Where Are the Cookies?

There’s a phenomenon that’s familiar to people who grew up with people who lived through the Great Depression, and among some Asian-American families. It isn’t exclusive to those groups, of course, as no generalization fits neatly into human categories, so the odds are pretty good that no matter where and how and with whom you grew up you will recognize it, and may personally suffer from it. It’s called Butter Cookie Tin Syndrome, or BCTS for short. I totally made that up, but the phenomenon is real.

BCTS has victims and perpetrators. Victims are generally young, and sometimes grow to be perpetrators. That often happens around the time they discover they’re becoming like their parents. Their dismay is an endless source of amusement to the parents, who gain immense satisfaction from the full circle of BCTS. It’s an insidious syndrome.

It starts with the discovery of a round, blue tin. The tin promises in bold, gold letters that it holds butter cookies. Never mind the fact that the tin is found in a room not typically associated with food. Ignoring the fact that it’s stored on some high shelf or in the back of a cupboard or under a chair, and it may be a little dusty, the intrepid explorer is filled with hope and longing at the sight of this treasure. Glancing around to make sure no one else is in the room, the tin is opened. Gazing at the contents, cookies turn to ashes and dreams turn to dust. The tin is full of thread and needles and safety pins. It’s a sewing kit. It’s a container full of useful, functional disappointments and our hungry little explorer may never get over the feeling of outrage. Given the number of internet memes on the subject, that might not be hyperbole.

The truth is, Butter Cookie Tin Syndrome is a recurring theme for a lot of us. From losing out on a job we wanted and needed, to discovering that our dream job comes with a micromanager, we face a gauntlet of disappointed and unfulfilled wishes throughout our lives. How we manage the disappointment and what we learn from it is what really matters.

Let’s look at that cookie tin again. We really wanted cookies. We could almost feel them sweetly melting in our mouths before the tin was opened. We were hungry, and most importantly, we were good and we deserved cookies. We didn’t get them. What we got instead were things totally unrelated to food, but things that are useful, and even necessary. The tiny little hole in our heart where the cookies should be will heal on its own without needle or thread, but actual rips and tears and unraveled seams always need mending, and that sewing kit will come in handy one day.

You might be thinking that the point of this metaphor is to illustrate that clouds have silver linings or some other related cliché. It isn’t. Silver linings confer a near immediate positive that mitigates whatever negative thing a cloud is doing. The garden needed watering. Rainbows are beautiful. That roof needed replacing anyway. This is about finding something in our daily disappointments that will be useful someday. Some far off time we can’t yet envision. It’s about future benefits.

Many years ago I was working as a bookkeeper. Three years into the job I was still paid the same rate as the day I was hired. I finally worked up the nerve to ask for a raise. My boss said no. The reasons were multitude, as they always are in situations like that, and I honestly don’t remember them. What I vividly recall is that I was a single mother living in an area without a lot of great employment alternatives and I couldn’t just get up and walk out. I was also attending college full time while raising two young children on my own. I filed that bitter failure away in my mental tin of disappointments and went back to work.

I did eventually escape that job, and at the next job I applied for I remembered to ask about opportunities to advance, and the employee review process. I remembered because I dusted off my mental cookie tin and peeked inside, looking for resources to help with this new opportunity.

The important thing about this little story is that I didn’t mentally bury the episode and forget about it forever, and I didn’t stew about it in the moment. Well, I may have stewed for a bit and thrown myself a nice little pity party, because ignoring negative feelings only makes them fester and turn bitter. But at some point it’s time to end the party, dry the tears, and move on. Especially when two little ones are relying on you.

I have a gift for remembering things that I think are going to be important to me later, but it’s not infallible. Nothing is. This is where writing things down is helpful. If you face adversity and come out on the losing end, write it down. Write your story. Disappointed in love? Journal it. Make notes. But don’t stop there. The act of writing things down can be cathartic and helpful in the moment, but we also want to think about the future.

Make a list of things you learned. You probably learned a lesson. What is it? Write about at least one thing you can do differently the next time you face adversity. It may or may not work, but there are things to learn in trying. Write a sentence or two on a sticky note with a goal or affirmation that is in direct opposition to your adverse event and post it somewhere you’ll see it often. Cut out a picture from a magazine, or take a photograph to jog your memory. And of course, if you really want to have some fun with it, put your notes and pictures in an empty, blue, butter cookie tin and put it on a high shelf for the next time you need encouragement. Just don’t leave it somewhere that a young adventurer can find. No point in perpetuating BCTS.

Those long-term lessons are sweeter than any short-term cookies could ever be.