Dear Mr. Deprado,

The other night my wife and I went to our favorite restaurant in Ocean Beach, and as we looked over the menu I started to get hesitant about what I should order. I got caught between the eight-dollar, soy chorizo burrito, and the ten-dollar veggie fajitas. I knew I wanted the fajitas, but somehow, that two-dollar differnce looked like depthless abyss into bankruptcy, so I went for a four-dollar salad instead, and my evening was entirely unfulfilled.

I thought I was over this concept of "menu shock," because I had seen it so much working as a waiter, but it seems that the more we focus on money, the less we focus on purpose. I couldn’t help but think of my days working in the restaurant. There were many nights where I watched peoples’ indecision, witnessed lost chances, and even played a part in helping them to settle. I know about this. Settling. I do it all the time. But why? What do I really gain from settling like this? Is it just a question of ‘not losing?’ I know, Mr. Deprado that you would never have let us settle for a poor grade. You wouldn’t let us settle for les than what we might dream of. Why do we do it? What are we afraid of? I know the answers to these questions are in us. I think it has become engrained in us, and sometimes, we don’t even know it’s happening. We settle for an eroding environment because we settle for throwing recyclables in the garbage instead of the blue bin. We settle for the job that pays us the most because it is far easier to sacrifice ten hours a day, than it is to live a life of hopeful purpose. Maybe we just don’t know the value of our attitude, and so we settle for a cheap date when for a few dollars more we might have a golden moment in our journey. It is nice to see the view from the car window, but sometimes we have to get out of the car, smell the ocean air, feel the breeze on our faces, and visualize possibilities of having more. This entry from my restaurant journal catches such an occasion.

Just think of all the good food people never get. Why? Because maybe the image of nineteen dollars, etched into the menu, whether by hand drawn ink, color copy, digitized transfusion, or written on a board, is still nineteen dollars, and that definitely is not sixteen. People, for whatever the reason, will always pay sixteen. Who Knows? But imagine, if they realize that for three dollars more, the price of the fancy coffee they drink every morning, or the change in their car ashtray, they could have gotten something wonderful, something they were looking forward to, something they will remember, and for once, food and its consumption, might take some time, some savoring, some bite by bite enjoyment. But social training has kept them against what they might really want.

One woman, quiet, indecisive, confused and overwhelmed by our giant paper menu, looks up at me softly from a ruffled floral collar, her smile gets to me. It is a warm smile the kind that works together with the eyes to create a sense of kindness and empathy. I could trust her. and I don't have to say a word because she has been in this very position before. "I don't know," she says. "I really love prawns?" I love these moments in the middle of the day when the restaurant is slow, and I can really take the time to explain the menu. I show her all the dishes we serve with prawns. Prawns grilled on a skewer over mesquite and then served in a cilantro barbecue sauce. Prawns sautéed in white wine and extra virgin olive oil and garlic. Prawns rolled in breadcrumbs and deep-fried, prawn cocktail, and our Caesar Salad served with six jumbo prawns. She smiles each time, but reads simultaneously so she can stay non-committal. She can see that prawns are quite expensive no matter how they are prepared. At last she looks up and shyly asks, "What about the snapper?" The snapper, at ten dollars, is the worst thing on our menu, but the unwritten law of restaurants is loyalty, and so I tell her that the snapper is usually excellent, but today maybe not so good. I was desperate to keep her from settling. I had watched the light in her eyes during the prawn discussion, turn to quiet gray that settling brings. "I'll take the snapper." She smiles and with a confident nod, as if maybe she has settled like this her whole life, to her, this was the right decision, avoiding what you want, and taking what seems to be best. "are you sure" I ask her, almost pleading. I want to tell her it was worth the extra three dollars, that the baked fish tasted awful, that if she just took a chance and went with her gut that she would be happy for a year, and that there would be a rebirth of her very life. Every time she came to town she would bring her friends and family here as a tradition. The universe would align in her favor, a fortune might come her way, and her love life might finally develop if she would just allow herself the prawns. But I can’t, I don’t say any of it. I opt for what seems best, even safest. I settle. I ask her what sides she wants, and later, when the plate is empty and she tells me everything is wonderful, I smile and refill her iced tea.

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