Identity Crisis

When I first started seriously thinking about a cheese shop about a year ago, it was just this vague idea that I had toyed with for a long time. It had no concrete location, name, or identity. Even as I began my internships all I knew is that I had a tentative name for it, Cheesy Street; a tentative mascot, the Provolone Ranger; and I wanted it to be fun and unpretentious. The more nuggets of its identity I pieced together, the more concrete it became. I still didn't have a location in mind, knowing I wasn't really tied to any place. I had grand notions of all the options that were available to me across the country. I could move anywhere and start this thing! What an adventure! Then, this store started to take on a life of its own in my head. Its own personality and reason for being, if you will. Cheesy Street wanted to be a place for the childlike exploration of food in a city or neighborhood that really needed and wanted it. DC had always seemed like the perfect place for this thing. I knew it would be expensive, and in the past, I had struggled with whether I even liked living there. But suddenly, it had become my second home and a place I cared about. When my favorite grimey spots started to become yuppified I was incensed. Gentrification and dimly lit wine bars were forcing my city to lose what little individuality it had.

So what of this store?

I don't want to give this cheese baby of mine to any city that doesn't need it. For obvious business reasons, I don't want this store in a place that has a great cheese store already and, therefore, less buzz for a newcomer on the scene. Most of all, I don't want to give this store to a city or town that has everything it needs to make its residents happy. For example, New York, not a place I wanted to open a cheese shop even if there are plenty of customers and neighborhoods left to tap into. You already have everything, New York, why should I offer you my hard work, goals, and dreams? Maybe I just like to keep it grimey, but this store's identity screams for it to be put in a place where there is a void. A place where good food and the stories and community behind said food can bring a bit of joy to an otherwise bleak day or an otherwise unaware person. As an extreme example, when I was in Detroit, I was briefly fascinated with the idea of opening a store there.

If I compromised what this store was about, what good would opening it do other than simply sating some basic desire to be an entrepreneur?

This identity that Cheesy Street took on seemed to be inextricably tied to places where I felt a connection (sorry Detroit) and, therefore, had a desire to fill that void: DC, and secondarily, Omaha and Kansas City/Lawrence. If I had my way I'd open up a cheese shop in the grimiest, most depressed, part of town. But I'm not an idiot and I know specialty foods have to follow the money and the yuppies. I've struggled with this reality and whether it affects the store's identity. To a degree it does. But that's why it's even more important for a store to take shape in a place where I have a connection and know it is performing some good to the community. DC: surly, dejected office workers, I know your pain! Come, take respite on your lunch hour with the Provolone Ranger and a grilled cheese sandwich. Omaha: I love you, but seriously, your commitment to local food is dismal. Come taste what good food should be like. Kansas City/Lawrence: you try so hard and you really want to participate in this food movement, but all you have is Better Cheddar. And this may sting, but they're not really a cheese store. The American artisanal selection is bleak; there is no connection to the cheesmakers and their stories; and the focus should be on the cheese not a thousand gourmet bottles of condiments.

Maybe this identity has taken root because of a prideful determination to be a non-comformist. To fill a void is to be the first at something and blaze the trail. But don't business geniuses always tell you that you have to believe in what you're doing, what you're selling and who you're selling it to? And isn't a large part of that not to lose the identity and vision you had set for your business?

This is all a long way of saying that in addition to the financial reality check, another hang-up that is becoming an obstacle in the new phase of this journey is location. Location is actually more important. I can find the money if I really try. But if I end up somewhere where it doesn't feel right, I don't know if I can compromise the identity of Cheesy Street. As the internships come to a close and I'm faced with the realities on where I may end up, I realize with a bit of sadness in my heart that they're not all conducive to my vision of this store and this store's identity.

Admittedly this chapter of my journey is far less optimistic than the first. Yes, I might just be freaking out. But take heart in knowing that I have no intention of abandoning cheese. I just am coming to terms with, oh what's it called...right...life.

In happier news, I'm doing my first solo farmers market tomorrow! I'm being entrusted to run the whole show at one of the smaller farmers markets in Portland, Oregon. Surprisingly, I'm not nervous about it. I finally feel like I've been well-equipped for this sort of thing. Unless I tell you otherwise, assume it went swimmingly.

How I Got Here

This might sound familiar, perhaps even a little cliche: a young professional in a big city working at a high-pressure corporate job who hates said job (therefore, refuses to be a superstar employee) has a radical epiphany, decides to quit (lest she get fired soon anyway), shreds her business cards, gives away all her suits and business casual attire, and moves to a farm in rural America to live the pure life. Just so we get this out of the way now: that is not me. Yes, on paper it sounds like me. But I didn't end up here because I burned out, became a hippie, or wanted to pursue a new life philosophy. I ended up here due to a much simpler motivation: because I realized it was the choice I should have made all along. 

Dreaming has never been hard for me. I've dreamt up many vocations that I know would fit my personality and that I would enjoy doing. It was the doing that I found baffling. There wasn't an exact moment I knew how or what to "do."  It was a slow process of subconsciously absorbing the message that, fail or not, at least I tried to pursue a dream versus settling for none. My lesson was well summarized at my good friend's wedding ceremony this weekend. Just as I was zoning out and waiting for the next cue to stand, the priest delivered a message that, though seemingly wildly unrelated to marital bliss, caught my ear:  The first basic step to finding something fulfilling is to recognize that collecting status markers and achieving our way to who we are is never going to work. Similarly, when I removed the pressure of conventional notions of success and advancement, I found it a lot easier to listen and follow my real passion. After all, it was just common sense. I was not happy in the types of jobs I had steered myself into. The prestige of a six-figure salary meant nothing, and my success in law school never spit me out to any place I wanted to be. So why not try something I've thought for years would make me happy. Writing and cheese!

The best part is, I'm confident that I can use something I love to bring others who visit Cheesy Street a little joy as well. 

It was a blessing in disguise that the terrible economy brought out the worst in people and in the legal business within my first year in the professional world. I started to get angry and see the practice of law as a circular, frustrating, sedentary, and often solitary exercise in winning small meaningless, and occasionally morally repugnant, battles. The tough times forced me to examine what I wanted early and not let too much "life" pass me by.

Admittedly, there are many meaningful and rewarding avenues for lawyers to make a living. Many of my friends are bright, happy lawyers. I'm a ragey law hater and even I still find interest in areas like First Amendment and agricultural policy. I suppose it is just a matter of fitting into the daily mold of a particular job, which I did not.

I started looking for government jobs, thinking perhaps I just hated private sector. It wasn't long before I completely stopped looking at the "legal" category on USAjobs, preferring the more active jobs in the "investigative" and "arts/public affairs" category. I had uncovered a personality disconnect in the careers for which I was trained to look. I needed something more creative, hands-on, and socially interactive.

On a sunny Saturday afternoon, as I'm carrying two handfuls of Target bags back from the metro stop, my boyfriend calls and tells me I should be a cheese apprentice. Immediately I assumed cheese apprentice was a job he made up. It felt a lot like each Christmas when he suggests I would be an exceptional member of Santa's North Pole workshop. I get really giddy for a second before realizing that it will never happen for obvious reasons that I still refuse to admit. But after careful internet research, I discovered it was a real position and a wonderful way to learn about the cheese industry.

At first, it sounded like a good plan to get my head straight after a year and a half of the self-esteem and morale beat-down I had received at the hands of Big Law. With more research, I started to connect that plan with my dream to open a fun, approachable cheese shop. I stumbled on cheesemaking classes at the University of Vermont's Institute of Artisan Cheese (VIAC), researched the best American-made artisanal cheeses, read about cheese store owners, and spoke with and visited experienced artisanal cheesemakers.

Everything fit together as a way to integrate myself into the industry. I needed to know more about cheese other than I like to stuff my face with it.

After attending VIAC, I committed to two apprenticeships. The first will be at Cato Corner in Connecticut for the summer, and the second is with Black Sheep Creamery in Washington state for the fall. After that I will look for further avenues for exploration and experience in the retail world.

It's a risk, not just because of the financial ramifications, but also because this might not end up being exactly what I wanted or thought it would be. Maybe I will realize in a few years that opening a business isn't in the financial or strategic cards for me. Maybe the road will bring me to a slightly different destination. But at least I've learned the types of vocations for which I'm better suited.  More importantly, at least I can look back and say I tried something I've always wanted to try. Free from significant responsibilities and having widdled down my student debt, it is now or never for me to give cheese a shot.

So I'm diving all in. "Rule 76"! No back-up plan, no fall-back. It's all cheese, all the time!