At the beginning of this semester, right around the time reading assignments started multiplying and summer job interviews were happening almost every day, I made a somewhat questionable decision.

I decided to start a sourdough starter.

Like many law students facing the mild existential crisis of the first few weeks of classes, I needed a project that felt manageable. Casebooks were dense, cold calls were unpredictable, and every doctrinal concept seemed harder than the last. Baking bread, by comparison, seemed straightforward: flour, water, patience.

Naturally, I also gave my starter a name. Her name is Cindoughrella.

Cindoughrella started as nothing more than flour and water in a jar on my kitchen counter. For the first few days, nothing happened. She just sat there looking vaguely like pancake batter, while I checked on her far more often than necessary. Eventually, though, small bubbles appeared. Then more bubbles. Soon the mixture started to rise, collapse, and grow again.

Somewhere in between feeding her every day and wondering if she was alive, I realized the process felt oddly familiar.

Law school works a lot like sourdough.

At the beginning of the semester, everything feels confusing and slightly chaotic. You brief readings, outline concepts, and still walk out of class wondering if you understood anything correctly.

But just like a sourdough starter, growth is happening even when it isn’t obvious.

Cindoughrella needs regular “feedings” of fresh flour and water to stay alive and grow stronger. Law school learning works the same way. Every reading assignment, every class discussion, every assignment, is a small feeding. On its own, each one might seem insignificant. But over time, the accumulation starts to matter.

One day you suddenly understand a concept that made no sense two weeks earlier. A rule that once seemed random now fits into a broader structure. Patterns start to emerge.

The most surprising part of keeping a sourdough starter during 1L year is how grounding it can be. Law school is intensely analytical: hours spent reading, thinking, and arguing about abstract ideas. Baking bread, on the other hand, is simple and tangible. You mix ingredients, wait patiently, and eventually pull something warm and real out of the oven.

It is a small reminder that progress does not always look dramatic. Sometimes it looks like small bubbles forming in a jar on your counter.

Cindoughrella is still going strong, quietly fermenting while I read cases. She is not perfect (she has yet to produce a loaf that isn’t dense) nor is she a perfect metaphor for law school, but she is a pretty good one. Both require patience. Both require consistency. And both reward you if you stick with them long enough.

---

Rebecca Carcieri is a first-year student at BC Law. Contact her at carcierr@bc.edu.