Anniversaries, Broken Cookie jars, and New Dreams

This year, I didn’t even see it coming. The anniversary of the day I closed my little bakery. I closed it not because I didn’t love it, not because I didn’t love baking, not because I didn’t love my cute little part of Nashville that housed my bakery, but because arthritis was stealing my thumbs. The doctor told me that if I didn’t do something differently, and soon, I wouldn’t be able to use them anymore. So, in one year, I opened the doors to the only dream I ever had, and I closed those same doors. These days, my thumbs still hurt, mainly when it rains, but they are a small reminder that dreams do come true. 

Eleven years later, this day doesn’t hit me quite as hard as it used to, and honestly, if it wasn’t for social media, I might have forgotten altogether. This day is also weird because tomorrow will mark 12 years since little flour. sugar. eggs. opened her doors. I usually bake on these couple of days, and today was no different. After I took a loaf of sourdough out of the oven, I went to grab a cookbook and knocked over the little glass cookie jar that housed my puppy pastries at the bakery, shattering into a million tiny shards of glass. I instantly thought, how appropriate, since my heart was shattered all those years ago. 

Running and Sarah Bareilles’ song “Little Black Dress ” got me through those early, hard days, so I cleaned up the glass, got my running shoes, and headed out the door. I put Sarah Bareilles on shuffle and hit play. Wouldn’t you know it, the first song that came on was ‘Black Dress.’ I thought, ‘Alright, universe,’ and headed down my driveway.  My life is very different these days. I have to pinch myself every morning when I open my eyes. How can all this be real life? I built a dream house with my husband. Both of my sweet little chickens are married, thriving, and most importantly, seemingly happy. I have traveled the world in the last 11 years. I rode a camel in Egypt at the base of the great pyramids. I made friends with a monkey named Sarah in a monkey sanctuary in South Africa. I saw the tulips in Spring in Amsterdam. I saw the whales while boating past the Sydney Opera House in Australia. I saw the world’s tallest building, the Burj Khalifa, in Dubai. I was part of the team that toured Canadian Olympic ice skaters around all of Canada. I was part of a team that built an entire venue out in the desert of Saudi Arabia. I got to see Ernest Hemingway’s house in Havanna, Cuba. I’ve been to every state in the US, minus Alaska and Puerto Rico. I wrote a book about a Great-Uncle and how he set out to find his true love before he passed away (send me a note if you’d like a copy). I started this little blog, which has been more beneficial than any therapist I could have seen, although I am sure a real-life therapist would disagree (I’m looking at you, Bea). I lost almost 100 physical pounds and perhaps more weight in mental trauma. I’m nearly 60 years old and I’m happy. All of those things I wouldn’t have been able to do if I were still getting up at 4:00 am to make croissants 7 days a week.

I think that often we are programmed to believe you can have only one dream, and when you achieve that dream, you think that’s it – I’m done. But there is so much more dreaming to be done in life. You don’t just get one dream a lifetime, you get as many as your head can think up. You don’t just get one cookie jar; you get to have as many as you want, and you get to fill them up with all the cookies that are good in life. Next week, I’ll look for a new cookie jar, fill it with some cookies, and work on whatever comes next.