Have you ever had a moment in life where you knew you could clearly see the future? It’s a fleeting moment, surfacing as quickly as it fades away from your attention. I had one of these moments this morning, just as I was about to eat my leftover breakfast from Perkins Restaurant. I looked rather stylish this morning, opting for a fresh, clean turquoise dress as opposed to my normal capris and t-shirt. I adorned myself with white pearls, and even had time to properly curl my hair. As a middle school music teacher, my hair is usually the last thing I think about as I’m rushing, 5 minutes late, to hop in my car for a 20 minute commute.
To sum up: I felt (and looked) pretty darn good at 7:35 AM, just as my students were sliding Slinky-style off the bus and into the building. I had already been to the gym, had a Starbucks’ Lime Refresher in my hand, and a hearty breakfast awaiting me on my desk. It was going to be a good morning.
As I cut into my day-old omelette, cheddar cheese and Hollandaise sauce oozed out of the crease, reminding my my nutritional ideals that I never, ever wanted to be on a diet (this is the main reason why I had already been to the gym in the first place). I pierced a piece of caloric goodness and raised it to my lips, my taste buds as anxious as a pre-schooler before birthday cupcakes. Just as I was about to feed my inner tapeworm, the slippery omelette fell off my fork and went cascading down towards my crisp, clean dress.
I cannot recall what happened in the .87 seconds that followed, but all I know is that some otherworldly force propelled my hand upwards to snatch the errant piece of egg out of the air and away from my lap. It was a Mr. Miyagi level of karate…a Matrix/there-is-no-spoon type of reflexive reaction that stunned my brain. It was like I knew the omelette was going to fall even before my mind knew. I wanted to celebrate, but alas, this was a if-a-tree-falls-in-the-forest type of celebration: no one had seen my egg plummet towards my lap, and no one would ever know of my commendable feat (and honestly, who in their right mind would even care that my left hand was now covered in Hollandaise sauce?).
As the breakfast item lay in my open palm, I had a vision. I pictures a day where the egg HAD hit my dress, and foresaw pain and suffering. I looked into an alternate reality where I had to clean off the egg bomb from my dress, ruining my ensemble and my good mood. I peered into the face of Egg Death and I didn’t like what I saw.
I glimpsed how something as small as food hitting my clothing could have sent me into a bad mood spiral for the rest of the day, and in that precise moment, I was so grateful for catching the cheddar missile. The worries and anxieties that accompany me on my ride to work suddenly seemed so trivial because I found myself laughing at my omelette. It felt so good to laugh about something so silly, and yet, it makes sense. We take things so seriously in life that we forget to view serious things with a silly light. The moment that egg hit my palm, I was so grateful that I didn’t have to deal with a yolk stain on the front of my dress for the rest of the day. I giggled at the thought of myself as an Egg Ninja. And I was grateful for that extra bite of breakfast, as my immortal inner Tape Worm will never be satiated.
Want to know how to combat anxiety? Swipe a falling omelette away from gravity’s clutches and be grateful for stain-free dresses.