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“I talked to my friend Frank on the phone that evening. Frank used to live in Vermont and would come to Springwater occasionally for retreats, and then he moved out to California to be a cook, which is where I met him. “I was at work chopping onions yesterday,” he says, “and suddenly I was filled with sadness … because here I am, I’ve got my dream, exactly what I wanted, I’m working at the restaurant I wanted to be at, I have a terrific place to live, and suddenly I was really sad because now I just have to chop the onions, you know?” Isn’t that exactly it? Chopping the onions.” — Joan Tollifson
I talked to my friend Frank on the phone that evening. Frank used to live in Vermont and would come to Springwater occasionally for retreats, and then he moved out to California to be a cook, which is where I met him. “I was at work chopping onions yesterday,” he says, “and suddenly I was filled with sadness … because here I am, I’ve got my dream, exactly what I wanted, I’m working at the restaurant I wanted to be at, I have a terrific place to live, and suddenly I was really sad because now I just have to chop the onions, you know?” Isn’t that exactly it? Chopping the onions.