"I just wanna go home to my kombucha"
(words actually uttered by yours truly in a desperate moment of homesickness)
Kit Nelson gifted me a kombucha scoby for Christmas, and I've been getting really into brewing this year.
Infused with ginger, pineapple, and raspberry- Miss Miranda Dawn declared my brew
"the best kombucha I've ever had."
My self esteem soaring, I set a fresh batch to brew and hit the road.
I traveled for 2 weeks- following my friend Gregory Alan Isakov's tour and playing showcases at Folk Alliance International. While those experiences were inspiring, I returned home exhausted from 2 days of travel delays, cancelled flights, and a mashup of planes, trains, and automobiles (the dark side of folk singing.)
My kombucha (lets call her Gina) stared at me pleadingly from her fridge top perch. "You left me all alone in the cold for weeks! Where were you? Bottle me! Brew a fresh batch! Change me. Feed me. Do something! HELP!"
she cried. I ignored her. "Momma's got her own problems, Gina."
I justified my neglect- surely she was no good anymore and these were her dying pleas.
Gina the Kombucha had become another failure for me to feel guilty about.
On a wild Friday night - 11 days after my return- I finally attended to Gina. And guess what? It wasn't too late.
I didn't kill her. The batch was ruined, but Gina was stronger than ever. Not only had she survived, she had grown!
All I had to do was begin. Show up. Release my fearful doubts and move forward.
Maybe that's all it ever takes.
I'm simmering over the concept that "the way you do one thing is how you do everything." Maybe I'll write about that in my next blog. For now, I'm off to finish a song and sip some kombucha.
Cheers!