My life is a contradiction. I hate cheese but eat pizza. I hold two ethnicities but don’t feel connected to either. I love writing but struggle to finish a book. So it’s no surprise that after cold emailing a food columnist for The New York Times and successfully setting up a meeting, I also felt an intense wave of self-doubt.

Picture this: A timid girl stands outside a patisserie in Manhattan. She clutches her tote bag like armor and checks her phone every minute. Now picture this: A budding writer stands outside a patisserie in Manhattan. She sports a tote bag and eagerly awaits the arrival of a new friend.

Big difference, right? Most of us would much rather talk to the second girl. Yet all I could picture the day I met the columnist was the first scenario: a girl who got lucky, didn’t deserve the opportunity and feared everything, even cheese.

I’ve had an aversion to cheese since I was a kid and wouldn’t eat it unless it was in places where cheese “should be,” like on pizza and quesadillas. So when the columnist revealed the article he was taking me along for, a quest for elevated bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches, doubt trickled in again. But what I hate more than cheese is attention, so when he asked if there were any foods I didn’t eat, I quickly gave a resounding “no.”

The first stop took us inside a patisserie where I was met with crispy bacon, fluffy eggs and gooey cheese nestled between layers of croissant dough. I enjoyed the croissant and did my best to eat around the glops of cheese. 

But it was the second stop that changed the game. Thick-cut pastrami was stuffed underneath a slab of eggs and melted Muenster, all held together by toasted rye. Now, I have never cried tears of happiness over a sandwich, let alone in the presence of a columnist from The New York Times, but that day I came close. I no longer focused on evading the cheese and rather wanted to experience every flavor in each bite. I left in both awe and regret that I hadn’t asked to take the rest to go.

Besides expanding my palate, eating the sandwiches taught me that preparation is not everything. I used to think that quelling my anxiety meant planning as much as possible, whether by triple-checking emails or rehearsing what I was going to say next in a conversation. But if all I do is try to control the unknown, then my happiness will forever depend on how perfect a plan goes, and the best adventures may go unexperienced.

If I could go back to the moment I stood outside the patisserie, I’d tell myself to believe in the more truthful version of my story. One of a girl who was brave enough to reach out and was standing in the result of her efforts. And while tote bags make great accessories, it’s okay to loosen your grip once in a while. You just might surprise yourself — and your taste buds too.