I’ve been overthinking—scratch that, extra thinking—about TikTok content. My metric is authenticity. But when something feels off, when my thoughts don’t sound like me, it’s like I’m toppling off a log into an ice-cold river. Sometimes I ask, “Okay, but what is me?” And that’s when doubt geysers up like Old Faithful, making me want to collapse on the floor and pound my fists like a toddler.
But here’s the truth: I do know me. The smell of bread filling the house, fresh from the oven—that’s me. So are my errors. The two failed attempts before the successful loaf? Absolutely me. First, I fed my starter and let it sit out too long, so it shriveled back down and went flat. No good. Second, I tried proofing dough in the oven at 80 degrees… but accidentally turned on the air fryer setting at 400. I melted the rubber band, scorched the cloth cap, and cooked the dough into a hardened glob.
Also me: ripping into a bag—yesterday it was an industrial-sized bag of brown sugar—on the wrong side, ignoring the perfectly good ziplock closure. Also me: half-screwing on caps, so milk, syrup, or whatever disastrous liquid is nearby ends up spilling everywhere.
The house is very quiet tonight. Just big dog Archie’s heavy sigh and the crack of his joints as he shifts. The air kicked on—not to heat or cool, just to circulate. My nerves must be jangly, because the sound made me think the garage door was opening, as if Dave were home early from his meeting.
I have a friend who is close to calling herself an atheist, though now she says “atheist light.” She’s been collecting books written by believers-turned-atheists, looking for spiritual-but-grounded practices. She told me one cool ritual—prayer-adjacent, she called it—from the book Heal the Witch Wound: Reclaim Your Magic and Step Into Your Power. I wish I could remember what it was. But the book intrigues me.
Anyway, I should get on with my evening. I need an early bedtime because little Emma from two doors down will be here bright and early tomorrow. It’s an “asynchronous day”—whatever that means—and she’s been crying to see Evelyn. Tomorrow they’ll have nine hours together. Hopefully that’ll fill her cup.
Thanks so much for dropping by. You take care.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 