An Ode to the Inanimate Object that Changed My Life

Say what you will about us folk who believe in signs, luck, omens, intuitions, various superstitions and the arguably delusional belief that everything happens for a reason. We might be a naive, gullible lot, hung-up on cliches and hell-bent on seeing what they want in all portents. Or we might just be on to something, suckas!

I'll be honest. Moving to New York alone to start working at a brand new cheese store scared the crap out of me. I'd mongered markets here, but the store would be a completely different beast. There would be managing duties, setting up for opening, dealing with daily crowds of customers, knowing about 100 cheeses versus 12, regulatory and operational protocol, handling customer complaints, inventory and ordering. The weeks leading up to my move were filled with a secret panic of whether I could hack it.

I thought, life sure would be easier if I just stayed in Del Rio, making cheese and pies at home. Instead, I tried to focus on how good it would feel to conquer the challenge. We all survive the complete helplessness and ignorance you have the first day of starting any new job. If I could do it in the most complicated of circumstances, I would be well-prepared if I ever opened my own business. Or, at least I'd feel pretty proud of myself for leaving pies and comfort behind to give it a try.

I've moved four times in the last year to pursue different cheesy adventures. Before each new beginning there were varying degrees of fear accompanying the uncertainty. Each time I reminded myself that everything happens for a reason and remembered the eerie sign I received just before I began a life of cheese last year.

During my last few weeks at the firm in 2010, I was paired up with a career counselor to help me figure out my next move. It wasn't unusual for confused, despondent lawyer types to receive similar counseling either through the good-will of their firm or through their own procurement. Times were lean for interesting, fulfilling legal jobs, so we needed all the help we could get in figuring out which waters to test. Despite the rampant cold-heartedness in BigLaw, at least everyone was unified in realizing that we all needed a hand in earning a living and paying off our massive student debt.

The counseling started with a thorough aptitude and personality test -- your standard Myers-Briggs style tests, but on crack. The results, which, in a nutshell, told me I had certain skill sets lawyers needed but would be a damn fool if I pursued lawyering as a vocation, steered the rest of the meetings with the counselor. We mulled over various careers that fit with my personality -- things that would keep me active and/or creative.

I had already started considering and researching cheese apprenticeships on my own, but was hesitant to bring it up with anyone for fear of being ridiculed. Eventually, I revealed my secret desire, shrouded as a tentative objective that I would consider alongside a back-up plan.

Soon it became obvious that coaching me for backup plan applications was a weak-willed way to deny what I really wanted for fear of presenting something unconventional to the world. So we switched to focusing on cheese, writing, and meeting people. At one of the last two sessions, my wonderfully positive and encouraging counselor opened up a book she recommended I read about a guy who travels around the country profiling people in various stages of figuring out what they want to do with their lives.

Inside the book, which she pulled from a colleague's office and thus would have no reason to know what was inside, there was a remarkable surprise: a copy of an old newspaper clipping about the growth of artisanal cheese in the United States and the joy of cheesemakers pursuing a life that suited them. It had no connection to any of the profiles or content in the book. And it freaked the hell out of us both.

It's as if this phantom book knew my dreams and was telling me to make the leap. Literally telling me. I've never to this day read a word of the book. I don't even remember what the title was. My only encounter with the book was that day, when I opened it to the middle, letting its anthropomorphic jaw gape wide enough to spit out that article at me.

That was the first moment I was certain. That was the point at which I stopped searching databases for other possible jobs.

Call it cliche or coincidence, but I always remember that peculiar moment when I'm feeling low. I'm positive it was some kind of sign. Hate on us sappy intuitive types all you want. We all have our tools to conquer negativity en route to a goal. We all have our ways to convince ourselves of a certain decision. Mine are just a bit spookier than most.