I'm starting to think my wife may have undiagnosed attention deficit disorder. I mean, I'm no medical doctor, but I'm going to go from twenty years of marriage and observations that are leading me to a conclusion here.
There are a lot of projects that get started, and let's just say they don't all get to the finish line.
Two years ago, she ordered these two giant Nutcrackers that stand about six feet tall to decorate our deck with for Christmas. The whole purpose of these things is to paint them as they come in a basic white color. They each got painted, but that wasn't good enough. She set out to "gem" them from head to toe. Yes, that means she started covering them with crystals in their respective colors from head to toe. One of them has no gems at the moment, the other is about half gemmed. I'm a gambling man, so I'm going to lay some money on the odds that these nutcrackers don't see the light of day for Christmas 2026, making them year 3; they are hanging out in my garage.
We've also spent the last year trying to get our garage in order and organize things appropriately. After she saw a video on TikTok about a custom organization setup made by 2x4's and bins, she was convinced this was the solution for us. We have the bins now, and the wood to make the contraption. But the wood is lying on the ground, and we're still a ways away from that project being completed. Hey, at least the bins are filled.
We currently have a 20% completed art project sitting on our kitchen table that I'm staring at while writing this.
There is an order of bone broth that shows up every six weeks because "Scott, I'm going to start drinking bone broth," but at this point, I've got rid of more bone broth than what can be produced by a commercial kitchen in a year.
We have a closet full of art supplies, like you wouldn't believe, just waiting to create the most glorious stuff. It looks like we attended the Picasso estate sale.
Three years ago, she ordered a Cricut, which, if you're not familiar with a Cricut, is a fancy tool that cuts paper, laminates, and other fun stuff. When she started an art project two months ago, I said, "You should use your Cricut." She replied with a confused look. Yes, she had forgotten we had an unopened Cricut in our basement.
Now I share this not to paint a picture that I live with a hoarder, but rather to share that sometimes her best ideas and intentions just don't always get to the finish line.
So two weeks ago, when I noticed some bacteria growing in a jar on our counter, I sort of rolled my eyes and walked away. I later learned that the bacteria was Lactic Acid Bacteria, which is also known as sourdough starter. Yes, she's officially entered her sourdough era, something we didn't get into during COVID times like so many of you.
"Sourdough? They sell that down the street, I thought to myself." Keep your opinion in your own mind, Scott, and just let it be.
I would have placed a few bets that the sourdough starter that was started in my kitchen would never end up in an oven, but lo and behold, I've been informed that we're moving to Stage 3 or 4 or whatever, and she is getting close to starting to bake some delicious bread.
The best part was how proud of herself she was, as we all feel that level of happiness when we start and actually get to complete a task. It's so easy to quit, though, I mean, they sell that sourdough down the street.
But no, she kept on, each night she stayed consistent, feeding her bacteria with grams of flour and water and her fancy little kitchen scale.
Just a series of small, consistent actions that stacked on top of each other until one day it became real. It made me realize that finishing the project isn't always about discipline or even motivation as much as it is about staying in the game long enough to give your effort a chance to compound. Most people don't fail because they aren't capable; they fail because they stop feeding the thing they started the moment it gets repetitive, inconvenient, or a little boring.
Watching her stick with something as simple as flour and water each night reminded me that progress doesn't need to be flashy to be meaningful; it just needs to be consistent. So maybe the lesson here isn't about sourdough at all, it's about resisting the urge to quit when something feels unfinished and instead asking yourself if you've actually given it enough time to become something worth finishing.
I'm going to go ask about those Nutcrackers. Wish me luck.