The Room That Changed

This morning, I walked into our garage to get something out of the freezer.

Nothing unusual about that.

Except for 14½ years, this wasn't our garage.

It was Gina Renee's kitchen.

And this morning, for whatever reason, I stopped and really looked at it.

There is a golf net where my commercial kitchen once stood.

Golf clubs lean against the wall. There's a putting mat on the floor. The giant pots, the prep tables, the equipment and all the organized chaos that once filled this space are gone.

Today, this is Lloyd's sanctuary.

And suddenly I realized:

For 14½ years, it was mine.

The kitchen that taught me who I was

Gina Renee's was a labor of love.

And when I say labor, I mean labor. 😂

There were long days, late nights, early mornings, heavy pots, aching feet, enormous grocery lists and events where what seemed like a million things had to come together at exactly the right time.

There was pressure.

There was exhaustion.

There was also enormous joy.

Because somewhere between the first event and the last, something happened that was much bigger than learning how to run a catering business.

I discovered what I was capable of.

I learned that I could build something.

I could figure things out when I didn't know the answer.

I could handle the unexpected.

I could take someone's important day and understand that they were trusting me with a little piece of it.

And I could work harder than I ever knew I could work when something mattered to me.

Gina Renee's became part of who I was.

Then that chapter ended.

And yesterday, part of it came back to visit

Lloyd and I were at his family reunion yesterday.

One of his cousins, Troy, mentioned two family weddings I catered several years ago.

He told me how much everyone loved the food.

Then he said something that meant more to me than he probably realized.

People still ask them:

"Who catered your wedding? Does she still cater?"

Years later.

They're still asking.

I laughed when I thought about it later because, yes, money is wonderful. I'm certainly not going to pretend I wouldn't appreciate a great big pile of it. 😂

But there are some things money can't quite duplicate.

Knowing that something you created for someone became part of a memory they still talk about years later?

That's a blessing of a different kind.

Maybe that's why I noticed the room this morning.

The sanctuary didn't disappear

Standing there looking at Lloyd's golf equipment, I didn't feel sad.

Actually, I smiled.

The room that once gave me a place to create, dream, work and sometimes escape into something that was completely mine now gives him that same thing.

The sanctuary didn't disappear.

It changed hands.

And I think there's something beautiful about that.

But there was another realization waiting for me in that room.

Gina Renee's didn't really disappear either.

The kitchen did.

The business did.

That chapter of my life did.

But what it built in me didn't.

I carried that with me.

Different work. Same woman.

Today my labor of love looks completely different.

Instead of preparing food for someone's wedding or celebration, I help people experience places they've dreamed about seeing.

Instead of giant pots and catering equipment, my days are filled with cruise ships, itineraries, groups, destinations, research, stories and approximately 47 browser tabs open at any given moment. 😂

But underneath all of that, I recognize her.

The woman who stood in that kitchen.

The one who learned how to serve people well.

The one who figured things out.

The one who discovered she could build something from nothing.

The one who cared about the details because the details mattered to the people she was serving.

The one who put her name behind her work and wanted that name to mean something.

She came with me.

And perhaps that's what I've been thinking about most.

We talk a lot about “starting over.”

Starting a new career.

Starting a new business.

Beginning again after the children are grown.

Retiring.

Moving.

Closing something.

Walking away from something we once thought we'd do forever.

But I'm not sure starting over is the right phrase.

Because we don't arrive at the next chapter empty-handed.

We bring everything with us.

The lessons.

The mistakes.

The confidence.

The scars.

The funny stories.

The people who believed in us.

The people who didn't.

The things that worked.

The things that absolutely did not. 😂

And the quiet knowledge that comes from having already done something once that we weren't entirely sure we could do.

Maybe we aren't starting over

Maybe we're simply starting again.

And there's a difference.

Starting over sounds like going back to zero.

Starting again means walking forward carrying everything the last chapter taught us.

Sometimes the thing that once defined us isn't supposed to define us forever.

Sometimes it was there to prepare us.

Sometimes the dream wasn't abandoned.

It simply did its job.

It taught us who we were capable of becoming.

And then it made room for the next dream.

This morning I walked into the garage looking for something in the freezer.

Instead, I found a reminder of a woman I used to be.

And I realized...

she isn't gone at all.

She's right here.

She just has a different kitchen now.

What is something from an earlier chapter of your life that you're still carrying with you today?

Until our next story,
— Gina Renee