Crisis? What crisis?

I first thought of opening a sandwich shop years ago. A good sandwich can be hard to find. Also, lots of people eat lunch. But I prize what I call my ‘autonomy.’ I’ve hesitated. Running a small business is a crazy lot of work. The door has to open every morning. And yet, while enjoying my ‘autonomy’ these past twenty years, I’ve been booked solid six days a week. In my ‘free’ autonomous moments, I’ve been bound to studying projects and problems assigned by my career. My autonomy is, in fact, a fiction. It always will be.

The cold truth is I’m going to work for somebody. I think I’d like to work for customers, but it’s scary. I’ve never opened a small shop. I’ve never served food to the public. I don’t really feel like a nice guy. The picture of ‘happy cook’ doesn’t easily come to me.

Still, I do try to be a nice guy. Plenty of people say that I am. I know I need company, and I’m awkward about pursuing it. With a handful of staff and a bunch of customers, I’m pretty sure I’ll have someone to talk to. I care about my work. I want to please. I won’t be selling you a sandwich if it isn’t a good one. And so on and so on.

I could fret like this forever. My current income is just fine. It’s big scary stuff: rearranging everything I do. But of course my skin is wrinkling and my hair is turning gray, and it turns out my ‘fine income’ isn’t being applied to savings. My ‘fine income’ commitments will end in ten years, and Gosh! I’ll have no income at all.

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