More
than a decade ago, there were thoughts bouncing around in my head
about whether or not I was world famous. Mind you, I had no actual
delusions about world fame. I was just pondering an item or two.
Making some connections between a few provided dots.
A
food truck parked at the side of the road in rural any town claims
world famous fries. Says it on the sign they placed nearby. World
famous fries. If I can see that I sold copies of a book in America,
Canada, England and Australia, it would seem to me that my works
have been purchases around the world. Can’t I legitimately wonder
about how those results speak of my efforts when the food truck
offers it in support of theirs?
There
used to be an old Hollywood joke that was built along the lines
of being ready for your closeup. From Instagram to TikTok, it
sure feels like people are prepping for their closeups, and trying
to be ready no matter when the call arrives. Turn on the lights
and capture our best sides because this matters.
Unless
it doesn’t.
A
few years ago, I had the chance to talk to someone that you might
consider a celebrity chef. Our conversation turned to favorite
meals and what she’d really love to eat, and she jokingly offered
up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Now, it wasn’t that she
wanted peanut butter and jelly specifically, but rather what it
symbolized. Her calendar was filled with special occasions that
showcased filet mignon and lobster. Shrimp and scallop appetizers.
All of this followed by apologies whenever she dined at someone’s
home about how the meal might not be up to her expectations. Apologies
which she felt was, well, let’s call it manure.
Manure
because the reality was she loved food so much that she loved
it on any level. It was part of something more. Providing for
each other. A welcoming of sorts into a community. Family and
friendship. It didn’t need to be glamorous. It just needed to
be authentic, because the reality and the moment were far more
important than the perceived value of the ingredients.
Twist
that, if you can, into what gets presented to us day after day.
People aren’t living their best life. Far from it. They’re presenting
what they think will impress us as a best life, though behind
the scenes the world is nothing like it appears.
A
few months ago, I was in my house late in the day. I was working
on something or other, had been busy all day, and really was a
mess. Before bed, I planned on getting something to eat, taking
a shower and relaxing for a bit. I just hadn’t worked out the
order things would take place on the way to bed.
I
made a cup of hot chocolate, with the intention being to bring
it to the living room and watch some television. Something, maybe
a light on or an item to put away, adjusted my journey down the
hall. As I moved from the added stop to the living room, I found
myself walking directly toward a mirror at the end of the hall.
Dirty
shirt and sweatpants. Hair mussed up and out of place from the
sweaty work and cap I had been wearing. A mug of cocoa in my hand.
The sight was funny in all sorts of ways, but I didn’t really
care. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. I was comfortable. (A
BeReal notification did not go off at that moment.)
I’ve
come to admire that food truck. Their fries and their world fame.
Not because I crave them, want to share them with friends, or
ever need to stop by the road at their location again. But because
they just flat out said it. They didn’t try to hide it with truffle
oil, shaved parmesan and candles with linen napkins. Nope. Picnic
table near the truck, packets of ketchup and a community use bottle
of vinegar. Big old sign. World famous.
I
did invite that chef over to my house to join my family and friends
for a meal some day. (Hopefully my peanut butter sandwiches will
be a bit better than the food truck fries.)