Today unexpectedly turned into a sourdough discard day.
I’d already planned to make sourdough waffles for Father’s Day brunch, but somehow that snowballed into sourdough waffles, banana bread and a mountain of tortillas (yes, I had a lot of discard to use). My freezer is now much fuller than it was this morning.
A few years ago, I’d never have considered this enjoyable – I rarely enthuse about kitchen creations (that’s more my husband’s bag). Even when I started this morning, it was something on the to-do list rather than a source of fulfilment. But somewhere between the measuring, kneading and rolling, and despite the inevitable millions of interruptions from the kids, it started to become mindful and satisfying. It reminded me that investing time now means we get a helping hand on those “lower-spoon” days when cooking from scratch just isn’t happening.
I was feeling smug as I settled into a rhythm of rolling and dry frying, creating a stack of read-to-cook tortillas. But as the kitchen heated up, those at the bottom of the stack fused themselves into a giant sticky blob. My smugness disappeared as I tried to reform them. They’re wonky. One of them even looks a bit like an island (it’s my favourite).
They aren’t restaurant-perfect, but I’m not a high-end chef. They taste exactly as they should and the kids couldn’t care less what shape they are.
Life has a habit of turning up the heat. Plans stick together. Things don’t unfold the way we imagined. We end up feeling a little misshapen or wondering if we’ve somehow got it wrong, but maybe we’re exactly how and where we’re meant to be.
There isn’t one blueprint for living well. Part of my work at Inner Meridian Life Coaching is helping people stop chasing perfection and start creating a life that genuinely fits them. Sometimes that means reshaping instead of starting over. Sometimes the “wonky” version is exactly the one you needed all along.
My tortillas are perfectly imperfect, just like us all. And that’s perfectly enough.