Between the Lines: The Unwritten Education of Our Twenties

There's a strange kind of clarity that shows up in your seventies. Not in the 'I've got it all figured out' way, but more like a long view finally coming into focus. I look back and think: How did I make it through all of that without knowing what I know now? And also: What even is it that I know now

At 21, I found myself divorced with a small son to raise. Everything I thought I knew about adulthood shattered overnight. That moment wasn't just a change of status; it was an existential crisis that forced me to become both a parent and a person simultaneously. I wasn't ready, but who ever is? I wonder: When was your first moment of realizing life wasn't going according to plan?

If my 20s had a soundtrack, it would be the clatter of a kitchen and the swish of a paintbrush. I left home in July 1972, right after high school. My mom was a nurse, and I'd been a latchkey kid before that term even existed. I call it a free-range childhood. That independence would soon be tested in ways I never imagined.

The Chef: Survival and Leadership Under Pressure

My culinary journey began that very summer I left home, at the Gold Rush Plaza Cafe in Auburn. Then, at 19, I moved on to The Red Balloon Coffee Shop, a pivotal place where I met my first wife, who would become the mother of my son. Our relationship developed quickly, and in August, we hurriedly moved to Santa Barbara together. That's when I started at Vista Del Monte, and my professional kitchen career truly took off.

The environment at Vista Del Monte was intense. I picked things up fast because I had to. Hesitation meant getting burned, literally and figuratively. I didn't like being told something twice because in that environment, second chances were rare luxuries.

The stakes kept rising. Each new kitchen, UCSB Student Housing, Westmont College, and Westlake Hospital demanded more from me. I wasn't just cooking; I was becoming responsible for other people's livelihoods. By the time I was drafted into management at the Fontainblu Kitchen due to a chef shortage, I was making decisions that affected dozens of employees, with almost no formal training.

The culmination came when I took over the kitchen at Cate School. They were hemorrhaging money, losing hundreds of thousands. The ultimatum was clear: turn it around or we'll outsource everything. The pressure was immense. Everyone was watching. Within two semesters, I brought it back into the black. That victory wasn't just professional, it was personal validation that I could face a crisis and overcome it.

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The Father: Raising a Child While Raising Myself

While my career was unfolding in chaos and triumph, my personal life was undergoing its own transformation. The whirlwind romance that began at The Red Balloon Coffee Shop led to marriage, a child, and then, at 21, divorce. Suddenly, I was a single father, lost in a role I never expected to navigate alone.

In the 1970s, single fathers were anomalies. There were no support groups, no how-to guides, no models to follow. I didn't even know therapy existed as an option. Instead, I found myself desperately reading pop psychology books like I'm OK, You're OK at night, trying to figure out how to heal myself while simultaneously raising a healthy child. The stakes couldn't have been higher; every decision I made would shape another human being's life.

The logistics alone were overwhelming. Finding childcare that accommodated my schedule as a breakfast chef. Figuring out how to be present for a child when work consumed most of my morning hours. Making barely $1,000 a month meant constant financial anxiety; every unexpected expense was a potential catastrophe.

I'll never forget the day I came home from work and opened the mail to find a bill from the electric company. It stated that if I didn't have $20 by the upcoming Friday, they would turn off the power. I had a small boy at home, and we couldn't live in the dark. I called my mom, hoping for help or at least sympathy, but her response was typical: "I know you'll find a way to get it." Click.

That phone call taught me something essential: rely on no one but myself. I did find a way, probably hustled a window painting gig for cash, but the lesson stayed with me. What about you? Was there a moment when you realized you were truly on your own?

The Artist: Finding Identity Beyond Survival

In the midst of this daily struggle for financial and emotional survival, something unexpected emerged: my artistic side. What began as painting teachers' classrooms in high school for spare change became a lifeline to a different version of myself.

When I arrived in Santa Barbara and saw those blank storefront windows during Fiesta and Solsti