Wall Street to Goat Herder: A True Story of Finding Meaning (Chapter 6)
Sometimes, the most profound connections begin with a shared laugh over flying garlic cloves.
Context for First-Time Readers: This is the story of my journey from corporate lawyer to goat herder, told in chapters. You can either start at the Prologue at Breadcrumbs & Shenanigans or just dive right into this Chapter 6.
CHAPTER 6: A Friendship Begins
The weeks after I bought the meditation book and returned to therapy were slow and painstaking.
Each day felt like a small battle — against despair, against the urge to slip back into bed, against the voice inside me that insisted nothing would ever change.
But those small victories — day by day, breath by breath — began to accumulate.
With therapy and meditation as lifelines, I started to take stock of my reality.
My savings and employment termination severance were dwindling, drained month by month by the high mortgage payments on my swanky Manhattan apartment.
But I couldn’t even consider letting the apartment go.
It wasn’t just an address. It was part of who I thought I was.
A lawyer. A Manhattanite. Someone successful.
Losing it felt like it would mean losing everything.
In hindsight, it wasn’t just about the apartment or the identity tied to it.
It was about what the apartment symbolized: certainty, security, and — perhaps most painfully — worth.
Without those markers of success, who was I?
I didn’t know then, but I was clinging to them because I didn’t yet believe I could be loved or respected without them.
They were a shield.
An identity I held onto tightly because I didn’t know how to hold myself.
It was around this time that I met Simone.
Desperate to cut down on expenses and focus on my health, I decided to learn how to cook.
Greasy takeout and high-end restaurants had been my norm, and I didn’t even know how to turn on my oven. Cooking felt like an insurmountable challenge, but I couldn’t afford to ignore it anymore.
Simone was a private chef. She came to my apartment for our first lesson, took one look at my pristine, Miele appliances, and quipped:
"Looks like these have never been used."
She was right.
I laughed nervously, embarrassment creeping in.
But Simone didn’t judge me.
She moved through the kitchen as if it didn’t matter that I had no idea what I was doing. Her confidence made the space feel less intimidating, and as she laid out the ingredients, I felt a glimmer of curiosity — maybe even excitement.
Our first lesson was unforgettable — mostly because of how hilariously awkward I was.
Simone handed me some garlic cloves and showed me how to press down on them to loosen the skin. When I tried, several cloves shot across the room.
We spent several minutes hunting for them, laughing as we found them under the couch and by the hallway to the bathroom.
Later, when she showed me how to chop vegetables, her expression shifted to one of pure terror as I gripped the knife clumsily.
"I think you’re more afraid of the knife than it is of you," she joked, adjusting my grip.
I couldn’t help but laugh with her.
Each lesson brought more humor and more missteps.
There was the time I bought a cucumber instead of zucchini.
And the time I skipped fennel entirely on the grocery list she gave me because I had no idea what it was — and was too embarrassed to ask anyone at the store.
But Simone never made me feel stupid.
She turned every mistake into a shared laugh, and slowly, I began to relax in her presence.
It wasn’t just about learning to cook.
Those lessons became a safe space — a pocket of light in a life that still felt heavy and uncertain.
Simone didn’t care about my fancy law degree or my dwindling bank account.
She didn’t see me as a success or a failure.
She just saw me.
And, for the first time, I started to feel like that might be enough.
One day, after a lesson, Simone mentioned she was going to visit a sustainable agriculture farm upstate and go on a hike.
She asked if I wanted to join her.
I hesitated. Hiking wasn’t my thing.
I was a city person, through and through.
Except for Malawi, the outdoors had never called to me.
But there was something about the way she asked — casual, without expectation — that made me say yes.