After a long night of heathenry, I woke up to a text from my homegirl:
"Hey, let's make pancakes!"
Being considerably hungover, I could not turn down buttery carbs. So we recapped the night as she mixed the batter and excitement danced in her eyes.
She began explaining how much she loves homemade pancakes but has never tried to make them. She woke up that morning determined to try her hand at flapjack flipping and I was not one to dissuade, besides I needed something to soak up the tequila.
Babygirl got the skillet hot and let the butter talk, she was off to a fantastic start y'all. Anticipation filled the room as she poured the batter in and let it do what cakes in pans do.
However, she noticed that they hadn't started to fluff up. In fact, they didn't fluff at all. I suggested that she chalk it up as the first batch blues; we all know the first few pancakes are always goofy as hell.
To her disappointment, they never perked up.
I stared at the millimeter thick pancakes for a while and exclaimed
"Aye, these are some of the best crepes I've ever seen. Pancakes are good but crepes, crepes are an art form!"
She glared at me, unamused. But with time, she warmed up to the thought of switching gears (and might I add, they were damn good crepes.)
This experience is something I refer to as The Crepe Theory. The idea that just because our intended end goal doesn't come to fruition, it doesn't mean we've failed. It means that a shift in perspective is required.
You see, we have 3 options:
We can sulk at the idea of a perceived failure.
We can vow to make better pancakes the next time.
We can accept our newfound talent and perfect our crepe recipe.
However, The Crepe Theory is built on the notion that option 2 is what makes us good, but option 3 is what separates the good from the great.
-The Good-Natured Troublemaker