I’m a good cook. Everyone says so. Bacon is particularly impressed with my ability to crack an egg into a mixing bowl with one hand. He never tires of the trick. I learned it from cooking thousands of meals, not so much because I love cooking, but more because my family insists on eating.
On my best days, cooking is creative. I make cheesecake from scratch in a springform pan. I bake sourdough bread from homemade starter. I’ve seen grown men come to blows over the last square of my toffee-filled brownies. But, despite these Julia Child moments, I lack the confidence to turn an over-easy without breaking the yolk.
My brother George used to coach me to lift and flip. This advice came from a man, who baked only in a toaster oven and made waffles out of jalapeño cornbread mix. He used to say, “It’s all in the wrist.”
It’s not in my wrist. It’s in my head. Precisely at the moment the egg is elevated, I falter. Doubt sets in. I flip and splat! Humpty Dumpty splits on the Teflon.
How can I be so accomplished with the challenging and so clumsy with the trivial? If I knew the answer, I could defeat writers block, stay on a low carb diet, train for a marathon, and keep my house clean. Self doubt gets in the way. Flippin’ eggs is an issue of confidence.