Gemotions

"Mediocre," the critic had sneered, and I felt the word land like a physical blow. It was the first time I'd seen my work described in such a way, and the shame, the hurt, was overwhelming. My hands shook as I folded the newspaper and set it down.

I found myself back in the kitchen, staring at the empty stove. The usual energy of preparation was gone, replaced by a hollow emptiness. I looked at the ingredients I had prepped, the herbs I'd minced, the sauces I’d reduced. They mocked me, these perfect ingredients, and their perfection seemed to highlight my personal failings.

I wanted to run, to disappear, to hide from the judgment. But I couldn't. I had a responsibility, a commitment to my staff, my customers. Taking a deep breath, I reached for a knife.