Pancakes

One Saturday morning, I ruined a batch of pancakes. I rushed the batter, flipped too soon, and ended up with a messy plate of half-burnt, half-raw discs. My first instinct was frustration, but then I laughed. I laughed at myself, at my perfectionism, at the way I expected pancakes—and life—to always turn out just right. I remade them slowly, letting the batter bubble, letting the moment breathe. The second batch was tender, golden, and a quiet reminder that growth doesn’t come from forcing results. It comes from patience, presence, and being willing to start again.