Failure, Flirting, and Falling Flat

I was 19 when I failed gloriously for the first time. Not a cute, sitcom-level failure where it all tied up neatly in 22 minutes, but the kind of crash-and-burn that leaves you questioning your core abilities. For me, that failure wasn’t romantic or academic. It involved pancakes, 38 tourists from Japan, and a bear costume. Bear with me (pun absolutely intended).

The Pancake Debacle: A Humble Beginning

Growing up in a family-run lodge near Lake Tahoe meant my childhood was all about people, pancakes, and wilderness vibes. Every summer, we hosted outdoor breakfasts for groups passing through. My dad would charm visitors by flipping pancakes with the flair of a hibachi master while my mom greeted guests with fresh coffee and conversation. That summer, my dad was laid up with a bad back, and suddenly, it was my big moment to step in. I’d imagined the day when responsibility landed on my shoulders ever since I was a kid. I pictured delivering five-star breakfasts like Anthony Bourdain on a camping trip—cool, calm, and effortlessly skilled.

Spoiler: that dream didn’t survive contact with reality.

First, I underestimated pancake batter math. You’d think someone halfway through an Environmental Science degree could calculate flour-to-human ratios. Nope. I made nearly double the necessary batter, and by the time I figured that out, we were ankle-deep in pancake mix and low on eggs.

Then came the grill—normally my dad’s arena of magic. Turns out, flipping pancakes for a crowd (and not breaking one’s spirit) requires more than arm strength. Within minutes, it was a battlefield of unevenly cooked disasters—some burnt to ash, others gooier than a bad Tinder date complementing themselves in third person.

Oh, and then the mascot. Did I mention the bear costume? One of our more "unique" breakfast traditions was dressing someone up as Tahoe Ted, the friendly lodge mascot. That day—because clearly karma wanted to have some fun—I got stuck in the suit. Temperatures hit 95°F, and my sweat glands gave Niagara Falls a run for their money.

By the time the tour group left, my ego was as deflated as my soggy pancakes. Our guests were kind enough to applaud out of pity, but I saw right through it. I felt like I’d let down my family, the guests, and even the concept of breakfast itself.

What Failure Teaches You About Humility (and Humor)

Looking back, I see that moment for what it was: a spectacular implosion, but also a crash course in humility. Failing at pancakes sounds trivial now, but in the moment, it felt like an indictment of my character.

Failure is funny that way. It doesn’t just touch the thing you did wrong; it radiates outward and pokes every other corner of your self-worth. You burn a few pancakes, you're suddenly questioning whether you're cut out for life itself. Am I a subpar human? A lousy son? Should I move to the Arctic and become a hermit? (Options, I considered all of them).

But here’s the thing about failure I didn’t know at 19: it shapes us because it forces us to confront what’s really going on inside. Beneath the burnt pancakes lived two issues I hadn't yet addressed: my tendency to overestimate my skills and my (very human) fear of disappointing others.

Accepting those truths didn’t come easily, but when you’re stuck scraping batter off a grill, you’ve got time to think. Little by little, I started to laugh about it. OK, a lot by lot. Turns out, there’s genuine comedy in watching yourself fail so colossally.

A Mountain Lodge of Metaphors

I don’t only bring up pancakes to make you hungry. People tend to talk about failure in these romantic, productivity-obsessed terms, suggesting you can “turn every mistake into a lesson.” While that’s true, let’s get real—it doesn’t mean the process isn’t deeply uncomfortable. Failure is messy. Sometimes, it burns. And occasionally, it sticks to the skillet like unforgiving pancake batter.

But here’s what I’ve noticed about life, love, and those difficult growth moments: they’re a lot like mountain hikes. Start climbing a slope, and two-thirds of the way through, you’re sweaty, cursing yourself, and questioning why you thought this was a good idea. But then, you reach that summit—or at least catch a rewarding view—and it feels worth it.

There are practical lessons hidden, too:

  • You don’t have to control everything. Some mornings, things don’t go as planned, and life serves you metaphorical pancake batter on the floor. Letting go of perfectionism creates space for the unexpected joys.
  • Ask for help. My mom, hero that she is, stepped in halfway through my cooking meltdown and saved the day by turning “burnt chic” into a lodge novelty the guests wouldn’t stop photographing. Facing failure alone doesn’t make you stronger; working through it with a little help does.
  • Humor heals. The family catchphrase for years became, “Remember when Trent turned breakfast into smoke signals?” Embracing the hilarity in failure can soften its otherwise sharp sting.

Relationships Are Full of Pancake Moments

Here’s where I make the pivot to dating and relationships because, well, it’s all connected. Trust me, no matter how many adventure tales I tell, I’ve had my share of cringe-worthy first dates, poorly timed jokes, and emotional pancakes (read: misjudged efforts). Like the morning I seared that lodge into pancake purgatory, relationships bring their own share of oops moments.

The first misstep? Believing you have to be perfect. Whether it’s dating or marriage, too many of us fall into the trap of thinking pancakes (and people) need to come out perfect and Instagram-ready. Spoiler: they don’t. The messiness—that gooey, raw-center kind of imperfection—is where human connection really happens.

There’s also the fear of playing it too safe. If you never commit to flipping a pancake out of worry it’ll burn, you never get breakfast at all. It’s the same in love—if you don’t take risks and put yourself out there, you’re guaranteed to miss the magic moments.

From Flop to Familiar

So how did that first big failure shape my future? For starters, I run from bear costumes like they’re trying to recruit me into Cirque du Soleil. But more importantly, it’s guided the way I approach both career and relationships. I’ve accepted that I’ll never be the guy with perfect flips (whether we’re talking pancakes or big life moments); what I can be is the guy who tries, fails, gets up, and laughs about it later.

Here’s the empowering takeaway: failure—whether big, small, or pancake-related—is how you stretch into the person you’re becoming. It’s like muscle soreness after a workout; uncomfortable, sure, but proof that you’re growing stronger.

So, the next time things catch fire—literally or metaphorically—remember: you’ve got this. You’ll figure it out. And if not, there’s always humor. And syrup. Syrup fixes everything.