I’ll never forget that van ride back to the hotel after being told to pack my knives and leave Top Chef. It was just me and a couple of the production assistants from Bravo. I hung my head, leaning against the window in the back while they sat up front and made small talk. I don’t remember the exact topic of their conversation but I’m sure it was along the lines of what to eat later or how tired they were. You see, this was just another day on the job for them. They were encouraged not to befriend us, the cast, so any form of consolation that I was seeking was between me and the bright lights of Miami.

Today I can vividly see that ride every time I think about it. Two guys that I would never see again were sitting front row for the most pivotal moment in my chef career and they were none the wiser. I stared out the window wondering what I had just done. How did I get here? What was I going to say to everyone that had such high hopes for me? I began to think that If I’d only stayed in my lane I would have never been set up for such sorrow. But on the other hand everything would have been so perfect if I had just made it further and won, but then what?

On a recent trip with family I was preparing to go out for a very nice dinner. Not just any nice dinner though. This place provided menu options that for all intents and purposes flirted with the mystique of perfect. We’re talking A-5 wagyu beef, 25 day dry aged ribeyes, and murder point oysters just to name a few offerings. Oh, and did I mention creme brûlée cornbread? If all went well, perfection was to be mine.

Once I came to terms that I shouldn’t wear a T-shirt, I stood in front of the mirror fully dressed and the next decision was my shoes. Anyone that knows me knows that I have an affinity for footwear. I own many pairs of shoes and some are not allowed to take a walk on my feet.

Before you can say it, I’m aware it’s pretty wacky. In no way is it because I don’t like the shoes. I just can’t seem to find the perfect occasion for their debut. I know that once they are worn the potential for haphazard wear and tear begins and they are no longer pristine and new.

So, as any responsible slightly neurotic shoe owner would do, I reached for an old pair and the newer shoes stayed in my suitcase.
We made our way to dinner and everything from the server to the dishes arrived in consummate elegance. Perfection was dancing in the shadows just waiting to claim the evening for its own. Then lo and behold I glanced at my sister’s filet. I recalled her ordering it medium rare and it was medium at best. I never said a word, and truth be told I think she was enjoying the moment so much that she never noticed. As with any dinner, highs and lows are imminent and human error is a foreseeable part of the show.

As we arrived back to the condo, I changed clothes and laughed at my lonely pair of new shoes that didn’t make the cut. If only I had worn them. But how was I to know that the evening was going to be so ideal? It’s baffling how we can attach such a quid pro quo to our own lives. The existential becomes result reliant and we refuse to begin living until all seems perfect. For me, if not careful, it becomes an endless pursuit of waiting to live.

I’m pragmatic enough to know that perfect doesn’t exist. And even if it did, then what? I guess I would wear my new shoes more often or take frequent leaps of faith without waiting for the stars to align. But why not just go ahead and do those things? Recently on a bike ride with my son Landon, he said to me, “I love riding bikes because it gives me the ability to see life as it’s being lived.” I still have so much to learn. Because, I, on the other hand, often see life as its living me.

Just like those production assistants driving me to the hotel, my family was sitting front row to another pivotal moment for me. In the midst of dinner I realized that none of us need life to be perfect, we just need the ability to “see it” while it’s being lived. The imperfections create balance, while intimate dinners pulsate through our souls in an old familiar fashion. And if close to perfect is what you seek, a 25 day dry aged ribeye will have you knocking at Shangri-La’s door. Just remember to wear your new shoes.

Clay Bowen is a Columbus native who cooked professionally as a chef in fine dining for 12 years and appeared on the third season of Top Chef. He is also a licensed landscape horticulturist and is currently the general manager of a local landscaping company. Bowen writes in his free time and is working on a book about his experiences and travel.