What’s in a name?

My name is Trista and I am an artist, but one of words. Coincidentally, my name is an anagram for artist. While I’ve had many nicknames, from “Triscuit” to “TT,” I find that my name, and the descriptive noun within my name, best defines me. It’s original. I like to think I’ve avoided an ordinary life. I grew up creating comic books of imaginary worlds with my brother and sister and writing short stories of my own. I went to a small college, moving away from every friend I had made in my home city of Asheville, NC (a place of many oddities).

My passion for music is impossible to match. I’ve traveled thousands of miles to see shows in dive bars with a $7 cover charge. I got on a plane for the first time in 2013, by myself, and spent three months studying abroad in Wales, a place that has fascinated me since I was a child. Since then, I’ve bought many plane tickets to destinations domestic and international, and I don’t have plans to stop traveling anytime soon.

I currently live in Chattanooga, and I have a home remedy for most ailments, I can write about any topic asked of me, and I love playing in the dirt. My degree in English is becoming increasingly rare among college graduates, but it has proven to be lucrative in the professional world. I’ve worked in marketing, journalism, communications, and social media, and I love learning new skills.

The traditional definition of “artist” hardly defines me because my expertise is of a different creative spectrum. Artistry is more than painting a picture with a brush; and my name is more than a name.

The Push to 8:45

If you had told me back in 2010 that Justin Leavitt and I would share a high-five over my sister’s cervix feeling like butter, I probably would have broken your nose. But as soon as the midwife told us Alisha had dilated 3cm and had a cervix ready to deliver a baby, the sharp smack of our hands together rung through the WNC Birth Center. Not much longer, and I’d be an aunt. I had timed my visit back to the mountains from Austin perfectly.

Now let me back up and explain why I was even with them at their midwife appointment. Because that’s a little weird, I know. I got a text from Alisha on October 2nd that said:

So, really good chance our little dude will come while you’re here. I know we had talked a bit about it before, but are you still planning on helping with the birth/being there? The only people we will have there is a midwife, nurse, and hopefully our photographer. You’re the only other person we are allowing!! If you do want to, it would be great to have you there for encouragement/support, phone pics and videos, and maybe just a helping hand for Justin. If you don’t want to, we totally understand. :Heart Emoji:

To which I replied:

YES. I WANT TO. Thank you!! Oh my goodness. :Sob Emoji:

I really didn’t know what I was getting into. Just that I was honored to be asked to be part of such a huge life moment. So when I got to Asheville, I made myself available to do everything they needed. And I went to the appointments leading up to the birth so I could gain a better understanding of what this natural birth thing was all about. No amount of sitting in on appointments can prepare you for go-time, though. And as labor support, you have to be at 100% there for mama and baby.

Good thing Oliver took us all into consideration when he decided it was time to make moves around midnight. Alisha did as much home labor as possible, and when it was time to go, Justin woke me up. We were on our way to the birth center by 2:30 AM.  As soon as we got there, Angie, the midwife, checked Alisha’s dilation. She was at 9.5cm. I’m sorry, but that’s insane. You don’t just wait to seek attention until you’re half a centimeter away from popping a baby out! Women are incredible, and my sister is no exception here.

The birth room is set up as follows: A bed like you’d see in any bedroom, not a sterile hospital one, a small pool for water birth, a recliner, and a bathroom with a shower. Because all women are different, and their bodies tell them different ways to push a baby out, the goal of a birth center is to provide multiple options for laboring. And yeah, we used every option.

When I walked into the room (after being sent to whatever store happened to be open so we could have nourishment) Alisha was having intense contractions. She couldn’t talk through them, and Justin was holding her as she stood, clinging onto his shoulders and letting out a deep moan. It was immediately a rush of adrenaline. The kind of adrenaline you get when you know you have to be available and you can’t break your focus — no matter what. Her standing contractions quickly turned into pool contractions. This is where I entered the scene. Justin was in the pool with her, applying counter-pressure to her hips between each painful cycle. I was squatting or kneeling by the pool, her hands gripping mine each time a contraction began. At one point, I thought she was going to break my wrist.

What was truly amazing to me at this point was how infrequently the nurse and midwife were interfering with her labor. They just let her do what she needed to do. And I know she couldn’t have listened to her body so intently had she been given an epidural. Also during this time, Justin and I were reading Alisha’s affirmations she hand-wrote to keep up her confidence during labor. These are the things you don’t see at a hospital birth. It’s such a different atmosphere of care.

—

After a few dozen heightened contractions and Alisha feeling like she needed to start pushing, but with no sign of baby, we moved to the shower. Using two shower heads and a birthing ball, we tried a few other positions to get baby Oliver moving down. This didn’t last long, though; Alisha preferred the pool. So back to the underwater contractions we went. This time she was grabbing my arms and most certainly creating bruises that would show up later and remind me of the excruciating, beautiful pain.

Between each contraction, an affirmation and a sip of water. Sometimes Alisha would speak up, and these are the times my heart broke. She said:

I’m so tired. I can’t do this.

This is so scary.

How close is he?

I’m so tired.

I’m so tired.

Affirmation. Heartbreak. Affirmation. Heartbreak. Affirmation. Affirmation. Affirmation.

Can you imagine how scary it is, knowing you’re pushing a human through your body? Alisha was feeling every emotion, and with good reason. The fact that she pushed through all of it proves just how strong she is. The moments of fear didn’t show weakness; they showed a real, vulnerable human moment, and made Oliver’s birth that much sweeter.

To get us closer to his birth, the midwife decided it was time to step in and do a cervix check. I think this was around 6AM, but I can’t be sure. Everything became a blur.

The check went well; there were no problems with the cervix or the amniotic sac. But while they had her on the bed, on her back, they figured she should get a few pushes in. Ya know, just to see if that’d encourage Oliver to come out. So I sat on the right of Alisha, Justin on the left. The midwife and nurse were by her feet, monitoring the pushes, applying pressure, and watching for any sign of baby. Every time she had a contraction, she was told to hold her legs back, take a cleansing breath, take a deep breath in, hold it and puuuuuuuuush. Angie told Justin and I to hold her feet back so her hips could stay as open as possible. We obliged.

This was the most intense part of labor. Every contraction, three huge pushes. Then rest. Every contraction, three primal movements, then Alisha breaking my heart.

Am I not pushing hard enough?

Is he almost here?

I’m so tired.

I don’t know if I can do this.

Sorry.

Sorry for being sorry.

I’m so tired.

Every contraction, I did three huge pushes with her. I cried over her. I held her head and wiped her down with a cool cloth. I made knowing eye contact with Justin. We were not doing well watching her in this much pain.

But then we started to see his head poke out more and more. The tiny bits of hair first. “So much we could make a man bun,” said Lisa, the second midwife to come in. His head was getting through, no matter how impossible it looked to me and Justin. I mean, I’m going to be honest here, vaginas shouldn’t stretch that much. It was surreal. All we could do was tell her to push and start to understand why people say childbirth is a miracle.

He’s close. He’s really close.

Every push brings you closer to Oliver.

Clary Sage was rubbed on her belly to make the contractions stronger. Balance essential oil on her feet to give her strength and clarity. Lavender wafted throughout the room to calm her. Olive oil and more olive oil. Sips of water.

I don’t know if mine and Justin’s tears helped at all, but she was getting those, too. I was crying for a few reasons: I have NEVER wanted to see my little sister in that much pain, I was frustrated that he wasn’t just coming out like so many of them did in the birthing videos we watched, and I was exhausted. So many times I thought I was doing the wrong thing. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if I was helping or being annoying. I didn’t have a rulebook. As important as preparation is when you’re asked to be labor support, it’s still something you don’t really know how to do until you do it. Especially since every birth is different.

Finally, at 8:45AM, Oliver’s head popped out. I still don’t know how he fit through without ripping every piece of her, but he did. Although it’s hazy, I remember looking at his face, prepping to let out those first wails of life, looking at Justin as he burst into tears, and feeling the saltwater run down my face and into my smile. They put Alisha’s hands where he would come out so she could catch him, and she immediately put him to her chest and, I’m sure, felt the biggest wave of relief she’d ever experienced. Oliver was finally here.

Some serious cleanup, hand-fed Biscuit Head, and lots of baby tears later, Alisha was smiling and snuggling with her beautiful son. You may be wondering why anyone would choose to go through that kind of pain, especially when we have modern medicine. It seems like the term “midwife” is almost archaic, despite it being a thriving field. Well, I took Alisha to All Good Coffee (the best place on the planet) and asked her why she chose this path.

The one recurring thought from her was one I hadn’t had: People go to hospitals when they’re sick. Having a baby isn’t a problem. It isn’t a sickness. It doesn’t require a sterile, metal room. The mother should be comfortable and able to listen to her body. There shouldn’t be beeping machines and the negative energy surrounding hospitals penetrating the first breaths of new life.

—

Now, before I go on, I want to say I’m not shaming anyone for choosing a hospital birth. Every woman listens to her body in her own way, and if a hospital birth is what you’re most comfortable with, then you should absolutely follow that path. There are many reasons and factors that go into choosing how you birth your child, and every birthing cycle is noble and beautiful and should be full of pride and joy.

But the primal approach is worth considering. For one, drugs can make the birth fuzzy. There is value in the clear, raw, unfiltered emotion of birth. There is value in feeling every bit of pressure, every sting of pain, every push, and every breath. Epidurals can cause confusion as to when to push. Narcotics make it harder for you to listen to your body. The conversation you will be having with your child can be muffled by numbness. If you’re able to forgo the pain medication and really listen to baby, it’ll create a memory that’ll never be dulled. And recovery is so much faster! Alisha was home six hours after Oliver made his big entrance into the world. That’s a big difference from the 24-48 hours, or longer, that hospitals keep you post-baby. And to have the care of a midwife and doula is without a doubt one of the biggest benefits. They are as involved as you want them to be, and their care is much more maternal in nature. The support I felt in that room had me sobbing. You simply can’t put a price on that kind of care.

At the end of the day, it is ultimately up to you to decide how you bring life into the world. There are many things to consider, and I truly believe women know what’s best in each particular instance. But if I can make just one person consider a natural birth, I’ll be happy. I haven’t been through pregnancy, but let me say, I was adamantly against the thought of having children until I witnessed Alisha’s birthing cycle. It’s such a unique moment women have the honor of experiencing.

If you gained anything from this blog post, I implore you to take a few moments to get to know the women in your life on a deeper level, whether they have children, are planning to, or are happy being childless.

And never underestimate the strength we hold.

—

Some links to learn more about natural birth:

https://www.mamanatural.com/how-to-have-a-natural-birth/

https://wncbirthcenter.com/

http://www.homegrownbabies.com/

Queer Theory Applied to “Take Me to Church” by Hozier

This was written for a course entitled Literary Criticism. I applied Queer Theory to a popular song without using any sources; I used knowledge gained through the class and no supporting texts. It was the final paper for the class, and it shows how we were able to use the content from the course and apply it to almost any medium available to us.

 In the hit song, “Take Me to Church” by Andrew Hozier-Byrne, the writer offers criticism of the current atmosphere found surrounding the LGBTQ community. While his lyrics clue the reader into the meaning of his song, the video component pulls the whole text together in order to offer a full meaning and complete commentary. Hozier (his album name) uses the church as the reference point for his criticism of the social issue, but he does not fully attack it. Rather, he uses the constructed institution to highlight the recent concerns with the community he defends; the church is at the forefront of the fight, advocating against rights for those associating as LGBTQ. Hozier used his song-writing skills and his place in popular culture to shed light on the growing issue, and he used a powerful video with the music to enhance the message.

The song opens with the lyrics, “My lover’s got humor, she’s the giggle at a funeral […].” These are rebellious words with which to begin a song. The act of giggling at a funeral is non-normative; an act of natural defiance, whether on purpose or not. Just as being solemn and somber at a funeral is a Western social construct, heterosexual relationships are seen as the norm in many societies throughout the world. The words, though not explicitly pertaining to heterosexual activity, sets the tone of the song as non-normative. The mention of a “lover” also sets the stage for a romantic song, though it cannot be labelled as a traditional “love song,” it is a song about romantic relationships. The first ten words of the song inform the reader of the romantic and rebellious tension that will be present throughout the following verses and chorus.

The theme of religion continues with the lyrics, “… I should’ve worshipped her sooner. If the heavens ever did speak, she’s the last true mouthpiece. Every Sunday’s getting more bleak, a fresh poison each week.” The use of the pronoun “she” is interesting in this context. The text can, and most commonly is, interpreted as one of commentary on the persecution of those in the LGBTQ community. If viewing the writer and the subject of the song with their prescribed gender, then the lyrics would seem to be speaking of a heterosexual relationship. However, in order to correctly apply Queer Theory, the reader must look at the non-normative activity the text holds rather than activity that is purely sexual. One must also be open to the ways in which individuals choose to identify; many LGBTQ members choose to identify with a pronoun that Society did not construct for them or prescribe. The use of “she” adds depth to the lyrics that may not be there if Hozier had used the traditional gender binary in relation to his gender and songwriting.

Hozier writes that “she,” referring to the lover, is the last true mouthpiece of the heavens. It does not matter what the church says about heaven and truth, the writer’s truth is with the relationship with a lover. At this point in the song, the audience still does not have enough clues to deem the message as one about homosexual relations. The next line, however, gives the listener an idea of more tension with the church. Saying that each Sunday is bleaker than the last proves that something in the religious institution is unsettling. A fresh poison each week wraps up the image, and the writer begins to delve into the social issue on which he is making a statement.

“’We were born sick,’ you heard them say it.” This line is the first one that effectively delivers the intended message. In many societies today, there is an ongoing conversation and debate over whether or not sexuality is something that the individual is born with, if it’s a social construct, or if it should even be considered a natural lifestyle. Many people, while they “do not agree with” the homosexual lifestyle, do come to a consensus that those living in the LGBTQ community were born with an “affliction.” These people believe that homosexuality is a sickness that can be cured with religion. Hozier makes a bold statement here, saying that those identifying as homosexual have heard that many identifying as heterosexual believe they were “born sick,” and going to church will make them healthy and natural again. To be born with an affliction sets these individuals apart. While it is not uncommon for babies to be born with natural illnesses, it is much more common to see healthy children brought into the world. An illness will immediately set an individual apart. Queer Theory identifies the traits that set individuals apart from a normative society.

The next stanza directly addresses sexual relationships. The first line, “My church offers no absolutes,” shows a deviance from the traditional church; full of absolutes, such as good and evil; heaven and hell. Hozier is asserting here that “church” is something different for him. One could say that church in this context is queer, if using the direct denotation of the word: odd or unusual. “She tells me ‘worship in the bedroom.’ The only heaven I’ll be sent to is when I’m alone with you.” These are the next lines of the song, connoting a strong sexual essence, and one in defiance of the church. Also, worthy to note here, the pronoun “she” is used in reference to church. This takes the original thoughts of a heterosexual relationship between two humans and makes it instead a hetero relationship between the church and the writer. According to many in the church, those who practice homosexual relations will not enter “heaven” in the afterlife. The writer acknowledges this and says the only heaven he will ever know is in his romantic relationship with his partner, since he will not be permitted into an eternal paradise in the afterlife. The ideas of an afterlife, of an absolute heaven and an absolute hell, are constructs of the church; though based on biblical text, it is a construct that has been torn down and rebuilt multiple times, and one that does not usually comply with people identifying as LGBTQ.

“I was born sick, but I love it. Command me to be well.” This line revisits the assigned sickness that is placed on many homosexuals. However, the writer now states that he “loves it.” The socially prescribed sickness no longer matters. His happiness in his relationships trumps the sickness that sets him apart from the “normal.” The next line feels cynical in nature. He is demanding that someone command him to be well, but we know that he does not want to perform to the standards of an assigned gender that he is not. Perhaps this is his struggle between loving his sickness/identity yet wanting to have a “normal” place in Society.

The chorus is the part of the song that offers the swiftest kick to religious institutions and Society’s set standards:

Take me to church,
I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies.
I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife.
Offer me that deathless death
Good God, let me give you my life.

The writer makes another demand here, saying “Take me to church…” and he then immediately asserts his cynicism with the next lines. He writes that he will “worship like a dog,” which is to give himself an inhuman quality. He is seen as sick, as abnormal, to those living a heteronormative life. He will not worship like a believer, or like an equal member of Society, but like a dog because those in church view him as nothing more than a dog. Hozier then writes that the worship will happen at a “Shrine of lies.” This is in reference to the claim of Western religion to be loving and accepting of everyone, but when issues, such as homosexuality, become concrete and personal to members of the church, their religion begins to falter from its true form and becomes a shrine of lies. This shrine of lies leads to the next line; once his sins are told in church, even if he wanted to “get better,” many would sharpen their hypothetical knives. Rather than love and acceptance, the church often spews hatred and disapproval. To be “queer” is to be abnormal, and Hozier is making a statement that the church will not actually accept those with a socially prescribed sickness, but rather will continue persecuting those identifying as non-binary.

“Offer me that deathless death,” could be alluding to a couple of thoughts in this context. The church will try to make the subject clean; to cleanse them of their affliction with religion and normal societal practices. To the writer, this is a form of death without physically losing life. If he/she cannot be with their partner, death is preferable. Church offers a deathless death, and in order to become normal and clean, the subject pleads, “Good God, let me give you my life.” Another interpretation could be that the subject is making the act and sensation of falling in love synonymous with a deathless death, one that consumes him and will ultimately destroy him because of his “condition” in a religiously structured environment. It is also worth noting that a deathless death is a euphemism for an orgasm. While this seems like a stretch in context of the words surrounding it, the song is about homosexual relations, and the act of sexual relations between two people of the same gender is often what deters many from accepting this lifestyle.

Another powerful stanza of the song is the following: “That’s a fine-looking high horse. What you got in the stable? We’ve a lot of starving faithful.” Hozier is using the well-known idiom of telling someone they are on a “high horse,” or that they are sitting so far above everyone else and they are not grounded in reality. He also uses the horse, another domesticated animal, to paint a picture of someone who takes care of their position in society. He says the horse is “fine-looking,” then proceeds to ask what is in the stable. He is inquiring of this because there are many faithful people to the church, though they do not fit the traditional standards, and they are starving because they are not allowed in; they are not allowed such a position in the church or in Society because of their place in the LGBTQ community. If the subject on the “high horse” would share what it is he feeds the horse (again, only a metaphorical domesticated animal but with higher importance than those starving for acceptance), then perhaps these “starving faithful” could find a place at the table and contribute to Society, despite their abnormal desires and relations.

The final section of the song to be analyzed is the bridge between the final two choruses (as used above). The lyrics here are, “No masters or kings when the ritual begins. There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin. In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene, only then I am human, only then I am clean,” followed by a string of “Amen.” God is often referred to as a transcendental deity; a master or a king. Hozier here writes that there is no religious deity present during sexual relations between lovers, hetero or homosexual. He then writes that their “gentle sin” (since sexual relations outside of marriage are viewed as a sin in most Western, Christian religions) is merely that of sweet innocence. Just as heterosexual relations outside of marriage are a “gentle sin” caused by a “sweet innocence,” homosexual relations are the same. There is nothing abnormal in their love and their desires, it is not a sickness, and it should be treated as such. Hozier then makes a statement that homosexual relations are natural as he refers an “earthly scene” and “madness and soil.” All of these are natural, just as love and desire are natural despite gender. The writer then says “Only then I am human, only then I am clean.” This line ties the whole song together. He has compared the homosexual subject of the song as a dog worshiping at a shrine of lies, trying to become “clean,” to rid himself of his affliction. Here, however, he realizes that only in this form of love and desire is he human and clean. He does not need to define himself by social constructs; when he does this, he is “like a dog,” but when he is performing in his natural state of identity and self, he is human and he is clean, free from the restraints and sickness of a life built on societal pressures.

In order to fully understand and experience the text, one must watch the video created to go along with the music. The video opens with an image of a box burning in a fire. The audience then sees the box pulled from a shelf and bound with chains, followed by a man burying it in fresh soil. The video continues to follow two men, one of whom just buried the chained box, meet alone in a place that is seemingly away from the public eye. As they are spending time together, there is a camera redirection to a man dressed in dark colors; it is obvious that he has caught sight of their secret relationship. When the chained box is taken from its spot on the shelf in the beginning of the video, the movement of the box to the soil outdoors symbolizes the relationship being “outed.” While it is clear it was not the man’s intention to out their relationship, the immediate discovery of their intimacy proves that their secret is in the open.

As soon as they kiss, the video transitions to a mob, walking with purpose, and faces covered with masks. They raid a house and search for something or someone. The video transitions between the two men kissing, the raid, and one of the men running towards the house the mob is invading. At one point, a television screen in the house shows a clip from the recent Russian protests of LGBTQ persecution. This adds extra commentary to the song, showing footage of actual societal prescriptions of gender and normative sexuality. The clips of their relationship interspersed throughout the angry montage of persecutors shows them performing in their natural state. This is a strong statement in the video; it shows how homosexual couples are not “sick,” and how their actions and desires are “normal” but with someone of the same gender rather than the traditional hetero relationship. These actions, skipping rocks, smoking, laughing, etc., are a deep contrast to the end of the video.

As the song concludes, the handful of persecutors have taken the man and the chained box he had buried. When the partner does not find the box on the shelf, he runs outside to find it has been dug up and exposed. He then runs and finds the box in the fire, destroyed by a crowbar, and his lover on the ground, being kicked by the men in the gang. There is nothing he can do, because they outnumber him. The expression of hurt on his face as he stares at the fire, at their exposed forbidden relationship and beaten partner, ends the video. The song is powerful on its own, but the video enhances the message and delves deeper into this current social issue.

When utilizing Queer Theory, one must ask how the characters of the text are being perceived, and if they are having difficulty facing any socially constructed issues. There are two individuals in the video for the song representing an entire group of people who face crises every day because of their sexuality. Andrew Hozier-Byrne wrote this song in order to raise awareness of the hypocrisy that arises in religion when institutions and Society begin constructing their own rules of what it means to be human or to love. While it does not seem as if Hozier is condemning the church, he is highlighting the underlying problems of the persecution of an entire group of people by certain religious groups and pockets of Society. The words written by this songwriter are powerful and relevant in today’s world, and while many may disagree with the message, the voice of this mistreated and underrepresented group of people is strengthening through texts such as these.

Trading the 9-5 for a tip jar

Something happened the other day. I was at work, and amongst all the lovely customers I had been serving, I saw a familiar face. A girl I had worked with, in a very limited capacity at my last office job, walked in the shop. I smiled and waved, asked how she was doing, but she wouldn’t even make eye contact with me once she realized who I was. I’m sure she recognized me, and her cold shoulder stung. It felt like I was an embarrassment to her because I traded in my desk chair for an apron and coffee-stained sneakers. I didn’t push it, though. I scooped her cup of gelato, told her to have a nice night, and tried to brush it off.

I can’t quite seem to brush it all away, though. At the shop, we have to sweep the rogue coffee grounds off the counter a lot, but no matter how much we sweep them away, it seems like more just keep appearing. That’s how this felt: the more I tried to let it go, a nagging, shameful thought would slip into my mind. It made me wonder if I should be embarrassed to be making macchiatos for people who don’t know what a macchiato is. (Seriously though, please learn what a macchiato is.) But let me tell ya, when I think about my job at The Tasty Spoon, I think of it being one of the few places in Austin I could rely on to feel like home. So, since I’ll be making my last latte next week before moving back home to the mountains, I want to tell y’all how great the past 11 months here have been.

Last March I found a job listing for help at The Tasty Spoon. I needed a long break from the 9-5. (Which was actually more like a 9-9, seven days a week, and a conduit for suicidal thoughts more than a stable work environment, but that’s another story for another time.) I instantly fell in love with the little shop on S. 1st. The feng shui here is seriously phenomenal. And I could tell immediately that Ashley and I had the same frenetic energy that could either be disastrous or wonderful. It ended up being a beautiful little mix of both. We talked about my previous work experience, which was kind of funny since I’ve worked in two ice cream shops before – I’m clearly cut out for this line of work. I also mentioned my experience in social media marketing and told her I’d be happy to help her out with all of that, too. I got a job offer pretty quickly, and by July, I was the assistant manager. Oh, and our Instagram looks stellar.

I am incredibly proud of the work I’ve put in at The Tasty Spoon. It has been messy – you should see my shoes; there’s gelato and coffee and melted red hots and dirty mop water all over ‘em. It’s been hard – the public can be difficult and competition can be mean and sometimes you might cry in the back because someone said the mango sorbet you just made tasted too mango-y. But I can say I have also served the best people in Austin. I love seeing our regulars come in, and I love when kids bring in something they drew for me, or when a customer compliments our online presence. And the small team I get to work with is just out-of-this-world incredible. I swear I haven’t met kinder folks than the sweet people I get to work with every day. We have become such a family, and that’s a very special thing to have in a workplace.

I wouldn’t trade the hours I’ve spent pouring gallons of milk into a machine for that old desk chair of mine at a company that doesn’t appreciate the hard work their employees put in. And I hate milk. Working in the service industry isn’t a lesser job than one that may be more career-driven. In fact, it has given me some much-needed perspective and experience. I highly recommend spending some time behind a coffee bar or balancing trays of food and learning what it’s like to be in a position where you have to connect, on some level, with people from all walks of life. And never assume your barista or server doesn’t want to be where they are – try to get to know them a little. Your life will become much richer.