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by
Alea Janell Lobdell
I had to let go. My heartbeat rang
loudly for months and months. It was time – it was actually happening. Our
restaurant was closing. I had to say goodbye to all of it. The beautiful brick
building. An old warehouse remodeled into vintage eclectic fine dining, brushed
with modern flair. The charming lovely hot house mecca of love, togetherness,
dreams, revolutions, music, dance, sparkling delicious food, colors,
impatience, and energy. A space full of love and heartbreak, laughter and tears.
Like losing a home, a
community swept out from under me, I was heartbroken. I can still hear the
glasses clanking, plates pushing against stainless steel, hot water splashing
and spraying, the ruffling of cardboard boxes and the slamming of refrigerator
doors. The kitchen rings of yelling and excitement; uninhibited raunchy kitchen
talk where the unthinkable is said. The years of whipped cream, drizzling
chocolate, chandeliers hanging like willow branches and dangling leaves of
crystals overhead, soft Norah Jones music, and the loud voice of a passionate
and robust chef.
The chef was often
angry at the not-fast-enough pace of others, entrée choices and particulars
from guests; from prolonged intimacy with sweltering ovens and stoves topped
with steaming boiling water, and fire from hot oil and cooking wine. With sweat
beading on his moist olive forehead next to his short dark hair, he stood tall
with sturdy forearms executing motions for perfectly prepared art for people to
eat. He was angry from the enormous pressure weighing on his broad, white,
gleaming shoulders.
However, through all
of the intensity, it was evident he loved every minute. You could feel it in
the air, and taste it in the food. He served a great amount of passion and
heart in everything he created. After a long evening of nonstop cooking,
regardless of the rhythm and nature of the night, he would always be happy.
Jovial and upbeat, sipping his favorite cocktail, he would be making dinner for
the staff. From his charming smile and sparkling eyes, he exuded fun, warmth,
and laughter. In many ways, the restaurant reflected him. He is what made this
place.
When I moved to
Fairfield, I was searching for community. Seeking a place to belong, and a
place to thrive. I came here in search of deep connections with others, to
establish a community of like-minded friends and loved ones, a supportive
environment for raising my son, and to revel in a strong cultural experience.
Fairfield was a huge difference from the community I was moving from in
Arizona. I had gotten really used to a disconnected culture, and being
surrounded by money-crazed, image-obsessed lost souls. It is quite the opposite
in Fairfield, which has the largest group of Transcendental Meditators in the
United States. This whole community of 13,000 circulates around this movement
of meditation, and I felt like I landed in the home I had always been searching
for. I was set out to find work where I could flourish, to find parts of myself
that had been squandered living in other non-supportive environments, and to
feel and find love. Vivo was my catalyst for all of this.
Everything I had
clung my identity to upon my relocation to this little city, was entrenched in
this restaurant. From my work, to my social life, to my romance, passion, and
family, my new life living here was this place. This place called “Vivo.”
Alive. Lively. I felt like I had woken up and my life had become a new
dimension of lively. It always felt good and everything seemed to be aligned.
I felt at home from
the moment I stepped into that sunlit bathed building on a spring afternoon. I
can hear the lively French music lifting up this corner of the world
reverberating out, drawing in regular customers, and people from afar. Bringing
in different languages, unique conversations, a conglomeration of travelers,
business workers, lipstick, high heels, sophistication at its finest, hipsters
and townies. The clientele reflected the menu. Diverse, multifaceted, and
eclectic.
I was spinning in
excitement. Thirsty for connection and a conscious culture like this, I was
bouncing around life with blissful elation. People were discussing meditation,
science, spirituality, the evolution of our consciousness on this planet,
extraterrestrials, the unified field, quantum physics, astrology, and all kinds
of topics that I had never even heard of but sounded wildly fascinating. I
couldn’t be happier. After living a life of unsuitable discomfort for so long,
like a fish out of the water, I hadn’t even realized how much better it could
be, until I took that leap into my own
element -- I was most
certainly in my element. And swimming freely.
I remember those
moments of buzzing around Vivo, as the winter months would approach, it would
become darker and darker, earlier and earlier. People trickle into the bar and
warm up with a deep, full-bodied Malbec and folky, acoustic tunes. The
spiritual, swanky wine bar wrapped the night in lavender walls. Twinkly lights
would shimmer through stained glass windows, and deep vintage wood floors
echoed through busy dinnertime. Late nights of shared stories and secrets from
servers polishing glasses adorned with funky neckties. Young men and women
laughing and crying, finding themselves and gaining a grasp on their fresh,
emerging adulthood. I wish I had pictures. I have very few pictures. This
new way of living was my own and unlike my upbringing. This is where I had
found my other family. My Vivo family. In this world, we celebrate life.
Hosting parties is what we like to do, we like to eat, and feeding people is
success. It’s also loads of fun. This was quite healing considering I had grown
up in quite the contrary. I could choose my dinner each night from a vast array
of dishes. Choices upon choices of sauces, vegetables, tapas, stacked
deliciousness, the ultimate luxury. I miss our luxury.
Almost as quickly as I began working at Vivo, I fell in love with Noah, the
chef. I was not interested in him in the slightest at first. That kind of
intense personality is overwhelming for a sensitive soul like me. However, very
quickly, his warmth and charisma came through and surprisingly revealed to be
what I needed; there was no denying it. Everything about this man felt like
home to me, and that was clearly why I was here. If I complained that the
plates were too hot to serve, I would show up to work the next day to find he
had specifically placed hot pads at the serving station for me. If he found out
I was even a little bit hungry, he would insist I allow him to cook something
for me. He would buy me a drink after dinner, leave me a giant tip if I were
bartending that night, invite me to parties, and do little things around the
restaurant to make my job easier – specifically for me. He was the charming
type, and I knew it was likely this wasn’t the first time he was pursuing a
waitress, but I was still completely enamored by his sincerity. After awhile, I
began doing laundry at his house since I didn’t have a washer or dryer in my
apartment. Then, he would get take-out for lunch when I would come over. Then
he bought my son toy cars to play with. Enough already! I couldn’t help it. It
all just felt right.
I remember one night after I had tucked my son into bed, Noah was coming
over late after work to share some red wine with me. We were still just
friends, but we could tell something was brewing out of our friendship. He
walked in the door, I greeted him with a hug like any other night, however,
this moment time seemed to slow down for me a bit. I watched him take off his
shoes, and put down his things, and I got this overwhelming urge to hug him
again.
“I’m just so glad you’re here.” I whispered in his ear. I couldn’t believe how
strongly I suddenly realized how much I felt at home with him. He was arriving
to my apartment, and I felt at home once he arrived. It had been a very long
time since I felt that.
From then on, we became a team. As he gained more and more responsibility at
the restaurant, and the owner’s presence increasingly faded, we were running
the show. He had the back of the house, and I had the front. I trained all of
the staff, helped organize all of the big parties, and made the weekly
schedule. It was so effortlessly fun and fulfilling, we weaved the quilt of
Vivo perfectly night after night. He created the food, and I made the clients happy.
He liked to hide in the kitchen, and I loved the customers. I loved the energy
of the Vivo clientele, and I especially loved the challenge of pacifying the
occasional unhappy, particular,
spiritually-seeking-incessantly-chasing-enlightenment-and-their-asparagus-wasn’t-soft-enough-for-their-digestion
customer. He wanted to please the customers - although sometimes in unstoppable
irritation and anger -and I was the smile that smoothed the delivery.
As time went on, we became more and more embedded in our Vivo lifestyle, and
our Vivo family. This was our life and I couldn’t imagine it any other way. The
owner of the restaurant began talking about the desire to sell it to us, as his
life was becoming busier after his relocation to a city a couple hours away. We
got engaged; and a wedding, a house, and a baby were all talk of the not so
distant future. My son was five, and I didn’t want too much of an age gap
between he and his younger sibling, if we were to have one.
Although we were eager to purchase the restaurant, while in the process of it,
obstacles kept arising. The numbers didn’t add up, the bank was slow moving,
the owner needed to gather more information, etc. Regardless of numbers, we
knew the restaurant was successfully thriving. It was difficult for the owner
to totally prove it because of all of the cash that had been handled under the
table (typical of many restaurants). However, it was abundantly clear it was a
successful hub in our community.
Then the major
obstacle arose. In this time of uncertainty, someone bought the big brick
building the restaurant resided in, and everything changed. They didn’t want
the restaurant there. As spiritual die-hards deeply engrossed in Ayurveda, they
didn’t appreciate the bar atmosphere. They did everything they could to get us
out. Eventually, they raised the rent to astronomical numbers. At this point,
Noah and I had moved into a new house, had a baby, and purchasing Vivo and
moving it to another location was going to be too much of an expense and too
much energy for us to put forth. He was offered a job at a local grocery store
as Chef, which would entail two days off per week (instead of only one at
Vivo), paid vacation, sick days, health insurance, and 401K – all luxuries he
had never experienced only working in fine dining. This was all very appealing
to him, and as a new father supporting his family (I was staying home), this
was what he chose. That was the moment I realized I had to let go. He did, and
he was ready. I still wasn’t ready.
I spent a long time
dwelling over the loss of Vivo, swimming in the grief of the sudden absence of
this major part of my life. A hole in my existence was truly how it felt. How
could something as silly as a restaurant have such an effect on me? I was
having a difficult time understanding and admitting my sorrow over the closing.
Maybe it was letting go of the togetherness and community we had, perhaps it
was letting go of something that wasn’t quite ready to retire, maybe it was somehow
letting go of my youth. Regardless, leaving behind a lifestyle like this as a
person of my caliber of sociability to go home and raise our children is
beautiful, but certainly not easy.
I felt accomplished
there. I loved the work, and parts of myself were thriving that had never
before been so brought out. My husband and I loved working together, which we
recognized to be a rare blessing. It was as if we were meant to do this. And
losing Vivo meant not only losing a major part of our relationship, but essentially
everything our relationship had been founded on. I met him in that building,
and that was where our relationship blossomed. And now that building was empty.
I always recognized
the healing impact that the restaurant had on my soul upon my arrival to this
community. I cherished what it brought to my life, and it was devastating to
let go of that. I was also firmly attached to my dreams and projections of the
future of blending my family with Vivo and continuing down that path. I had to
say goodbye to a physical space that enlivened me – a space that my husband and
I had created - as well as a large portion of my social life. It took some
time, but after over a year of mourning the loss of this place, and the many
reasons why I was so devastated, I have
surrendered to the past, and have forced myself out of this dangerous pool of
wallowing that I have refused to leave this last year and a half. I wanted to
stay. I didn’t want to leave. This was where I belong! Remember? This was my
home. My REAL home. Now I’m supposed to let go of it? The harder I tried to
move on, the more it became painfully evident how much my identity was
intertwined with my life in Vivo.
My husband? He did
just fine. He reveled in the glorious last night Vivo was open. Sadly, I had to
stay home with the kids and I couldn’t make it. I live a life of no regrets.
But I wholeheartedly regret not pushing to make it possible to be there. I
could have taken the kids! Who cares?! He was celebrated, admired, and
relentlessly thanked for his 6 and-a-half years of pouring his creativity,
heart, and soul into that place. He broke down crying in his truck after he
left. He cried in bed as we went to sleep that night. I was in shock. He woke
up the next morning and began his new job. I was dangling like a shell-shocked
thread, numb in disbelief, swaying in the abandoned wind. He, cheerfully, was
ready to begin the next chapter.
Of all of the things
my husband has taught me, letting go is one of them. He mourned over his loss,
felt it completely in the moment, and moved on. Maybe because I wasn’t able to
experience it the same anymore, maybe because I wasn’t there along with him
anymore, I couldn’t totally grasp what was happening. I was still waiting for
the baby to grow older, so I could go back. I never got to go back.
As I’ve slowly
emerged from my depths of despair, and my hands have slowly unclenched those
dreams I had projected for the future, I have now begun to pick up my tools to
weave the threads of our next chapter. And I’ve finally settled into the
gratitude for all of it. I now have him at home with me raising a family
together. I get to indulge in his talents, and I get his sparkle and fervor all
to myself. No relentless, exhausting establishment to pull him in, no multiple
energies diverting his attention, no mountain of responsibility weighing him
down and stressing him out. I get the pleasure of enjoying delicious gourmet
meals frequently at home, and I get to be right next to him. He’s much more
relaxed, and he’s as vibrant and spirited as ever in the kitchen.
As I have cried in my
anguish, Noah has quite often made the point that for years, the restaurant
inhibited aspects to our lives that made it particularly difficult for him. He
had to be relentlessly present in that place, whereas I got much more time off.
He was exceptionally dedicated to his work, and missed out on a lot of events,
family gatherings, parties, etc. because of his devotion to Vivo. Vivo was,
essentially, his art. And it was nonstop.
We put a lot of our
life on hold because of Vivo. In many ways we felt like we could never really
totally move forward and begin our life, because Vivo had to come first.
Now, he clocks out.
And as for the magic
that we created, I know now that we can re-create this magic anywhere, and we
do within our lives without the restaurant. Since we have let go of Vivo, we
finally had our wedding, we have fully moved into our new home, Noah attended
his first of many local art walks on Friday nights here in Fairfield, we went
out to dinner on Valentine’s Day, we watch the fireworks on the 4th of July, and countless other events
that we never got to do together before. He has gotten to know many of the
people in the community he never had time to meet. We honestly have all of the
magic in our home, because we truly ARE the magic that made this experience so
incredible. And I have finally begun to reincarnate my dreams to new ones.
Better ones.
I know with time,
understanding Vivo’s parting from our life will continue to reveal itself more
and more, affirming the path to make room for what better experiences that need
to come. We’ve come a long way, and a large portion of my excitement and
satisfaction with my life in that restaurant, was the excitement and
anticipation for the future; for our lives together and what would come next.
This is next. After all, I was searching for home. And I have it. I knew it
that night Noah stepped into my apartment, and I’ve had it all along.
I’ve still got the chef, and I’m pretty lucky to have found such a
man who fulfills me in numerous ways beyond this story. Maybe there will be a
new Vivo down the road. Maybe not. Regardless, I have a beautiful family, and
an amazing chef husband who chose his family over the restaurant. What more
could I ask for? And the doors are closed. And now our doors can open.
