Fear of Flying

So, about a month ago, I found myself in this weird position of temping as a receptionist for a financial company downtown--Toronto, that is. A friend of mine was heading off to Australia for two weeks and needed someone reliable to cover her position.

Since I work mostly from home and have flexible hours--not to mention a strange desire to pack on the weight of responsibility more than the average human/mule can withstand--I agreed to help out. For a price, of course.

For the most part, I enjoyed my time there, even though I sometimes found boredom creeping in (note, I did manage to land the highest score on minesweeper).

On my last day, I decided to share with them my passion for cupcakes. Lucky them; lucky me! I'm always looking for willing guinea pigs.

Based on the caffeine-infested environment I had been privy to for the past two weeks, I decided to make chocolate cupcakess, come with espresso buttercream and some with mocha (these guys are hard core--they pretty much eat all three meals at the office, swishing them down with frequent coffee trips to keep the blood pumping).

I only brought in the mini ones, of both varieties, so that more people could enjoy their scrumptuousness. It was long after I arrived at 8AM, that a memo went out around the office about there being sugary food in the kitchen. Everyone was thrilled, and it was a great way to leave a good impression on my last day.

One of the staff members was totally shocked at what I had done (in a good way). She told me that she was just about to go in and pick up an order of cupcakes that look exactly like mine from a boutique shop in the west end. I told her about my dream of opening a cupcake shop and she was emphatic that I go ahead with it. In all seriousness. I was stunned (in a good way).

And yet, all of those fears also rose to the surface. I started to tell her about how I didn't really have any training, I was sure the cupcake trend has reached its peak, it was too expensive to open a shop in the city and that outside the city people had time to make their own cupcakes... The list went on and on.

It occurred to me shortly after her rebukes at my hesitance that I have let a lot of dreams slip away because of fear. Isn't it easier to hold on to the fantasy of something working out than to work hard to make it so? But it's about more than just being lazy or compliant to the way things are. It's about fear of putting yourself out there, for real, only to crash and burn. Or worse, fade away into oblivion without a soul to even notice.

I feel as though I am afraid of a lot. Every time I get on a plane, I think, there are flights that crash to the ground; it happens to some people--what if this is that flight? When I'm in a new place with new people, I often find myself wondering if I've said something to offend these folks I don't even know--what if they're whispering about me? In a situation where I know I should be standing up, speaking up, for a cause or for a person that is not being treated properly, I can hear this voice telling me that they'll only laugh--what if they need a new target to berate?

It's fear. It's powerful. It's everywhere--even in the simple act of sharing a cupcake. Will they like it? Did an egg shell manage to sneak into the batter, evevn though I was beyond careful about separating the egg whites? It can hold us back. It can shape our lives--for the better, or for the worse.

How often is fear a motivating factor in our decisions? When do you listen to the voice that tells you something is not a good idea? How do you quiet the sound of petrified heartbeats at the thought of failure, when you think the cause is worth pursuing? How do you ever know when to fight the fear of flying?

My Favourite Mistakes

It was a couple of months ago now, but I helped put together a photo shoot my work (http://www.faze.ca/) for Canadian rising star Danny Fernandes. Given the charge of looking after the food for that day, I shopped early in the morning for a nice array of snacks for the crew and talent.

However, it was the night before that I slaved away in my kitchen to come up with the cupcakes you see in the pictures. It was a recipe for an italian cream cake, modified to exist in a cupcake form. The recipe is super-long and involved (having to mix a lot of things separately and then combine at just the right rate), but I was happy with how they turned out.

Even after my icing disaster.

I always find that with the cream cheese icing for this recipe, it yields way more than you actually need--a fact that my husband quite enjoys, as he feasts on the leftovers in the days after. So, this time, I decided to cut the recipe in half--which, I never, ever do anymore because it always results in me messing up the ratios. Hey, I'm an English-major. Math will never be my strong suite--and it seems to get worse with time!

Anyway, I ended up adding the full amount of butter called for, but half the amount of cream cheese. And, of course, I only realized my mistake once I was happily frosting away. "Wait a minute...Did I...?" (look of panic).

I certainly did not have time to begin again, let alone run to the grocery store for more supplies, so I tentatively stole a taste of the contents of my sugary mixing bowl. Much to my (delighted) surprise, it was yummy. Really yummy. (No, that's not the vocabulary of a wordsmith, but oh so appropriate for the actual occurrence at hand). Actually, much better and creamier than the recipe usually turns out.

I finished icing the cupcakes and took them to the shoot. For those that tried them, it provided the same "yummy" reaction. Success!

Thus, I was once again reminded of how our mistakes can provide us with better results than what we had originally planned. Our visions for the future and careful orchestrations for our paths may be great, but sometimes they don't leave room for the things that you inevitably discover along the way. Things that change and shape us, and alter the original trajectory we had in mind: the relationship that you screwed up--which created a crying-alone-in-your-room kind of heartache--makes way for the chance meeting with the one who will take care of your heart forever; the job interview where you gave the wrong answer to a crucial question--which cost you the position--but allowed you to stay in the one you already have, right when things started to get better for the company; a wrong turn while driving--which gets you lost and 30 minutes late for your meeting--takes you past the most gorgeous park you've ever seen and the perfect place for falling in love on a third date.

There are tons of times when I have mentally hit myself over the head for making some stupid mistake, and while not all of them have yielded great results, so many have had a clear, deeper purpose that made them necessary moments and memories to smile about. My icing disaster might be a small one, but it was all I needed at the time to discard my glass-half-empty feeling. For today, anyway... :)

P.S. I Love You Cupcake

Strawberry Cupcakes with strawberry meringue buttercream

I've always been a creative person. The act of molding something into becoming an object of beauty is most definitely addictive and unlike any other high out there--not that I've wandered all that much into the wide world of mind altering substances, but, I digress...

A writer both in nature and in trade, I have also found myself dabbling in acrylics, charcoal, water colours and the occasional hour of arts and crafts (if ONLY I had a room dedicated to such stuff--I can only imagine the possibilities...and the chaotic mess: bliss!).

However, for the past year or so I've been unable to resist an obsession with sweet culinary arts--cupcakes, to be more specific. I cannot pass a storefront laden with petite cakes topped with every kind of fluffy frosting imaginable. If I am forced to do so, it makes my heart ache like parting from a loved one. I might just be the eccentric fan with my face plastered to the glass in front of someone's cupcake shop, a goofy-happy grin taking over my features.

And the weird thing is, I'm not usually that kind of person. Most people stare at me in shock and horror when they learn I don't like chocolate.

My hankering for sweets, on the whole, is pretty low, but there is something about getting just a tiny taste of heaven in each beautifully crafted cupcake that makes my heart smile. They are simple, but beautiful. And who says no to a cupcake? Crazy people, that's who.

About six months ago, I purchased my very first cupcake pan, pastry bag set, paper liners and various other amateur-baker supplies. I was dead set on delving into this world of delectable pastries, not only to be a part of the receiving side of things, but also to be on the powerful side of creation.

I have to admit--and I'm sure my husband will verify this recollection with a wide-eyed expression--that my first attempts were...well...not full of art or beauty. But there's a certain splendour in the evolution of creation, from one mold to the next, and I have come to a level of craftiness with my cupcake baking that I like to describe as pleasurable experimentation (now both for the creator and those that partake in the creation).

My designs are simple, but delicious and totally worth the 3-6 hours of sometimes hair-pulling exploits it takes to get that perfectly coiffed cupcake.

This evening, my creation of choice was a Strawberry Cupcake with strawberry meringue buttercream frosting. Despite numerous steps, the cake portion of the recipe went pretty smoothly; so, while they scented the room with an intoxicating aroma that wafted from the oven, I set about creating the frosting.

Towards the very end of the whole process, I watched in mute terror as my previous smooth and creamy concoction of eggs, sugar, butter and strawberry puree turned to an awful, curdling mess. The more I beat, the uglier it got.

I turned off the mixer, feeling completely defeated. I scanned the page of my baking guide for clues in the recipe as to what I did wrong. In an effort to change it's state, I threw the whole bowl in the fridge and slammed the door. Near tears, I paced around my kitchen, at a loss for what to do.

What was a cupcake without it's frosting? A stupid, muffin-cupcake half-breed, that's what.

Picking up the recipe book once more, I flipped through some of the previous recipes. And that's when I landed on the answer, in another variation for my strawberry meringue buttercream: "Don't worry if the mixture appears to separate, or 'curdle' after you've added the butter; simply continue beating on medium-speed, and it will become smooth again."

Well, thanks Martha Stewart. Mind putting that little tidbit of crucial information on every page of the buttercream recipes?!?!

And sure enough, when I rescued my mixture from the fridge and set to beating it once more, the hideous chunks and unsightly separation soon evened out into a lovely, creamy frosty.

My cupcakes were a scrumptious success. But the incident with the curdling got me thinking.

In our lives, when the going gets rough, when our relationships and jobs and faith and home renovation projects look out of sorts, like a disgusting curdled mess, how often do we just give up? We call it straight-shooting. "I call a spade a spade, a mess a mess and I get out quick. Start again." We don't want to "waste time" pursuing a situation that doesn't look promising at the current moment.

But if only we took the time to wait out the panic, flip the pages and discover the one piece of advice that could save us from so much of the heartache of life: "Don't worry if things are ugly at the moment. Simply continue on the speed you were at and it will become smooth again."

In a culture that makes it bread and butter off of the "I want it now" mentality, this simple lesson, which everyone's grandparents could tell us if we took the time to listen, is seriously hard to put into practise. We've been programmed to think a different way. We avoid things we aren't naturally good at. We reject our faith during the storms, when we need it most. We give into a tantrum-tossing child because the television isn't as loud as their screams. We throw away the years we spent building a relationship because we can't figure out how to get past a hurdle. We pitch home-cooked meals in favour of "15 minutes or less" takeout.

But you never know. That moment in which we decide to abandon all ships could be that instant before the tide turns and just a second, minute, hour, day, year longer might have meant smooth sailing ahead.

So, I suppose that's my challenge. Don't give up. Keep on keepin' on. Fight the good fight. And at the end of the day, when the battle is won, celebrate: have a cupcake.