“My life is a grueling battle of attrition.” This is the title of an article about a family with three children and two parents who pursue ambitious full-time careers.

The surgeon places the scalpel below the larynx, cuts only a few millimeters deep into the skin, and lets the blade glide over the rib cage, down the abdomen to the pubic bone.

Silence. Glances. A look away. The gentle setting down of a coffee cup. A surgery plan. A menu plan. Planless colleagues.

What does that actually mean? The dictionary doesn't help here: being outgrown, adolescence... Bullshit, what is that? I would like to focus here on what resonates when…

Silence. A dark room. In my chef's jacket, apron and with my eyes closed, I sit in the corner. Twenty minutes to go. I enjoy every second of it to the full.