There are moments in life when the path you have followed faithfully for years no longer feels like the one you are meant to stay on. Nothing dramatic happens. No single event forces a change. It is quieter than that. A realization settles in. Something is missing.
For Jason Gray, that realization came after decades of doing exactly what was expected of him.
Before he ever worked in a kitchen, Jason worked in service. He spent years in the military. Then in emergency services, alongside police departments and in 911 dispatch, where urgency and precision were part of the job description. Later came nearly seventeen years in information technology, most of them at Duke University. He started at the help desk and eventually became an IT service desk manager. It was stable work. Respectable work. The kind of career that looks complete from the outside.
But over time, it stopped stretching him.
“I was stuck in middle management,” Jason said. “There wasn’t much room to grow, and I wasn’t being challenged anymore.”
During those later years, something unexpected entered his life. Jason began baking cakes from scratch. At first, it was simply a way to pass time. Something tangible. Something creative. Then coworkers started noticing. Birthdays became occasions. Encouragement followed. Requests came in. What began as practice slowly became purpose.
By then, his children were grown. The constant pull of responsibility had eased. And for the first time, Jason allowed himself to ask a question he had never prioritized before.
Why not do something for Jason?
At fifty one, he enrolled in culinary school at Asheville Buncombe Technical Community College. He chose a traditional culinary program rather than focusing only on baking. He wanted to understand the fundamentals. Flavor. Technique. Presentation. He immersed himself fully, serving as vice president of the Student Government Association, managing and captaining the competition cooking team, and learning wherever he could.
After graduation, Jason worked in several of Asheville’s well known kitchens, including Chestnut and Corner Kitchen. Eventually, he moved to the Biltmore Estate, where he rotated through multiple roles, from banquets to line cooking to the Stable Café. Later, he was selected as a personal chef for a member of the Cecil family. The standards were high. The expectations clear.
What mattered most to Jason was not the title. It was the connection.
“I loved interacting with the people I was cooking for,” he said. “Food is about more than taste. It’s about the experience and the relationship.”
When a recruiter reached out about an opportunity in Virginia, Jason listened. Summit Square offered something he had been quietly looking for. A place where his skills as a chef and his instincts as a leader could exist together. A place where hospitality meant knowing the people you serve.
Now living in Staunton and settling into his role at Summit Square, Jason feels a sense of alignment that had been missing before.
“What I love here is that I still get to cook, but I also get to know the people I’m serving,” he said. “You see the same residents every day. You build relationships. You see the joy on their faces. That part matters.”
He is especially invested in mentoring his team, from experienced cooks to high school students just starting their first jobs. Jason wants to be the leader he once searched for himself. Someone steady. Someone encouraging. Someone willing to invest in others, even if that growth eventually leads them elsewhere.
As Summit Square works toward restoring full table side service, Jason is focused on elevating food and presentation. Not for flair, but for respect. Because the way a meal is served communicates care.
“We eat with our eyes first,” he said. “When something looks good, people are willing to try it. And when it tastes good, it becomes something they look forward to.”
Jason’s story is not about leaving one life behind for another. It is about recognizing when it is time to listen more closely to yourself. About choosing curiosity over comfort. And about understanding that sometimes the bravest decision is simply allowing yourself to begin again.
