Last weekend – not this past weekend but the weekend before – for whatever reason the timing was the timing, I decided to finally accept that the baking/photographing/writing/cookie path is what I'm supposed to do.
Enough trying to "figure out" my calling, blah, blah, blah. I know. I've known. It just didn't seem doable. Or important enough. Frivolous, I've said before.
But then I really thought about the cookie I did for Angelo in September
, the little peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and how it affected him, and I thought, "It's not flashy or grand, but what I do touches people. And that's all I want to do." And I thought that I should write it all down, to make it real. But I didn't get around to it.
And then this morning, a comment arrived on this post, "Quiet Epiphany,"
which asked: "I'm curious..2 years later did you ever have the epiphany or direction you were looking for ?"
Well, Anonymous, as a matter of fact I have. I replied: "I have, actually. Your comment is very timely. And has spurred me to write a blog post about just this topic. Look for it in the next 24 hours. Thanks for asking!"
And here we are.
The signs have been mounting, as I wrote about in "A Cookie Story,"
"more and bigger pieces are starting to slot into place."
But still, I resisted. Even as I wrote, "There is lot of love that goes into baking for others. It is a simple act. But it is profound," I resisted.
I wrote those words on January 22. By the end of February, the Universe had had quite enough.
I was there. I had arrived. After 42 years of trying to "figure it out," I had figured it out. But I hadn't let it in.
So much angst. So much toil. So much fervent effort to analyze and test and figure, figure, figure.
Until that weekend, two weeks ago – I believe it was on Sunday – when I sat here, in this very chair, staring at the O
magazines and the recently purchased e-workbook that were my latest installments of attempted discovery.
And my brain just said, "Stop. Beth, stop. You already know. Just accept it. It'll work out."
Just like that.
Forty-two years of my own sound and fury signifying nothing. All of which ended with a single thought.
"Just accept it."
So I did. Without having any concrete reason on which to hang this decision, no pronouncement, no fanfare. Clouds did not part. Angels did not sing.
It was just there. It was just a relieved sigh. Sunday, February 26, 2012, the day my brain said, "OK."
Two days later, an email arrived.
Asking me to be part of a project for which is needed 50 dozen cookies.
Yes, 50 dozen.
Yes, that's 600 cookies.
Yes, that's a lot.
Hello, acknowledgment from the Universe. How nice of you to arrive so promptly.
Still, baking in and of itself isn't sustainable for me. Even with a bakery. I've written about this before.
But I said "Yes" to the project for more reasons than one, because I have no idea where this will lead but I'm smart enough to follow paths that appear in front of me.
I don't know.
But I do know that I know others who have traveled similar paths.
And, as I've said before, my network has always served me well.
So last night, I pinged one of my new acquaintances and asked him if he might have time, somewhere in his busy schedule, to hop on the phone sometime to offer some advice.
"Of course," he replied. "Tomorrow?"
Why, yes, tomorrow would be fine!
And I asked another food-type person, on Twitter, if I may tap her for advice sometime.
"Anytime," she tweeted, instantly.
I am a fortunate woman.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have 600 cookies to bake.