When the Piano Stool Starts to Wobble

For more than ten years now, I’ve been working in gastronomy and hospitality. It’s an industry where you learn early on to be resilient. Reliable. Flexible. Willing to perform above average. You work in young, dynamic teams, constantly changing, with a hands-on mentality, plenty of humour, flat hierarchies – and occasionally a free fruit basket in the staff canteen, usually meant to distract from the next round of budget cuts.

Rotten Wood and Coffee

I’m writing these lines from the bistro car of a train, a cup of coffee in front of me. A friendly middle-aged man sits down at my table, introduces himself, and we start talking about life, work, stability. One thought from that conversation stayed with me. He spoke about balance in life and said: a piano stool usually has three legs – the minimum needed to carry weight and remain stable. Those three legs stand for the pillars that support our everyday lives: a roof over our heads, a healthy social environment, and meaningful work that pays the bills. If one leg gives way, the stool starts to wobble. Reaching for alcohol, drugs or other substances to numb the weight happens quickly. Often you don’t realise you’re already sliding downwards until it’s too late – and the other legs have started to rot as well. From my own observations in this industry, I can only confirm that. Especially in holiday destinations, companies like to advertise that you get to work where others go on vacation. In reality, workload and working conditions are often tougher than in the city. The familiar social life is missing, the geographical location isolates you. In international teams, many don’t quite know what to do with all that surrounding nature. Staff accommodation directly at the workplace is usually a temporary solution for seasonal workers. Affordable housing to build a stable environment is rare. Social life often revolves entirely around colleagues. The work is demanding – physically and mentally. And in my view, this situation in hospitality isn’t going to fundamentally change anytime soon.

When the Piano Stool Starts to Wobble

At fifteen, I consciously chose an adventurous life – between pan and peak. Living here for a while, then somewhere else. Most of my professional life, the mountains were right outside my door. Friendships change with each new job, while the work itself remains interesting. For a long time, my craft was the main pillar of fulfilment. But what do you do when that pillar starts to wobble – as it did during Covid? The mountains have changed my outlook on life and the way I work – in a positive way. At first, they were simply a place to escape. To clear my head, release stress, and feel grateful for what I had. When I’m hanging on a steep rock face in sub-zero temperatures and start to feel my body – hunger, cold, thirst, exhaustion – I genuinely look forward to a hot shower, a proper meal and a bed. When I look up at the starry sky on a clear night, or down into the empty drop of a steep wall, I realise how small certain problems really are. And how large they can appear in everyday life, inside an overstimulated environment filled with unfulfilled expectations and ambitions. When a guest complains at reception for an hour because it’s snowing in the Alps in winter. When a team gets yelled at during briefing because someone doesn’t know any better. When a director storms through the operation like a wild boar, unable to see the forest for the trees. I stay calm. Not out of indifference, but out of perspective. Situations get resolved factually, with composure – sometimes even with a smile. That calmness often transfers to the other person as well.

A Sense for Reality

Going into the mountains regularly helps me maintain a sense for reality. It pushes me physically. It helps me put things into perspective. Or to consciously shut them out and simply let impressions sink in. Along the way, you meet people who are willing to invest effort. It takes character to rise above the fog, to choose a steep and demanding path just to see the sun again. The conversations you have up there are rare, but real. No small talk. Even when you’re out with close companions: once the breath runs short, words become unnecessary. You’re forced to deal with yourself. That helps when the social pillar in everyday life starts to wobble. Sleeping under a starry sky teaches you to appreciate a hot shower and a proper toilet again. The freedom you feel up there brings back calm, strength and endurance – also for work. Hospitality and gastronomy remain fascinating industries to me. You meet remarkable people, strong characters and different perspectives. You learn to make do with little and to get the most out of what you have. The mountains still always support me whenever the piano stool starts to wobble.

For those who fear losing the ground beneath their feet

Just like in the mountains, life offers multiple paths. Some of the most meaningful moments happen off the beaten track – where a new horizon opens up. And, as so often, you can always return to the path if the view doesn’t feel right after all. Because there is still so much left to experience.