The second episode of “The Bear” opens on Carmy working in the kitchen of a high-end New York City restaurant, and the tension is high. The scene begins with a sous chef showing him a sauce she has made. “Broken sauce, chef,” Carmy tells her. “Need a new one.” “Yes, chef,” she says.
Soon, another chef enters the kitchen. He is tall and imperious and wearing a pair of glasses. He takes one look at the broken sauce and asks “Why?” The sous chef tries to explain, but he is not interested in her explanation. He just keeps asking her “Why?” and before long, it is no longer a question. He is leaving her to fill in the blank of all the whys she can imagine: why are you so stupid? why do you think you’re a chef? why are you here? Finally he tells her “Go,” and she does.
The tall chef then heads over to Carmy’s station, where he is meticulously plating food and calling out numbers.
“Why do you hire fucking idiots?” the tall chef asks Carmy. “Do you like working with fucking idiots?” The abuse continues. “Can you not handle this?” he asks. “Is it too much for you?” The questions escalate, eventually becoming brutal statements of fact: You’re terrible at this. You’re no good at it. You are bullshit. You are talentless. You should be dead.
This is as clear a depiction of the inner critic I’ve ever seen.
Because while this chef is berating him, Carmy is trying to work, to create. He has a restaurant full of people to feed, a kitchen to run, and this guy just won’t let him be. The scene is stressful and powerful, and even though Carmy finds a way to keep going despite this guy, this fucking guy, this kind of thing takes its toll, as you will know if you watch “The Bear.”
I’ve had my own version of that guy as I’m writing this.
This is a dumb idea. I can’t write a whole newsletter about this. This is so obvious—everyone knows this, who are you to think you have anything new to say? You should just give up.
One of the reasons the scene is so great is that the voice is very clearly separate from Carmy. It is not a voice over. It is not Carmy. It is a man—who may or may not be real, in a scene that is maybe a flashback and maybe a dream—yelling in his ear as he is trying to work. That voice may be repeating what Carmy thinks about himself or what he has been told about himself. Whatever it is and wherever it comes from, it is making it very hard for Carmy to function.
One of the things Gateless teaches you is to recognize that voice as separate from yourself. The voice that tells you you’re nothing, that you’ll never finish what you started, that everything you want to say has been said before—it is not you. It’s a voice you’ve been conditioned to develop over a lifetime, a voice you maybe heard from a parent or teacher, a voice you’ve grown so accustomed to you think it’s real—you think it’s you.
But once you can see it as something separate, once you can say “Oh, there’s that fucking guy again,” you can tell it to knock off for a while so you can get some work done.
One more thing: That voice is actually there to protect you, to keep you from making changes in your life, taking risks, speaking out. Maybe what you’re writing today will change everything, for the better maybe but the inner critic doesn't know that. I don’t know what exactly will change when you set pen to paper today; all I know is that it’s worth it.
I’m winding up my appearances this year, but here are a few places you can still catch me!
I’m thrilled to be appearing with Allegra Goodman at the Brattleboro Literary Festival on Sunday, Oct. 15 at 4:00PM.
On October 18 at 7:00 PM ET, I will be in conversation with Kyla Kupferstein Torres at a virtual chat sponsored by the Hunter High School Alumni Association. Kyla and I went to high school together and she is a fierce thinker and writer. Check out her writing here and here. RSVP to info@hchsaa.org for the link.
If you happen to be in Indianapolis on Oct. 30, I will be at appearing at the Ann Katz Festival at the JCC Indianapolis that evening starting at 7:00 PM. Click here for tickets and info!
Local folks: I’ll be appearing at the YWCA in Greenwich on Nov. 14 at 10 AM. Click here for tickets and info!
Three forthcoming titles I read and loved:
Lo Fi by Liz Riggs (July 2024) is a swoony and sexy story of a young woman coming of age in the Nashville music scene. Think Sweetbitter for the music set. The writing is gorgeous and Riggs nails the ache of your early twenties just right.
Reunion by Elise Juska (May 2024) is about three college friends who come together for their twenty-fifth college reunion. Beautifully written and painfully familiar, Reunion hits all the sweet spots—nostalgia, the ache of middle age, pathos, regret. I loved it.
I’m only partway through The Wedding People by Alison Espach (May 2024) and I already love it. I won’t give too much away, but it’s about a woman at a crossroads who stumbles upon a hotel full of “Wedding People.” Turns out the bride-to-be is at a crossroads too and the two women connect in unexpected ways. Espach’s last book Notes on Your Sudden Disappearance was one of my favorites of 2022.
If you are looking for signed copies of My Last Innocent Year, head to Athena Books in Old Greenwich or click on this link!
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