We are so back

381 days.

That's how long it'd been since I last made pizza outside of my home, for people outside of my immediate family. The streak ended this week when my wife and I served lunch to her coworkers.

It's been a long journey to get to this point. As many of you know, I had shoulder surgery in January to repair a bunch of stuff. When we set up the trailer last October, I could barely lift my arm. I had no choice but to get it fixed.

Recovery was incredibly slow, painful, disheartening and downright defeating. There were several extended periods of time where I debated whether or not I'd ever be physically capable of setting up the trailer again.

I'd be lying if I didn't admit I've thought about selling the trailer and closing up for good several times. More than a few times, I was convinced it was the right thing to do.

When my wife asked me several weeks ago if I would want to make pizza for her coworker's birthday party, I of course said yes, but inside I was full of self-doubt.

I wasn't sure I could do it. I wasn't sure we could do it.

My mind was full of those common anxiety-driven questions:

What if I forgot how to make dough the right way?
What if they don't like it?
What if I burn all the pizzas?
What if I hurt my shoulder again?
What if Jaime hates it now?
What if, what if, what if…

I hate anxiety. Backing out wasn't even a thought that crossed my mind — I needed to do this for myself. I needed to know if I still enjoyed it.

The night before serving lunch, after finishing all of the prep work, my wife asked me if I was excited. It caught me off guard. I hadn't once thought about being excited. All I had been able to see was what could go wrong.

But I'm so glad she asked. Because you know what? I was excited. I've wanted nothing more over the last year than to make pizza for people.

And that's exactly what we did. The moment the first pizza went into the oven, all of my nerves and self-doubt disappeared. It was like we never stopped. She shaped and topped pizza while I managed the ovens and the bake. We fell right back into the familiar rhythm we'd found before, and for the next thirty minutes, everything felt right in the world.

It turns out, making pizza is a lot like riding a bike — once you learn the basics, it's easy to do it again, even if it's over a year later.

I'm sure some of that self-doubt will creep back in as we get closer to officially reopening next year. That's just how my brain works. The difference now is that I have an answer to all those "what ifs."

My shoulder held up, the dough was great, and I still love doing this with my wife. We're not selling the trailer. In fact, we're just getting warmed back up.