The Curious Break

Mother was born from my own two hands on 12/27/22. Inspired by a Melissa Weller cookbook my cousin Beth gifted me for Christmas, I decided to take on the challenge of making croissants. But before I could even think about laminating dough, I needed a sourdough starter. Thus, “Mother” was conceived.

She was a finicky creature right from the start. It took her a grueling 10 days to show even the faintest sign of life. I moved her around like a nomad—chasing the perfect environment. From sunny windows to my basement near the water heater, and finally to the oven with the light on and the door cracked open, she tested my patience.

After about a month, she finally relented, showing just enough life to warrant celebration. Cue the TikTok trend of the moment to mark the occasion.

Since then, I’ve been chasing the ever-elusive perfect sourdough loaf. And for those who remember my original croissant goal? Let’s just say three failed attempts with sourdough starter were enough to put that dream on ice—I’ll be sticking with standard yeast for the next round.

As you can see above, my first two loaves were little more than flat, sad patties. Looking back, I think Mother was still too young to have the strength needed for a proper rise. On top of that, I couldn’t seem to pinpoint the right moment to end bulk fermentation. My third loaf gave me a glimmer of hope—a glorious rise that made me squeal with delight when I pulled it from the oven. But when I sliced it open, I howled with laughter. A gaping air pocket stretched across the bottom, a reminder of how far I still had to go.

Feeling defeated by bread, I segued to bagels for a bit. John and the girls were happy tastetesters and the string of success propelled be back to bread.

Since then, I’ve baked countless loaves, each one teaching me more about Mother’s quirks. I’ve learned how she responds to changes in temperature, hydration, and flour blends. It’s been an endlessly rewarding process—and, funny enough, one that mirrored my own growth at work.

In September 2022, I made a big shift, moving from pure audit services to advisory services. I came into the group with strong opinions but wanted to balance my assertiveness with my desire to “fit in” and not be perceived as an interloper.

From the start, I felt supported. My new team welcomed me as an outspoken leader. It felt like I’d found my new “home” at the firm. Excited by the prospect of this being the perfect place to pursue my long-standing goal of becoming a partner, I was totally swept away.

As I hit my stride at work, my bread game also peaked. Each loaf was better than the last. It was truly a masterpiece, embodying both science and my own developing intuition. The deep golden crust, blistered with tiny bubbles (my favorite visual on the bread) was crisp and crackly. Seeing the airy, open crumb inside when I cut the loaf open was pure gold. The irregular holes were just begging for a slather of butter and that first bite was always perfectly complex and tangy. Mother’s fermentation game was strong.

But as I continued baking and working, a realization began to take shape. While I loved the satisfaction of nailing the perfect loaf and hitting my professional milestones, I couldn’t shake the feeling that both were missing something. Baking with Mother showed me what it was like to create something entirely from scratch—with my own two hands—without a clear map or predetermined steps. In contrast, my career had been a carefully prescribed path, one that I’d followed for years with precision and diligence.

Making bread required intuition, patience, and a willingness to fail spectacularly. My professional life, on the other hand, had been defined by structure, predictability, and measurable results. As I spent more time experimenting with Mother—learning her quirks and embracing the trial-and-error process—I realized how much I longed for that same sense of creativity and freedom in my career.

By early 2024, the spark I felt for advisory work and the path to partnership began to wane. I’d spent 16 years chasing a goal that once felt like the pinnacle of success. I had a hard time seeing that for myself anymore. What I wanted was to create something new—not just in the kitchen but in my life.

Letting go of my big 4 career wasn’t easy. Like Mother in her early days, the process was slow, uncertain, and required constant adjustment. But as I’ve let go of that prescribed path, I’ve found myself reconnecting with the joy and pain of making and building something from the ground up.

Now, I find myself standing at the edge of possibility, much like when I pull a freshly proofed dough from its basket, unsure if it will rise to meet my expectations. I don’t have all the answers, and I know I’ll make mistakes—just like the dense hockey pucks or gaping holes in my early attempts at sourdough. But I also know that with patience, experimentation, and trust in myself and in the process, I can create something meaningful and uniquely my own.

A perfect loaf of sourdough isn’t just bread. It’s the culmination of patience, evolving skills, and the deep satisfaction of coaxing life from flour and water. And that joy of creating is exactly what I’m setting out to do with my life now.