During the worst thunderstorm I’ve seen in years, I made the most gigantic loaf of raisin challah bread. For some reason, the yeast just grew with the thunderclouds.
What the experience made me think of, besides the fact that I’m looking at days worth of excellent french toast, is that sometimes you set out to make or do something, and it doesn’t turn out exactly as you expect. And even though you might initially look at the result and think “this isn’t quite as beautiful as I’d hoped”, if you sit back and look at it from another angle you might realize that what you’ve made is indeed spectacular.
Realizations such as these are evidence to me that I am well on my way to freeing myself from perfectionism. I think I’ll always have that gut reaction, that initial sharp intake of breath when things don’t work out as planned, but little by little, I’m seeing the beauty in mistakes. When you think about it, most inventions originated as mistakes. Many happy accidents lead to fantastic discoveries. Life is funny like that- rarely are things in nature perfect.
Over scrumtious oversized challah french toast this morning I basked in my delicious imperfection, and thought, not for the first time, of how grateful I am for recovery, which has allowed me to make such lovely discoveries. And while my eating disorder was never really about the food, I can find joy in drawing paralells between recovery in eating and recovery of life. Both taste, feel, and look imperfectly wonderful.