This is the omelette that I almost didn’t eat.
I was having a pretty tough day. I felt tired and flat, and even though I had an ambitious to-do list, I just couldn’t muster the motivation to tackle anything. I sat on the couch, not watching tv, not reading, just sitting. As the time passed, I started to get hungrier and hungrier until I dragged myself to the kitchen and opened the fridge. There were plenty of great ingredients, but nothing ready to eat.
Carrots and cucumber, I decided. Wash them, cut them in half, eat them. No mess, no fuss.
No love. No enjoyment.
That’s when I started thinking about how much I would really like an omelette.
A nice, cheesy omelette with some crispy bacon and squishy, buttery mushrooms. And a salad on the side, maybe with the juicy peaches I picked up at the greengrocers the day before. I stared into the open fridge door, willing it to appear in front of me like a minor miracle.
But miracles, even minor ones, are rare, and I knew that if I wanted that omelette I was going to have to cook it myself. The thoughts rattled around in my head – can I be bothered? Is it worth the mess? Is it worth the time? Is it worth the hassle? Is it worth all of that, just for me?
Is it worth all that, just for me?
It was at that precise moment that I had a little epiphany. If my sister, or my husband, or my best friend was having a tough day and they wanted an omelette, would I have made it for them?
Hell yes. Without a thought to the mess, time and hassle. With all my love and kindness, I would make them that omelette.
So I did it. I pulled out everything I needed and I made the omelette and the salad. I went and picked chives from the garden, and used the truffly bits in the truffle salt. I took time and care to make it right. And I enjoyed the process of creating it, of giving myself a little bit of that love and kindness that I would be so willing to give someone else. I sat down and ate the whole thing at the table like a human being, not watching tv or reading or being distracted. I ignored the mess on the counter and the dishes in the sink, and savoured every mouthful of my lunch.
I felt good. I felt nourished. I felt like my day had taken a turn for the better. Even when I was cleaning up the mess, I was still glad I’d made it.
The next time I catch myself wondering ‘Is it worth it, just for me?’ I’m going to think of that omelette and I’m going to remember how good it feels for the answer to be a resounding ‘hell yes’.
Just to be clear – once the mess was cleaned up, I still didn’t tackle my to-do list. I made popcorn and watched The Godfather instead.