The Patience of Ordinary Things

Recently, I have invested in Good Bread. This is most likely not something that I truly need to share via article, as a large proportion of those reading this column most likely already know me, and if they know me then they have most likely already heard my Bread Sermon. 

Suffice to say, I am a changed woman. 

The day after my purchase, I quickly developed the habit of standing in my stairway’s kitchen, waiting for unwary flatmates to pass by so I could accost them with a ‘have you seen my new bread? It’s a sourdough!’, before ushering them towards the fridge (I eschewed the cupboard, in the hope of preserving its longevity), and making them stand beside me, in silence, admiring the loaf.  

A week on, and the change from my usual pre-sliced, factory-made loaf of bread to this slightly more upmarket pre-sliced, factory-made loaf of bread but with seeds is marked. I am fancy now. I eat nice bread, at decent hours of the day, and not just while drunk/hungover. I am considering investing in an avocado. 

The Bread, and my many ruminations upon it, has now had such an impact on me as to make it into print. Of course, while writing an article on bread, self-awareness undeniably looms, bringing with it those all-too-pressing questions; why did I spend so much of my shopping budget on bread? Why am I writing this? Am I, officially, boring?

The latter is probably true. By the time I caught myself getting worked up about the purchase of a new sponge in my flat’s shared kitchen, I knew it was too late for me to make any claims about being a particularly thrilling person. A bread article is just another nail in the coffin, really. Yet this newfound boringness is a fact I welcome. It is a gift, I think, to be able to find the excitement in even the most mundane parts of the everyday. Life is prosaic and unremarkable, for the most part: novelty wears off, the days stay cold and short, work keeps piling up. Survival, really, is not about deluding ourselves out of this normalcy, so much as acknowledging it, accepting it, and yet still choosing to be amazed.