I’m that person who burns toast. Like, chronically. We’re talking about years of setting off smoke detectors and scraping black crumbs into the trash while muttering under my breath. My husband used to joke that I could burn water if I tried hard enough.
Look, I knew how to make toast. Put bread in toaster, push lever down, wait for it to pop. Simple, right? But somehow I’d wander off to feed the cat, or get sucked into Instagram, or remember I needed to switch the laundry, and then – that smell. You know the one. The “oh crap” smell that sends you running to the kitchen.
I had a whole routine: frantically wave a dish towel under the smoke detector, open all the windows (even in winter), and try to convince myself that “well-done” toast was actually good for you. Spoiler alert: it’s not.
But here’s the thing about screwing up the same simple task over and over – eventually, you have to ask yourself what your problem is. For me, that moment came on a Tuesday morning when I burned not one, but two slices of my husband’s homemade sourdough. The good bread. The bread he’d spent three days making.
I stood there, holding this sad, blackened piece of what used to be a perfect sourdough slice, and I just… lost it. Not in a crying way, but in that quiet “what am I doing with my life?” way. Because it wasn’t really about the toast. It was about how I couldn’t seem to focus on one simple thing for two minutes without getting distracted.
So I made myself a deal: for one week, I would just make toast. Not make toast while doing anything else. Just. Make. Toast.
The first morning was weird. Standing there, staring at the toaster like it was performance art. My phone buzzed. I ignored it. The cat meowed for breakfast. I told her to wait. All I did was watch that little lever and think about toast.
And you know what? It didn’t burn.
The next day was the same. And the next. Perfect toast, every time. But more than that, I started noticing how much other stuff I was half-assing because I couldn’t focus. Like when my kid was telling me about his day, and I’d be nodding along while mentally making a grocery list. Or how I’d check my email during Netflix shows and then have to rewind because I missed something important.
My toast intervention forced me to admit something: I was kind of awful at being present. Not in a deep, philosophical way – just in a basic “pay attention to the thing you’re doing” way.
These days, I still burn toast sometimes. Usually when I’m trying to prove I can multitask again (spoiler: I can’t). But now that charred smell is less of an annoyance and more of a reminder: slow down, pay attention, do one thing at a time.
It’s not like I’ve turned into some zen master. I still scroll through TikTok while watching TV, and sometimes I write emails during Zoom meetings (sorry, boss). But I’m trying. And it all started with burnt toast.
So if you’re like me – someone who can’t seem to complete the simplest task without getting distracted – maybe try my toast therapy. Stand there and watch your bread turn golden brown. It’s two minutes of your life. And hey, worst case scenario? You get edible toast out of it.
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