I carefully stirred all of the ingredients together in a mixing bowl and shamelessly had a little taste. It was super yummy! And this made me more excited for what the bread would taste like. My mom helped me set up the convection oven and at the last minute I spread some coconut oil over the batter for some added flavor. I popped it in the oven and then all I had to do was wait for 25 minutes while it cooked. For the first 10 minutes I patiently waited and watched as the mix raised and started looking unbearably delicious. With 15 minutes to go, I figured I could run upstairs and change my clothes (we were going out to dinner) before the masterpiece was complete. Well, it turns out I was wrong. I walked out of my room (looking quite fashionable, might I add) and turned to my mom in horror as the smell of burning deliciousness wafted into my nostrils. I sprinted down the stairs and I could already see the smoke filling up my kitchen. I opened up the microwave oven and a huge puff of smoke billowed out. I had to step away because it was so intense and I didn't want to get the black lung. I coughed then grabbed some cooking mitts and pulled my beloved cake out only to find that it was completely black. Shocked, I rushed it outside onto my deck to let it smoke and then tried to assess the damage. I found out that sadly, the cake was completely inedible and was more comparable to some ashy igneous rock than pumpkin bread. I immediately felt a rush of sadness. I had failed. I had tried baking and I had failed. My dad called into the room asking if something was burning and then rushed in.
"Oh no! Your yummy bread! Did you just forget about it?"
I scowled, "No. The box told me to bake it for that long! There were still five minutes on the timer!"
I felt worse when my dad checked out the "bread" and said that he had never seen something that burned in his life.
We opened all of the windows and let the cool breeze come in, trying to get the smoke out. I now had a choice: I could wallow in feeling bad for myself that I had burned my pumpkin bread (my first one ever, might I add) or I could move along and laugh about it, because it was, in actuality, pretty funny.
Luckily, I chose the second option. I took pictures of the rectangular black tar while it continued cooling off and I later took pictures as it lay, completely intact, in my garbage can.
The same day, my whole family went grocery shopping and I was determined to find something else I could bake. I was not going to let that stupid pumpkin bread take me down. Banana bread was the winner and I went on to execute it perfectly the next day for my dad's birthday. As I scarfed down my scrumptious creation I realized that the whole baking experience was just a very small example of what not giving up can do for you. Failure is a part of life, and in order to succeed in anything, you need to be able to get over failure.
I have failed at a lot of things. Some I have simply let go of if they weren't working out of didn't mean a whole lot to me, such as playing soccer or getting a 4.0 in high school. Other things I have failed at, but persevered through, and those are some of the things I love to do most (skiing and running). Someday, if I become a high level skier, I want to be able to tell younger kids that I failed a ton before finally achieving my dream. Heck, I didn't make varsity for the cross-country state meet my freshman year of high school, I was DFL in the 2013 US National classic sprint, and even more recently, I wasn't even close to hitting my goal of qualifying for World Juniors this past winter. All of these moments hurt a lot and made me want to quit, but I am so glad that I didn't, because I simply love to do these sports and I love to race.
In the end, you need to love your failures just as much as you love your successes, because whether you like it or not, they define you and can mean just as much.
On a last note, I would like to mention (although I don't like mentioning it) that I failed my driver's license test four times before I passed it. This was the most humiliating set of failures I have suffered from and I still hate admitting it to people because I feel so inadequate. At the time, I thought there was something seriously wrong with me. All my friends would pass on their first try, and then there was me...failing to properly execute my head checks. I pretty much told no one because I was terrified of what they would think. But, now that it's said and done, I'm glad that I had to take the test that many times because I think I am a better driver because of it. I have yet to get in a crash (knock on wood) and I feel like I actually know what I'm doing. So although there were moments when I was genuinely ready to be a lifetime bike-rider and carpooler, I proved to myself that if you just keep on trying, eventually it will work out.
P.S. I now literally have the black lung from inhaling in my burned bread smoke... Oh the joys of failure.
