Last week I was baking a cake. OK, not really. But it’s a metaphor, so I was. I was baking a cake. I had my recipe laid out in front of me, I had all my ingredients on the table ready to be mixed, and I had gotten permission to use the oven for the next few hours, as my wife doesn’t like me to commandeer the oven for so long without notifying her first. And this is a big important cake, so it takes quite a while to bake.
So I punch a few buttons on the oven to get it preheated to the right temperature. Then I proceed to mix everything together in a huge pan, like the recipe says, and I throw it in the oven. To keep track of how things are going, I watch it closely. But not too closely, because I know that the baking process can be long and arduous, and sometimes ugly. All the heat and the melting of ingredients, fusing together and rising from mere cake batter… it’s bound to get ugly. But I know that it will be nice and pretty when everything is said and done.
Oh, I’m so excited! It’s a blend of chocolate and vanilla, with a few nuts and an ice cream center. I know what you’re thinking, ‘you can’t put ice cream in an oven, it will never work’. But just you watch. It’ll be great.
My significant other, though, doesn’t seem to understand the process. While we’re watching the cake, she keeps pointing out that I must have done something wrong, because the cake batter is sporadically exploding and leaving remnants all over the oven. Sometimes the exploding batter hits the oven window, and obscures our view.
“Do you know what a mess this is going to be to clean up? I’m already having to wipe the batter off the window just so I can see,” she exclaims.
I try to calm her fears, “It’s a long and difficult process for this cake. But there is progress, look how the batter is still rising. This cake will be beautiful when it’s done.”
She keeps bringing it up, every time there is an explosion, no matter how big or small. It begins to get annoying, and I wish she would just leave me alone. Then, she tried to ask me when it was going to be done, but I don’t have time for such trivial matters.
“It’ll be done when it’s done,” I said.
And just as I had predicted, progress continued. The batter continued to rise and eventually plumped up nicely over the edge of the pan. Just enough to where you could tell it was going to be great! The batter had risen, and the doughy center was beginning to form a soft, spongy base. Sure the explosions were becoming more frequent, but I took it as a sign that the cake was succeeding. I mean, the two things were so perfectly correlated, how could anyone deny the connection?
I had the icing out, and I was ready to spread it across the monstrous cake in a celebration of monumental accomplishment.
Then disaster struck… in a manner that no one could have predicted. The center of the cake collapsed, and brought everything else down with it. The chocolate and vanilla separated and you could see the ice cream (now melted 
) spreading across the bottom of the pan. I looked over at my significant other, and I could tell she was doing everything she could to refrain from saying ‘I told you so.’
I thought, for a moment, that maybe this was supposed to happen. Maybe it’s just part of the process. I looked at the recipe again. And lo and behold, the recipe didn’t say anything about it not happening, so we must keep going until the cake is finished. I’m an optimist, by nature. And I’m strong, and resolute. I don’t quit! My job is done when it’s done.
My significant other chimes in
“Uh, maybe we should think about other options or perhaps–”
“Stay the course!” I said.
I didn’t have time for her defeatist nonsense. Stupid quitter! Weak and pessimistic are not the qualities we need in our cooks right now. I have the qualities that are needed to see this cake through to the end and she was really starting to get on my nerves.
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