Actually, that was uttered by Jess in the series, verbatim: “people with different personality disorders.” And it proves my point from my previous blog entry.
The Bear shows how human it is behind every “kitchen.” It doesn’t rely on dramatic, picturesque, cheesy conflicts that only exist on screen. It shows people being human in the messiest, loudest, most uncomfortable way possible.
The premise is simple, but the way it carries everything with such high intensity is what makes it exceptional. The anxiety. The grief. The long-lost self-respect. The micromanagement. The MICROMANAGEMENT! The constant need to prove something. Isn’t that what people with trust issues deal with all the time? Wanting so badly to trust other people, but also being terrified of letting anyone down… including themselves?
I’ve had my fair share of micromanagement issues before I finally built a polished, reliable team of people who know what they’re doing. Before that, I filled in every gap, even the smallest dot of imperfection, just so I wouldn’t have to feel sorry for myself. So I wouldn’t feel like I had let myself down. So I wouldn’t have to sit with the disappointment of not being effective enough.
And that was a hell of a fucking ride.
I struggled with how people would see me if I didn’t move fast enough, think fast enough, fix fast enough. But at the same time, I got anxious when people couldn’t walk at the same pace as me. It’s exhausting to be the person who wants to trust others but keeps standing too close to the steering wheel.
The only normal person, if that even counts, was probably Luca. He carries weight, but he’s buff enough to carry it. The show doesn’t give him too much screen time, and maybe that’s the beauty of it. He represents balance. Not because he’s empty, but because he seems regulated enough not to turn every wound into fire.
And to be honest, I get why Carmy wants to quit.
Even he said that “this” doesn’t make him happy anymore. His issue with micromanagement really hits like a jab to the jaw. There’s Sydney: young, talented, and steady enough to lead the kitchen. And he knows that. He knows exactly what The Bear will become if he’s always in the way. People will always have to adjust. Even if he’s the best, he still needs to let go.
He. Needs. To. Slow. Down.
You need to pass the fucking baton, my guy. And watch. As simple as that.
Funny thing is, with all that mess, I remember one exact person who is just like Carmy.
Sometimes you really need to know someone long enough before you start seeing the resemblance in somebody else. And it’s not just in me. It’s in that person too. Maybe even more intensely.
Carmy doesn’t even realize how much he loves cooking—or, dare I say, being in charge—until he has to describe what it means to be a chef to somebody else. Not only the beautiful parts, but the messiest ones too. Maybe that’s what love is all about, right?
I can also relate to Claire a lot. Like, a lot.
Whoever gets close to Carmy as a person would probably end up exhausted. Claire wants to bring colors into his life, but Carmy is always on the verge of fearing something that may never even happen. He keeps bracing himself for disaster, even when there’s nothing dangerous in front of him. And yet, at the end of the rope, he wants that warmth too.
Maybe that’s what’s so complicated about dealing with people who aren’t finished with themselves. They want to be loved, but they don’t always know how to stay still long enough to receive it.
“For me, my anxiety sometimes, it would come up when I felt like I was, you know, leaving, like, a safe zone, and going into what I thought might be an unsafe zone.” — Carmen Berzatto
Beneath all that intensity, what I love most is how real the conversations feel. There’s a warmth to them, as if these people have been working in the same kitchen for decades. They bicker, interrupt, snap at each other, make up, and move on. It’s like people who know each other too well.
And then there’s Carmy and Sydney.
Their dynamic is probably one of the best platonic, stay-in-business friendships I’ve seen on television. There’s trust, disappointment, admiration, conflict, and mutual respect, all without the story forcing them into a romantic relationship. Not every great chemistry needs to become romance. Sometimes, it’s enough to let two people simply matter to each other.
I cried when they hugged. It’s such a beautiful scene that I could rewatch it again and again and again.
You know, I’m just not ready to say goodbye yet. But I’d love to watch it all over again.
“The Bear has something no other place has: family.” — Luca
Maybe that’s why this show lingers. The butterflies are probably long gone but the beauty stays.
