Two weeks before my father died, I came home from work to find him sitting on a stool in the kitchen. He was 90 years old and weak from cancer, but there he was: mixing a batter for pizzelle, those thin, crispy Italian wafer cookies he’d been making for decades.
For more than twenty years, my dad ran a restaurant. He started with a hot dog stand when he returned from the war, and when he got married, he moved back to his hometown and took over a local restaurant with rooms upstairs and a restaurant downstairs. It was home-cooked food with an Italian flair.
I was only three by the time the restaurant closed, but I still remember the old-fashioned ice cream counter with the big tubs.
For nearly 40 years after he left the restaurant, he continued to create beautiful meals at home.
I remember coming home from school and there would be pizza baking and peppers roasting in the oven that he would deluge in olive oil with garlic cloves. He’d be making bread. At Thanksgiving, he would whip up 10 pies like it was nothing. There was always something, some food delight happening in our kitchen.
We’d have people over for dinner all the time, and they’d always tell me how good my dad’s food was. And I’d think: “Yeah, I know. No one makes food like my dad.”
After he passed away, his greatness truly sunk in.
So it was no surprise to me that, in what would be the last two weeks of his life, he was still there making food for us. Not because he had to or because anyone asked, but because feeding people, taking care of people he loved through food, was his single biggest passion and the gift he wanted to share with the world.
What Passion Actually Looks Like
We throw around the word “passion” a lot. Follow your passion. Find your passion. Monetize your passion.
But watching my father make pizzelle two weeks before he died taught me what passion really means.
True passion is the thing you’d do even when your body is weak. Even when no one’s watching or paying you for it.
It’s the thing that drives you not because it’s practical or profitable, but because it’s part of who you are.
That’s what I saw in my dad. That’s real passion.
My Own Search
Lately, I find myself asking deeper questions about passion and what really drives us.
I’ve always had vision. I’ve always known what matters. I am a passionate entrepreneur. But now I’m asking: Is it the same kind of passion my dad had? The kind that would keep me going no matter what?
I don’t have all the answers right now. But I keep coming back to this question: What’s the thing we’d do even in our most difficult moments or even in our last moments?
Creating Your Lane Means Following What Matters
When I talk about creating your own lane, I’m not just talking about starting a business or chasing a big dream.
I’m talking about following what truly matters to you, even when the path isn’t clear. Even when you’re not sure what your “pizzelle” is yet.
Creating your own lane means giving yourself permission to pursue what drives you. Not what looks good on paper, not what everyone else expects, but what you’d do even if no one was watching.
What is most remarkable about my dad’s story is that his passion didn’t end when the restaurant closed. He didn’t need a business or customers to keep expressing it. He just needed flour, water and oil, and people to feed.
That’s the kind of clarity I want for myself. For you. For all of us.
What I Hope For You
As we head into Thanksgiving, I’m thinking about passion that shows up in small, daily ways. About the thing that keeps you going all year, not just when things are easy.
My wish for you this season is that you find, or reconnect with, whatever your pizzelle are.
The thing that lights you up. The thing you’d do even when you’re tired, uncertain, or weak.
And if you’re like me, and you’re not totally sure what that is right now? That’s okay too.
Maybe the search itself is part of creating your own lane.
Maybe asking the question (‘what really drives me?’) is exactly where we need to start.