To Thine Own Self Be True

I once had a goldfish named Horatio, who should hold the Guinness World Record for most miles traveled by a goldfish because I trucked him back and forth to college nearly every weekend my junior year. Unfortunately, Guinness never called, but Horatio was nonetheless a valiant and true friend. So, it should be no wonder that one of my favorite Shakespeare quotes is from Act 1, Scene 3 of Hamlet, “To Thine Own Self Be True.” 

I love this quote, but I have often ignored its advice. Like you, I have spent immeasurable amounts of time and energy trying meet the expectations of others, including doing things that I neither enjoy, nor have any desire to do or be. We do this because we want acceptance. We want to be a part of the crowd. Ultimately, we want to be loved. But the trick is that we are only truly lovable when we are our authentic selves. 

I will tell you a story. In 2011, I joined the choir at my church. Big church. Big choir. Beautiful music. I loved everything about it once I got over the nervousness of the audition. The people are awesome, even the ones I don’t like. Yep, I said it. Moving on. I joined the choir in the fall and as spring rolled around the following year, the entire choir went into bake sale mode. This is not some small thing; it is an extravaganza of sugar and décor that defies imagination. One problem. I. Don’t. Bake. 

That’s right, kids, as a modern female who owns her own business, I avoid the glass ceiling of kitchen duties all together. So, it shouldn’t surprise you that I have never baked a single cookie, cupcake, or cake for the bake sale. But that doesn’t mean that it started out that way. 

Yep. I was not true to myself on a mild April day when I walked into Sur La Table and had a complete and utter existential crisis. As a non-traditional woman, I sometimes fool myself into thinking that I need to be June Clever for people to love me. Thus, the meltdown. That day, I walked into the baking section and tried to figure out what I could make. It started with a cake. Then, cupcakes. Should I make something from scratch. Jesus won’t love me if I use a box cake. And Lord knows the sopranos will talk. Maybe cupcakes. Cupcakes must be easier; they’re little cakes. Wait, do I have cupcake pans? Maybe these fancy, expensive box cakes will do the trick. Wait, there are 100 steps to this cake. The hives start and the napkin aisle looks like it is closing in on me. I start to feel nauseous. I almost sit down on the floor like a three-year-old and cry. 

After an eternity, which was actually ten minutes, I am holding boxes and muttering, sitting in my shame as both a baker and an alto. Mumbling something about wanting to fit in, God reminds me that baking isn’t required for singing. Some people bake. Some people fund the baking. Some people help set up. In that moment, well, truth be told, it was after dinner and cocktail to calm my nerves, I realized that I was trying to force myself into role (I refrained from using “mold” there, because hives) that I wasn’t true to myself. I. Don’t. Bake. 

To be true to myself, I had to let go of the expectations of others. So, I now contribute to the bake sale financially, while never greasing a pan. You grease pans, right? I. Don’t. Bake. I can be a part of the team without having to change myself into something I am not. I can let my non-Betty Crocker skills shine and remain more authentically me. And, once others love you for that, they never ask you to bake again, which helps prevent the Sur La Table flashbacks.