Authenticity > Palatability

What my family's cake battle can teach us about accepting responsibility for our own happiness (so we don't die full of regrets)

Photo by Julian Hochgesang on Unsplash

My mom makes two delicious cakes. They both have the same base (a rich chocolate cake with coffee poured into the batter — fantastic), but the finishing touches are different.

For my favorite, my Mom makes fresh whipped cream, puts it in between two of the chocolate cakes, then dumps a vat of sugary sweet melted chocolate on top. It’s death by chocolate and it’s amazing.

For my husband’s favorite, she mixes peanut butter with powdered sugar, then puts that in between two cakes before smothering the tops and sides with peanut buttery goodness.

While both cakes are good, I believe the peanut butter version has nothing on the chocolate version. My husband, in turn, thinks that I am insane for preferring the chocolate one.

Family battle lines run deep. My brother Thor and Auntie Gail join me in proclaiming the chocolate cake’s superiority. While we’re in the minority, we’re intensely vocal. We know our cake is the best and Thor will gladly cause bodily harm to anyone who says otherwise.

Pretty much everyone else sides with Sam in preferring the peanut butter cake. But whatever. Just because something’s popular with the masses, it doesn’t mean it’s the better option. Unless we’re talking about the Fast and Furious movies, which are both popular with the masses and cinematic gold.

But I digress.

The Lesson

This family cake battle holds an important lesson: different people like different things.

Lately, I’ve been in my head about my writing. I write stories about the things I mull over. Frequently, I use a lot of words and take time to reach my point. I play with analogies (like cake) and often tie in my mystical beliefs.

I know, intellectually, that my musings aren’t for everyone. They’re probably not even for most people. I don’t include a single meme in my posts.

But, some insecure part of me wants everyone to like everything I do. “Did you see that post Keely put up where she took 47 minutes to share her thoughts and feelings on Jello? Riveting, wasn’t it?”

So I’ve fretted and I’ve hesitated, wondering if I needed to get better at my craft (or at least more concise) before I publish more regularly.

Do you ever do the same thing?

Do you hesitate before putting yourself out there — with a hobby, in a swimsuit, or when sharing your goals — because you think you need to be “better” first?

Do you let a desire for being universally liked, respected and admired interfere with pursuing your dreams?

Accepting Reality

If you do, I think it’s time for us both to face the facts: it’s never going to happen.

If my Mom’s delicious cakes can’t even find universal acclaim, you and I aren’t ever going to get it.

If you’re very mystical and like to interpret your dreams and live according to the rhythm of your moon cycle, I’m probably going to find you fascinating. My husband, conversely, may find you bin-able. Yes, bin-able. As in, he’d like to put you in the garbage bin (thanks, Sneh). He gets enough woo-woo chatter from me. He doesn’t want to hear it from you.

Conversely, if you approach me talking about which tech gadget you should buy or your hobby fixing up old muscle cars, I’m going to run away from you. As fast as I possibly can. Which, to be fair, isn’t particularly fast, but you’ll get the point. I’m not interested. My husband, however, will gladly pass hours chattering away with you. He’ll probably also get on the roll-y thing and peek under the car, even if he’s wearing a new shirt his devoted wife picked out. Men.

Okay, I got carried away there. My husband picks out his own shirts. When I shop for him, I bring home things and say, “This seemed weird so I thought you would like it. Do you?” Then he tells me that a cats-in-space button-down isn’t really his thing, so I have to return it all. A few years ago, I just stopped shopping for him.

Which, coincidentally, further proves my point: we don’t all have the same taste.

The Gift

I choose to believe that’s a good thing. If we all had the same taste — mine, for instance — critical parts of society would get neglected. We’d all spend our days reading and writing, then who would grow food? We’d starve.

So, it’s probably helpful that we’re all made differently. Even if it means the peanut butter cake gets made more often than the chocolate one (rude).

Instead of striving for universal palatability, which is never going to happen, my new goal is to prioritize authenticity.

If I share who I truly am — wordy, weird or otherwise — those of you who want more people like me in their lives can find me. 

If you honestly and openly share what you want out of life, the people who want the same things can also find you.

We’ll all still be sitting at dinner tables with people who have wildly different beliefs, interests and preferences — but that’s how it should be. My husband and his car-loving, tech-gadget-y, peanut-butter-cake-adoring cadre on one side, trying to get a word in while I wax poetic about the moon and Thor punches anyone who says the peanut butter cake is better than the chocolate one.

That’s fun. And very much what my family Thanksgivings look like.

Finding our tribes means looking for variety and allies. We want both.

What we don’t want, however, is watered down versions of anyone. I want my dinner mates to be radiantly alive, actively pursuing what sets their heart aflame, instead of shrinking away, worrying they’re not good enough.

I don’t know if my writing is “worthy” of publishing. But I do know that I like who I am when I write and publish regularly. That’s a perfectly valid reason to do it.

I don’t know if you’re good at the things you want to try. But I do know that the most common deathbed regret is, “I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.”

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to die with that regret. I’d much rather accept responsibility for pursuing my dreams now, be a little braver and bolder while I still can, than to be on my deathbed thinking, “I wonder what would have happened if I’d pursued that writing thing.”

I hope you also go for it. I hope you try the thing you want to try, put on the swimsuit before your body is “perfect” and otherwise live the biggest, boldest, most interesting life you can.

After all, can you imagine what the world would be like if my Mom hadn’t had the courage to try out different recipes? My family wouldn’t have the chocolate cake or the peanut butter cake and we’d all be sad, mopey potatoes. We probably wouldn’t even have anything to talk about and would have drifted apart, never to see each other again.

We’d probably all still be pretty dramatic though. I don’t see that changing.

Journal Prompt:

Flash forward to your deathbed and imagine your future self saying, “I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.” What regret is your future self most likely to be talking about?