Obsessions

I have a problem.

Have you ever wanted to get into a new hobby but put it off because the process seemed intimidating, time consuming and just an all around pain? That was me with sourdough. I've wanted to try my hand at my own starter for close to a decade now, but because I knew how much "babysitting" it required, I procrastinated. Last August, I decided that if I don't try, I'd regret it. Well, fast forward to today and, um....I cannot stop baking! LOL!

I created my starter in August 2025, fully expecting to be baking in two or three weeks (yes, I know; that was purely wishful thinking). Gertrude (my starters name) had other plans and absolutely refused to thrive for MONTHS. Many days, weeks and months passed by with me questioning my sanity, my wallet hollering at me stop spending money on flour I'm just going to toss in the trash and people asking if I had made a loaf yet. *No, I have not, but thanks for the reminder.*

FINALLY, in November, she and my almost crushed soul were ready. Was my patience going to be rewarded or was she going to revolt and come out flat as a pancake? The first loaf, I didn't speak to anyone while mixing the ingredients, doing my stretch folds or my preshaping; I was locked in to the process. Husband, I love you, but go away. Do not look at me and definitely DON'T look at the loaf in progress. She's shy. After bulk fermenting for eons (really only 6ish hours) and then plopping her in the fridge to take a breather from her hard work for 9 hours, she was ready for the REAL workout.

Into the oven she went while I sat in the living room, impatiently waiting for the moment I could take the lid off my dutch oven to see if she was behaving herself in there. 25 minutes of doom scrolling and heavy sighing. Maybe a little bit of pacing. Yes, I was dramatic, but this was a real test of strength and patience, so drama should be expected. When the timer started playing it's melody, I rushed into the kitchen, threw open the oven door and carefully removed the lid and there she was. Tall, thicc and GORGEOUS. I admit, I did a little jig right there in the kitchen, oven mitt clutching a scalding hot lid in victorious glory!

After getting my act together, the oven door was closed for her to finish her tan for another 25 minutes. Inwardly, I was still nervous. Sure, she looked gorge on the outside, but sometimes sourdough can catfish the heck out of you. Much like us humans, the inside is what matters. I parked my behind back on the couch to resume the doom scroll on TikTok. Thankfully, my feed was full of funny animals, even funnier comments (honestly, the comment sections sometimes are better than the video itself, ya know?) and yes; a smattering of sourdough content, because that's what the algorithm knows I'm into right now. *Stop watching me, stalker. It's. Creepy.*

Again, the timer starts playing and I, calmly this time, saunter back to the kitchen, say a little prayer and open the oven and when I tell you, I swear I heard angels sing...Okay, maybe not, but the dramatics, remember? Gertrude was STUNNIN'.

I have been baking ever since. The most I've done in a 24 hour period was six loaves and I was exhausted. My best friend somehow managed to do 11 loaves in 24 hour period and I truly don't understand how. Clearly, I have a LOT of learning to do from her. Everything from loaves to pretzel bites, to English muffins to bagels have found their way to my oven (and many belly's) and I don't regret a single moment of the time it took to get here.

I turned 45 in December and if there's anything I'm learning in this season, it's this; just do the thing. Even if it's going to take a lot of time and patience. Even if it's scary. Even if it's so far out of your comfort zone and you think it's possible you'll fail. You might but you know what? That's okay. You tried and the beautiful thing about that is? You can try again. And again until you get it right. We are not here forever and NOT doing the thing we want to do is only wasting time.

DO. THE. THING.

Your future self will thank you.

Stacie Lyn