
The past few months have been interesting. They’ve matured me. They’ve made a more hardened business man out of a guy who is known for being laid back and playful. I find myself hoping that I haven’t lost the things that made this fun. I find myself becoming the things I swore I wouldn’t. I don’t want to be separated from my staff. I don’t want them to fear me. There just seems to be this thing in our world that says if you’re ever goofy, or childlike, you can’t be taken seriously. I find myself feeling like I have to prove my intelligence, my capability, my hard-assness…to my staff, my partners, my subcontractors, and my neighbors. It’s as if they will not…absolutely will not respect me until I’ve shown them that I mean business…and when you mean business, you definitely don’t smile.
…and I hate that.
I’m very big. I’m taller than most everyone and I’m bigger than them too. I am an overwhelming person. I have a deep voice and an expressive face. I can be a bear. When I’m pissed, I imagine that I’m scaring the shit out of people. They get more defensive towards me than they might towards others and they sure as hell get scared. Knowing this, I try to temper the times I act angry. I know that the sheer size of me makes that a bad idea in a place where people need to be happy and secure in order to do a good job. It’s made for some interesting occurrences already. I simply don’t get to be stressed, even though I have the right to be the most stressed out person in the building. I don’t get to be frustrated, even though things not going well have a direct effect on me and my family. I don’t get to be tired, even though I’m working more than anyone else. I have to fake happy, easy going, chill. . . because the mood I’m in is obvious and contagious.
I’m doing okay. I’m optimistic. Things are going well and are getting better all the time. I should be praying for peace and energy and continued resolve. If it occurs to you, you can join me.
Thanks for reading.
