I was once asked, through the grating glare of a Bexley High School computer screen, what made me happy. The question, posed by a college’s admissions website, was a simple one, and the answer formed itself into the easiest college supplement I wrote throughout my application process last fall:
“Most of my friends call me Mom. This is probably due in part to my caring nature and tendency to fret over everyone’s well-being. But I suspect my status as the matriarch has its foundations in my kitchen. I can bring any of my ‘children’ to heel with the promise of Nutella cookies, and I can ease the pain of a tough test with fresh cinnamon raisin bread. For every gathering, I provide the baked goods. It is simply expected, and I am happy to oblige. Even without an event, I jump at any opportunity to whip out my sifter and tart pan.
Irish coffee cookies were an excuse to reminisce with choir friends about our summer tour in Ireland. The Danish Phase of the Thirty Years’ War is far more interesting when accompanied by an actual apple cinnamon danish, and I believe my AP European History class would agree. I’m widely celebrated for my mini Oreo cheesecakes, but my Nutella toffee cookies remain my best friend’s favorite.
I am happiest when I have flour (or maybe it’s powdered sugar?) in my hair, tempered chocolate under my fingernails, and egg whites furiously twirling their way to stiff peaks in my big stand mixer. I make smiles with that big silver bowl; I make dark days brighter and small moments special. There is no universal answer to the question, ‘How can I find happiness?’ but I’ve found that chai spiced cinnamon rolls aren’t a bad place to start. I live to see that first, wide-eyed bite of baked goodness, and to know that I made it happen.”
Since the beginning of high school, baking has been one of my favorite hobbies and best outlets. Aside from the joy of always getting to lick the spoon, I loved the way baking allowed me to celebrate and connect with friends. I loved how easy it was for me to make people happy, and how creative I could be with flavors and ideas. It was an honor to be asked to bake every birthday cake, and to bring dessert to every potluck.
Notice the sugar-free past tense. One of the many adjustments I had to make last year when I moved to Ann Arbor was living a life without a kitchen. At first I was thrilled by the fact that my dorm had a kitchenette that I could use whenever I wished. However, this hope was swiftly crushed the first time I asked the Community Center for a mixing bowl and I was provided with only a strainer, which was all they had. Not exactly like my kitchen at home.
Baking was important enough to me to be the subject of an entire college essay, and when I moved to Michigan I felt like a little part of me was left back home in Ohio. Coming to a new place and being with totally new people is difficult enough, but I felt like I couldn’t totally be myself, as though my new friends were only getting to know part of me; the part without flour all over her face and a new idea for a tart every other week.
I know I am not the only one experiencing this sense of loss – talking to friends at U of M and from high school, they all seem to have something they had to leave behind in their hometowns. One friend used to play music and jam with his best friends every day, squishing an entire band into one of their bedrooms. Though he has his bass and guitar at school, he has been unable to recreate that sort of experience. Another girl sang in choir in high school, but has found that she no longer has time to sing due to her rigorous class schedule. She believes she made the right decision, but that doesn’t change the fact that she no longer gets to sing in the community she adores.
As we move through life, little pieces often get lost. They break off, leaving what can feel like gaping holes where they used to be. However these gaps don’t have to exist forever, and sometimes such a drastic change can help you to shed the parts of your life that were unnecessary, unfulfilling, or holding you in a rut – sometimes these gaps help you to move forward. In high school, I performed in every play and musical; while I loved my time in the theatre department, I feel as though it is time for me to move on from that part of my life. I will always cherish those memories, but it is okay to decide you’re ready for something new.
It’s important to remember that the most important things can’t be lost forever if you’re willing to adapt or to fight for them. This year, it has been nearly impossible for me to spend time in the kitchen, but whenever I go home I have a head full of recipes and ideas. I walk in the front door, my mom and I roll up our sleeves, and within thirty minutes the house is full of a familiar chocolatey or doughy or sweet scent radiating from the oven. Before I head back to school, I pack cardboard boxes full of lemon scones, pumpkin whoopie pies, or chocolate peppermint cake balls to share with my Ann Arbor friends. Once for a video assignment, I filmed my own mini Oreo cheesecake Tasty video in my dorm kitchen (we had to use a saucepan as a mixing bowl). The things that are most important will act like liquid, seeking out whatever space they can acquire, morphing and shifting however necessary to fit into the present iteration of your life. And next year I will have a house, a backed-up list of unrealized recipes, and a new kitchen to fill with those familiar sweet scents.
Images courtesy of: Kendall Hecker and Edison Nation Blog