I spent two years trying to be a businessman. Spreadsheets, pitch decks, a LinkedIn that made me sound like I had it figured out. I didn't.
The ideas weren't even bad. I just felt nothing working on them. Like I was doing homework for a class I never signed up for.
Every night I would come home and cook dinner. And those thirty minutes were the only part of the day that felt like me. I didn't think much of it at the time. I thought it was just how I unwound.
It wasn't.
I kept chasing things that looked good on paper and wondering why I felt empty. Took me longer than I want to admit to realize I already knew what I wanted. I just kept talking myself out of it because it didn't look serious enough.
The kitchen always felt serious to me though. Always did.