Expansion + Contraction
aka never-ending-amending
I just performed a ‘float test’ on my first-ever homemade sourdough bread, and as I confirmed it was ready to bake, I had an epiphany: I am that sourdough.
Chew on that. Best epiphany since sliced bread, if I do say so myself.
As you chew, let’s get to our ~food forethought~ today: ~expansion and contraction.~
Before sourdough took over my thoughts (and my weekend plans), I was planning to use a Hummingbird nest as my main metaphor for ~expansion.~ I love how those tiny 1-2 inch nests expand to accommodate growing jelly-bean-sized Hummingbird nestlings.
I’m crying just thinking about it. I recently watched a nest build in action. Here:
Mama hummingbirds instinctively build with flexibility, anticipating the need to grow. Same. Except humans aren’t as cute. Or iridescent. Typically.
~Expansion~ requires us to be ready for it, even if it’s uncomfortable. It’s natural. Uncomfortable, but natural.
Honestly, Hummingbird nests make me cry joyous tears, whereas my first sourdough experience had me crying frustrated tears.
Sourdough is teaching me how growth doesn’t follow a perfect recipe. It needs time, an ooey-gooey environment, and patience. There’s no way to perfect it.
It’s art and science. I didn’t know that until … well .. I biffed it. Rawr!
However, like a rising loaf, I rebounded.
Unrelated yet related,
before my accident, I thrived on clear instructions and specific guidance. I liked the certainty of knowing exactly what to do.
Sourdough, like many of my challenges since 2020, threw that all out the window. Now life is way more messy and unpredictable. I can’t control 100% of the timing or environment. But wait!! I can control the conditions for growth.
As I fed my precious (seriously, these things are like heirlooms) sourdough starter with intent to bake, I had an emotional breakdown. Yeah, emotions are #JustEmilyThings, but the need for patience and comfort with uncertainty made me lose my mind.
The start of this dough process was messy … emotional … AND … worth it. When I told my friend (who shared the dough starter with me) about my breakdown, she said:
I am so proud of you for using this as a practice of imperfection and also just diving into something that does have ‘rules’ but also can be free-flowing! So proud of you, that’s huge!!
She doesn’t mean the loaf is huge. She means me embracing imperfection.
But dough rises when it’s ready, not when I demand it to. It’s a beautiful (humbling) reminder to press [Control] + [Alt] + [Delete], and trust.
When the dough expands, I wait. When it contracts, I must resist the urge to panic. This is where I feel the most tension between ~expansion and contraction~ in my life.
~Contraction~ isn’t failure … it’s part of — dare I say — gettin’ that bread.
I’m learning to embrace the discomfort of ~contraction~ because it’s part of ~expansion~ or, what I love to call ~never-ending amending.~
It’s that state of constantly growing, editing, and refining. You know, like when I’m editing anything everything. While I’m used to my ~never-ending amending,~ sometimes it gets in the way of letting things just be.
True ~expansion~ doesn’t come from perfectionism. It comes from letting go of the idea that we need to get it right. Though I do want perfect sourdough.
If I’m not careful with framing of my ~never-ending-amending~ since 2020, I see it as an identity crisis. That part is hard. But so many key moments have led me to ~expansion and contraction~ in my new life.
Like sourdough, I have to trust the process and give myself time. Rawr!!
~Expansion and contraction~seem especially tender (and tough) when I face rejection. I’d never bake sourdough if it looked and felt like me during rejection.
However, I have a new, sourdough-esque coping strategy for rejection: a healthy rebound. I’m like the sourdough I just pressed my fingers into.
The ~contraction~ is temporary, and with time, I rise again.
First, as the rejection burns more than a 475-degree oven, I console myself with a line my mom taught me:
“Open all the doors you can.
The universe will shut the ones you’re not meant to walk through.”
Next, as I hang up the phone from rejection, I immediately pick one new thing to sign up for, try, or simply feel good about. It helps me reframe ~contraction~ as part of the deal, and immediately create space for ~expansion.~
So, as we gather together, slice this loaf of sourdough, and smear butter on it, let’s …
reframe ~expansion~ as inevitable, like dough rising when it’s ready.
embrace ~contraction~ as a necessary pause — the quiet before the next rise.
make sourdough, get messy, and be okay with imperfection and uncertainty.
build a Hummingbird nest — anticipate jelly-bean growth, and make it cute.
What if all ~contraction~ is a sign we’re about to experience ~expansion~ into something bigger … better … butter-y-er??
Spoiler: it is.
And that’s both art and science. OOooOooOO, my oven timer just beeped!
XOXO,
-me
P.S. - should ~resilience~ be my next topic??
mwah mwah xoxo