How would you introduce yourself to someone if you couldn’t talk about work?

You’d talk about your hobbies, probably. But when you’ve made your main hobby your profession, where do you turn? Really, who am I when I’m not at the bakery I manage or the restaurant I moonlight at?

2019 has been a huge transitioning year for me. The bakery I’ve been managing for three years is now expanding into a café, bringing all sorts of fun logistics to work out. And because that job had started to feel less like a bakery job and more like HR, in January I walked right up to the owner of a new Filipino restaurant outside of a concert and somehow convinced him he needed a dessert specialist on his team.

So between worrying about sourcing organic eggs for the soon-to-be café, challenging myself to develop recipes for Filipino-inspired desserts for the restaurant, and driving through the worst kind of LA traffic on the 10 to get across town between the two locations, I haven’t had a lot of time or headspace for anything but work.

I knew that would happen. I had counted on it. When I picked up the second job, I had just gotten out of a long-term relationship. It was mutual, but I knew I’d have nothing to distract myself from it if I simply continued the same routine. I wanted my time occupied and my focus on something new, something meaningful.

I didn’t expect the burnout. I was going guns a-blazing on all fronts, but that had never bothered me before. I had no problem working through college, but I guess I never cared as much about college as I care about my current work. It wasn’t so much that I was stretched thin, it was more like I had nothing but work to take up my time. Crashing on my cousin’s conveniently located couch didn’t help either - it cut my commute, but it also made me feel like I was living out of my car. I had no roots anchoring me anywhere, except for work.

I still love what I do. As much as I complain about all the challenges that come with opening a café, I also know that it’s a great project that’s stretching my creativity and business acumen in a way I’ve never had the opportunity to before. Adding brand-building and menu developing on top of the staffing and managing work I’ve already been doing is something I need to do to make sure I can do these things for my own projects in the future, and I know I’m capable.

Across town, I’m developing my identity as a baker with access to a market I’d never be able to tap into on my own. Making Filipino American food for Filipino Americans with a team whose points of view and upbringings match my own is an invaluable experience that couldn’t be replicated anywhere else. If my desserts can help build a community around this venture while retaining the voice I’ve tried to express in my recipe building, I’ll have proven to myself that the decision I made to commit to this profession full-time was the right call. I’m creating the space for myself that was never going to be handed to me, as anyone who’s ever succeeded in this industry in this town has had to do.

At the same time, the gravity of what I’m trying to achieve is what’s really contributing to the feeling of burnout. Maybe burnout isn’t the right word. I’m not getting tired of what I do. I’m committing myself 100% to both endeavors with nothing left in me for any other outlet.

Who am I when I can’t work? I’m a daughter. A sister. A music enthusiast. A drinker. A selfie queen. A millennial. A creative soul. A person who’s capable in ways the world doesn’t always reward - a person who’s trying to change that. Nice to meet you.