Behold—my first attempt at making kombucha. One of my fellow volunteer ladies had an extra SCOBY (starter culture) leftover from brewing her own and asked me if I wanted to try making kombucha myself. I was intrigued. I was scared. After reading up on the process, I wasn't too sure.
But the creative side of me—the side that adores experimenting with fermentation and making both vegan and gluten-free goods—accepted.
For those who may not know, kombucha is fermented tea. It's slightly sour, slightly sweet, and can be flavored with fruits and herbs. The creation begins with brewing perfectly good tea and ends with locking the brew away in a cupboard while a gelatinous blob of yeast and bacteria permeates the batch for no shorter than 10 days.
When put that way, it sounds gross. The SCOBY itself is gross. Touching it wasn't my favorite part of the creation process. A SCOBY looks like the lovechild of a wet shoe insole and a human brain. I still enjoy the flavor of kombucha and the fact that brewing my own doesn't cost $4 a bottle at the grocery store. Soon, I'll get to try my first batch. It's currently undergoing its second fermentation where I added flavors and let it sit again to build carbonation.
I'm thankful to have the time and curiosity to experiment and create not just with characters and plotlines but also tangible ingredients. The process tickles that part of me that longs to find a better way. A healthier way. A way to create more stories to share—and share finished products.
But I feel like the urge to create is too often brushed aside.
In a culture that brands busier schedules and higher paychecks as progress, the do-it-ourselves desire gets left behind. Paying bills is important. Taking care of errands and tasks to maintain a healthy lifestyle is necessary, but at what cost? When is enough enough? When we get "just a little bit more" or "a little further ahead?" Do we continue to float along and chase what everyone else is chasing in a data-driven world because it's easier than trying a different way? A slower, older, or more difficult way?
Most importantly, what happens when we realize that we've gone the wrong way? Gotten complacent? That our agenda is just a cover for a life that perpetually jogs in place?
As I pondered these questions, an interesting and simplified example came to mind. It comes from none other than one of my favorite childhood films: The Land Before Time.
Back in the 1980's, children's films could get away with everything from controversial topics to horrifying imagery. Don Bluth—a former Disney artist—branched off to create his own studio and pump out classic animated films that inspired viewers, drove them to tears, and left the younger ones with nightmares.
I was in the nightmare category from All Dogs Go to Heaven and The Secret of Nimh...but moving on.
The Land Before Time (the first movie, not the icky sequels) brings five different "child" dinosaur friends together during an earthquake that separates them from their families. They embark on a journey to find a legendary peaceful valley where no carnivorous dinosaurs exist. The main character, Littlefoot, knows the way to the valley thanks to his dying mother's final words and has to rally the ragtag group to follow him. Along the way, they are almost eaten, crushed, and near starvation. At one point, one of Littlefoot's headstrong friends, Cera, convinces the group to follow her instead. Littlefoot protests that Cera's going the wrong way, but one of the other three dinosaurs quietly says, "Cera's way is easier..." Littlefoot watches his new friends abandon him to go the wrong direction.
Isn't that an issue we all know well? We know going a certain way, doing certain thing, may be dangerous or unhealthy in the end, but we want the easier route regardless.
I don't have to delve into more of the plot for most people to realize Cera's group gets into trouble. The wrong way feels easier, looks better at first. Deep down, we all know it's often not good for us.
It's easier to buy processed food or kombucha in a bottle at $4 each. It's easier to blame a busy schedule when putting loved ones on hold. It's easier to stay in the same job, even when it's miserable. It's easier to keep doing what we're doing and hope life changes anyway. And it will change, but usually not for the better.
Ouch.
I feel this, too. When I get complacent, or when it has been too long since I tried something new, my creative juices dry up. I lose my desire to illustrate, write, edit, paint, experiment in the kitchen, or change up my workout routine. I feel like I experienced this a little too much this summer.
But not entirely.
This is where focusing on my own small steps can pull me out of a creative, emotional, or relational rut. Yes, I spent way too much time playing games this summer. But, I also went on my first mission trip. I signed up for a new volunteer mentoring position at my church. I wrote a short story and found a good critique partner for my most recent novel. I've tried making a new version of gluten-free bread, changed up my workout routine, and I have a giant jar of fermenting liquid lurking in my cabinet.
There are days I take the easy way, but not always. Superlatives can become an enemy. "Always" and "never" rarely apply to most of our lives. Celebrate those little accomplishments and keep looking for ways to move forward. Keep asking questions like, "can I make this myself?"—"do this myself?"—"turn this negative experience into a learning experience?"—"make a tiny change now that will eventually have a large payout?"
If it doesn't feel easy or quick, chances are it may be good for me. I'll keep looking out for opportunities to both better myself and help those around me. If this is the remedy for a stagnant life full of busy nothingness, I'm game.
Keep on smilin'!
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