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I did it because, for some reason, I became obsessed with playing a piece perfectly. I loved the feeling of owning a piece of music and making it your own, creating a sound that takes weeks and weeks of practice to produce. I didn’t do it because I thought that someone twenty years from now would remember it. Rather, I became talented at the violin because the actual art of it meant something to me. 

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As Papou and I are talking about my violin days, I’m reminded of the sauce that Papou always tells me of, the famous sauce he made at Mama Mia’s. The way that Papou talks about the sauce is inspiring. You can tell the amount of care he has for his sauce, just from the way he speaks about it. [insert link here]

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Especially when things are difficult — having something you care so deeply about that you’ll go to any length to make it absolutely perfect — is what can drive you to continue on. It can focus you, and inspire you. 

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A hernia, seven day a week workdays, the heat of the kitchen, the early morning/late night drives to Allen Park — why did Papou keep going? After all, he had been through a lot before he owned the restaurant as well. He didn’t break down. Because he cared. He loved what he was doing. And when people tell Papou, sixteen years after the restaurant closed in 2002, about how much they loved the sauce, he shines with pride and joy — but that’s not why he did it in the first place. 

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The lesson I take from this is that it’s essential to find the “sauce” of your life. Find it, go for it, enjoy it and turn it into something special. Don’t spend too much time thinking about what will become of it, don’t become obsessed with finding a concrete answer to the question ‘Why am I doing this?’. 

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If I had spent all my time playing the violin thinking about that, I would have never achieved the things that I did. I’ll never be a professional violinist, and I think I knew that even before I quit playing. But becoming intense about the violin, and committing myself to perfecting the craft took me to places I never realized I would go; it taught me how to care about the little things; it allows me to appreciate music in an entirely different way.  

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When working on a craft, when perfecting your passion, take care in what you do. Take pride in what you say. Think carefully and thoughtfully about how you act. Then, maybe, someone will remember your sauce — and you’ll be grateful for doing what you did, even if it didn’t seem worth it at the time.