I’m writing this morning at a friends house outside of Belfast. Sure it’s hard, but I’m up for the challenge. A few moments ago, I took a break and headed out for water and a latte. Up and down a small street of shops I walked. I happened on the "bread" shop. All they make is bread. Just like the meat shop, three doors down, that simply cuts and sells meat. That’s a couple of doors down from the whine shop, that sells great wine. I could go on.
I bought half-loaf of bread made just a couple of hours ago. A walnut-apple loaf. It looks like bread should look. It feels like bread should feel. I took a bite. I wanted to kiss the baker, but I was already back at the house where I’m writing.
Maybe there really is something to doing what you’re best at.