Life and Sticky Buns

It took me until the age of thirty to realize that one of the most important questions we can ever ask ourselves is “what do I really want?” I spent most of my life until then trying, desperately, to convince myself that I could tame my desire for a bigger life-to be okay with just normal. But here’s the thing: normal is expected. Normal is boring. Quite frankly, normal is over-rated. Who ever wants to reach his last breath thinking, “well, I lived a normal life!?”

My Sticky Bun musings are for those of us who want more than normal, who crave an authentic lifestyle that is packed with real conversations, the pursuit of one’s dreams, and memorable experiences. It is a call to embrace the opposite of normal, to live into what I like to call “The Sticky Bun Principle.” The premise here is simple: we were made for a bigger life. That bigger life is what I will be referring to as “your sticky bun.”

Sticky buns are big, typically. They are decadent-and messy, hard to miss when you see them. They don’t fit neatly in your hand, but gosh do they taste ahhhmazing. I believe that somewhere, deep down, we all crave a sticky bun kind of existence: big, messy, but oh so satisfying! So, if you don’t mind getting your hands a little messy, join me in this upcoming journey to both unpack and lean into the Sticky Bun Principle.

Why Sticky Buns?

The Sticky Bun Principle is not something I came up with all on my own. Its a principle that found me two years ago at Yellow Dog bakery in Raleigh, North Carolina. One glorious fall day, I walked into Yellow Dog to order my morning cup of coffee and a pastry. That morning, I eyed something beautiful, something I had never given myself permission to order before; something that looked just dreamy: a big, gooey, nut-laden cinnamon bun. But oh, how could I order that messy treat? It must be full of calories! And what if I dropped it on my pants or blouse?

When I usually went to Yellow Dog, I was in a rush, and grabbing something to take on the road, like a coffee with a lid and a croissant that I could mess over at stoplights on my way to my office. My life was full and sticky buns just weren’t that practical. But on this particular day, I wasn’t in a rush. I could have ordered a sticky bun and slowly savored it. Yet I didn’t. I eyed the sticky bun, and then in my brain I rationalized a simpler choice: a plain croissant.

Croissants were my typical pick, flaky but manageable, a little bit decadent but easy to brush off my clothes and pretend i’d never eaten. I paid for my croissant and coffee and walked outside to a table, where I sat journaling while watching a little girl to my left play as her family was inside ordering. I remember seeing the freedom and total joy of the little girl and wondering where my own sense of freedom and total joy had gone. At that point I was about three years into building a company I no longer wanted to run; a really incredible design firm but a company that paled in comparison to the original vision that prompted me to become an entrepreneur. I was also about nine months into a relationship that just didn’t feel right, and I couldn’t put my finger on why. In both cases, the relationship and the company, I challenged myself by saying that the best things in life were just hard sometimes and that we just have to push through. Deep in thought, I looked up suddenly to notice a breeze come through, flittering the papers of my journal. I looked at the girl and saw her dancing in the wind. Suddenly, the breeze picked up my half-eaten croissant and blew it onto the table beside me, nearly into the girl’s face, and then onto the sidewalk. It tumbled away before I could fully process what was happening. Within seconds, my reluctantly-chosen croissant was gone and I was left still hungry and angry with myself for not ordering what I really wanted. I was left with the crumbs of second best.

In that moment as I contemplated leaving out of anger and frustration, cutting my journaling session short, I made a decision to go back inside the bakery. I resolved within myself that I should have ordered the sticky bun, and walked confidently up to the pastry glass, laughing at myself for shrugging off my real desire. I shared my story with the storekeeper and she said I could pick anything on display, anything at all, for free. So, I ordered the thing I really wanted and I didn’t pay a cent for it. I went back outside exuberant and enjoyed every last bite of that sticky bun. That story stuck with me, for days, and then weeks, and now years.

The week prior to my sticky bun incident, a publisher had called me to start a conversation about writing a book about design. We had shopped a couple topics around, even discussing some other online content distribution opportunities. I felt honored to be asked to write something like that so early in my career. In my heart of hearts, though, I knew that a design book was not supposed to be my first book. And a designer was not all that I wanted to be, or to be known for. There was another story that my soul wanted to tell first, a more important story at the core of who I am. That story is the sticky bun story and I knew it as soon as that sticky bun came to me free of charge.

Since that powerful day, I have heeded the message the universe wanted to tell me: sometimes we have to let “good enough” blow away to make room for what we really desire. I have started to build a new kind of company, the company I first envisioned that once felt too big, too bold. I have also let go of many good things-good jobs, good men, and a predictable livelihood-to go for what I really want: a boldly creative life that doesn’t fit in a neat package.

I want to encourage you, as you read this series, to identify that one indulgence you haven’t let yourself taste just yet and go for it. That’s your sticky bun-the thing you haven’t yet given yourself permission to try because you have believed it was just a little too decadent. Often once we do, we will find out that bolder life was waiting for us all along.

—this is an excerpt from my yet-unpublished book. Feedback and encouragements welcomed! All content and creative rights reserved.