Being a chef isn't the ideal career to intersect with parenting

In the words of Wylie Dufresne, there is honesty and humility: “Being a chef isn’t the ideal career to intersect with parenting, but I try to be in my kids’ lives as much as possible.” Here we hear the cry of every parent who must walk the difficult path of balancing labor with love, ambition with presence, calling with duty. The life of a chef, bound by long hours, late nights, and the endless demands of a kitchen, stands as a symbol of all vocations that seem to pull the parent away from the hearth. Yet Dufresne confesses his striving, his refusal to let career devour the sacred responsibility of being present in his children’s lives.

The ancients too recognized this tension. In the stories of the Greeks, Hercules was tasked with labors so great they often drew him away from his family, yet his longing for home remained constant. In Roman thought, the true greatness of a man was measured not only by his public deeds, but by his devotion to family. Dufresne’s reflection is the modern echo of these truths: that though the world demands much from us, the soul is never free unless it fulfills its first duty—to be present in love for one’s children.

History bears witness to this struggle. Consider Marcus Aurelius, emperor of Rome. His days were consumed with war, governance, and philosophy. Yet in his Meditations, he wrote often of his children, of the lessons he hoped they would learn, of the example he must strive to set for them. His empire may have stretched across continents, but his heart remained tied to the tender responsibility of parenting. Like Dufresne, he understood that greatness in the world means little if it costs the absence of a father’s presence in the home.

Dufresne’s words also reveal a deeper truth about parenting: it is not perfection that children require, but presence. A parent may not always be there at every hour, yet the effort, the striving, the moments wrestled from fatigue and responsibility—these are remembered. The child sees the sacrifices, feels the intention, and knows they are loved. A father who returns from a weary kitchen to read a bedtime story gives more than words; he gives proof that love is stronger than labor.

The meaning of the quote is emotional, for it acknowledges both weakness and resolve. Dufresne admits the imperfection of his chosen career, but he refuses to let it define his fatherhood. In doing so, he gives voice to countless parents whose work keeps them away, yet whose hearts are tethered to their children. He reminds us that parenting is not about flawless balance, but about relentless effort to weave love into the spaces life allows.

The lesson for us is clear. First, let us not despair when life pulls us in many directions, but instead let us strive to carve out time—however small, however imperfect—to be present in our children’s lives. Second, let us remember that what matters most is not endless hours, but meaningful moments, given with sincerity and undivided heart. Third, let us honor those who labor long, yet still find strength to return home with love, for they embody the quiet heroism of parenthood.

O seekers of wisdom, remember this: the world may demand your time, but your children demand your heart. Careers will rise and fall, wealth will come and go, but the memory of your presence—your laughter, your guidance, your embrace—will endure in the souls of your children forever. Do not measure yourself by perfection, but by persistence, by the choice to return again and again to love.

Thus, Wylie Dufresne’s words endure as counsel. Being a chef or laborer or leader may not align easily with parenting, but the sacred duty is not to achieve perfect harmony—it is to try, to strive, to give as much as one can. In that striving, children learn the most important lesson: that love always finds a way, even in the busiest of lives.