The Beginning

Exactly one week into my first year of college, I sat on a bench outside the freshman dorm, sobbing on the phone to my mother.

“I hate my classes, I hate the people in my classes… what if I made the wrong choice? What if this isn’t really what I want to do with the rest of my life?” After only one week of college, I already knew I was not destined for journalism. The problem was, I didn’t know what exactly I was destined for.

After calming my hysteria, my mother suggested that I go talk to my academic advisor. I had been assigned to her randomly—she was a professor of microbiology, I was a communications major. But in our few interactions up to that point, she seemed pretty ok to me, and after all, her job was to advise me, right? Because I am a person that likes problems solved NOW, I immediately set an appointment to meet with her.

She asked what other subjects I might be interested in, and after considering briefly, I confessed, “I really liked my high school biology classes. But I don’t want to be a doctor.”

This was obviously a puzzling statement. Apparently, there is a multitude of career paths one may pursue with a degree in biology. I was simply unaware of this fact, as basically every student from my high school going on to study biology planned on later attending medical school. Although if I had been thinking logically, perhaps I would have realized I was sitting in the science building, full of scientists who weren’t doctors, including the woman sitting directly in front of me.

Dr. Robinson outlined some possible career choices, and then simply stated, “Study what you love. The job will follow.” So it was decided. In one day, I had a new major, new textbooks, a new class schedule, and, according to my roommate, a completely new (and much improved) personality. This was the first of many invaluable lessons I would learn—to pursue happiness and fulfillment rather than worry about how you will fit into some mold 12 steps down the line.

Since I switched into her field, Dr. Robinson continued as my academic advisor. We actually had a lot in common, and upon taking up her offer to work in her lab, I inevitably fell in love with her specific field: microbiology. As she guided me through my undergraduate years toward grad school, she helped me grow not only academically and technically as a scientist, but also emotionally and spiritually as a person. The most important thing I took away from all of our meetings was that I could be a scientist, but science didn’t have to define me. There is room in life for multiple passions, and one should explore and pursue all these passions. I can be a scientist and also a baker, a runner, a dancer, and maybe one day a wife and a mother. Dr. Robinson was an excellent role model in this respect, and if I hadn’t learned the possibility and the importance of life outside the lab, I think I would be utterly consumed and burnt out by the grueling process of earning a PhD.

But we never see these things when we are facing them head on. It’s only later, after we’ve had time to absorb and reflect, and to put these lessons into action, that we realize their true importance. So I never said thank you. I’m not very good with such “touchy-feely” subjects to begin with, and how do you ever thank someone for having such an impact on your life anyway?

I recently discovered another passion Dr. Robinson and I share, apart from microbiology: cake. Well, baking in general, perhaps. Regardless, unbeknownst to me, my last year of college Dr. Robinson had actually embarked on an adventure with her family: each week for one year, they would celebrate Cake Day, by baking and sharing a cake together. She wrote and published a book about this journey, entitled “The Cake Chronicles,” full of not only recipes for each cake they baked, but also unassuming wisdom and reflection on family, friends, life, and the power of pastries.

This book came to me in the midst of an existential crisis of sorts. I could use a few of Dr. Robinson’s wise words right now, and I can always use some cake. And as a former shy, quiet wallflower struggling to come into her own, I’m not currently in the habit of turning down a challenge. So in a Julie and Julia-esque project, I am going to undertake my own cake journey. One cake every week for a year.

No recipes here—go buy the book, it’s worth it. (The Cake Chronicles, by Jayne B. Robinson). Part of the proceeds benefit MS research. I just want to do a little chronicling of my own—share my experiences and the lessons that can be learned through cake. And maybe, in my own way, this will help me say “thank you” for everything.