What We Bring to the Table: On Legacy, Presence and Belonging

“The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.” Carl Jung

Recently, a lifelong dream came true. I took a cooking workshop with three friends at a globally renowned culinary school in Paris. It’s a place where meals are crafted with reverence and precision, and passion is plated alongside technique.

From the moment the chef introduced himself, it was clear that the true delicacy wasn’t just the food — it was the heart and energy he brought to his teaching. Food, and the joy of making others happy through it, was his purpose. You could sense it in the way he approached each morsel of food with care — and in the attentiveness he brought to the students gathered around the slick white countertop, watching his every move.

Our chef wasn’t just teaching technique — he was showing us what it means to truly bring yourself to the table. He was present, a deep listener, generous with his knowledge and compassionate in the way he guided others.

The way he held his tools, stirred a sauce and garnished a dish spoke of joy and creativity. There was a palpable feeling of delight in every movement — the feel of ingredients coming together in the blender, the sound of chicken thighs sizzling in a pan. His attention was as much a part of the recipe as the ingredients themselves.

Later that afternoon, our chef shared how his journey began. He was raised in a small rural village by a family of farmers. Life was simple and hard. He didn’t feel like most of the other kids he grew up with — his way of life was simply different. He was often ridiculed for his background, but something in him knew his path wouldn’t follow theirs. He just didn’t know where it would lead.

Near the end of school, a teacher pulled him aside and offered a few words that changed everything: “Learn the languages you don’t speak. See the places you’ve never been. But most importantly — help people. And eat.”

The chef said something lit up inside him — it was like the feeling of Christmas morning. He ran home and poured his heart out to his mother. She replied, “Everything you want, my son.”

With her blessing, he searched for a culinary school and found one that felt like the right fit — even though the program was already full. He was placed on the waitlist. And then, just three days before the program began, he was accepted. 

Off the chef went, leaving home for what would shape him in ways he could never have imagined.

Step by step, he worked his way through the culinary world. Today, his photo hangs in the entrance of one of the world’s best culinary training institutions, where he teaches others to follow what lights them up.

What moved me most was not just his talent, but his honesty and courage — the way he embraced his differences and stayed true to his heart and the vision he held for his life. His vision wasn’t fueled by ambition, but by something more enduring — a passion shaped by family, hardship, and the values passed down through generations and deeply embodied. Even when others dismissed his background, he continued to honor his roots. Just as his teacher once advised him, he brought his commitment to happiness and nourishment to the kitchen — and infused it into every lesson, every meal, every moment of connection.

In this season between Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, the chef’s story feels like a subtle honoring of those who’ve shaped us — parents, teachers, friends, mentors and anyone who cared enough to guide us along the way. Some raised us. Some challenged us. Some offered encouragement. Others taught us through contrast, distance or silence. But all of them, in one way or another, helped shape the soil from which we continue to grow.

Carl Jung once wrote, “The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.” Maybe that act of becoming doesn’t start with a bold decision or a single turning point. Maybe it begins with something foundational — awareness. Awareness is the base layer of growth, change and self-understanding. It’s what allows us to notice what truly nourishes us. To sense when something resonates — and when it starts to feel misaligned. 

Awareness invites us to feel the stirrings inside us that ask for our attention — not always clear, not always comfortable, but always pointing us inward. Inward to pause, to reflect, to question. Inward to rethink what we’ve inherited or assumed. And sometimes, inward to soften our grip and let go — of roles, beliefs or identities that no longer reflect who we’re becoming.

It’s through that awareness that we begin to recognize what brings us peace, happiness, sadness or longing — and the ways to navigate it all. To sense when we’re in alignment and when we’re not. And to make space for the in-between, those often uncomfortable, uncertain moments when clarity hasn’t yet arrived, but something meaningful is beginning to take shape. Awareness not only guides us inward — it also helps us live in service to others, bringing light not just to our own path, but to those around us.

This touches something universal — the human experience of moving through a world shaped by constant change, impermanence and the in-between spaces of becoming. The in-between is a liminal space — where what’s ahead hasn’t yet taken form and what’s behind no longer defines us. It’s a space we can learn to inhabit — not with certainty, but with curiosity and presence.

Just like the chef, maybe we don’t need to know exactly where the path will lead. We only need to trust what lights us up — and let that be enough, for ourselves and, in time and with intention, for others too.