Meditations on breakfast prep

and how awareness made it better

I really hate mixing peanut butter.

If you don’t understand what I’m talking about because your peanut butter doesn’t need to be mixed, good for you.

Because I really dislike mixing peanut butter.

The problem is that it’s messy work and it isn’t quick work. Nobody wants to slow their roll to stir peanut butter when they have better things to do.

The oil, peanuts, and paste all separate leaving the would-be-enjoyer of the peanut butter with the task of mixing it all back together again. You could try to just give it a few stirs and call it good; but then you run the risk of not getting enough oil into the bottom of the jar, thus rendering the bottom half gross and too dry. There are no shortcuts here - one must really mix it all up. Now, this would be simple enough if you were given more than a half inch of working space in the jar for this endeavour…BUT you aren’t. And, most often for me, the oil sloshes over the side and gets on my hands and onto the counter. It’s a mess.

Like I said, if you don’t mix your peanut butter, good for you.

But, while I was mixing a jar of peanut butter this morning, a thought occurred to me. The process of mixing it all together - if you take care to do it with gentleness and avoid the sloshing - is a lot like the process of healing or integrating. It would be nice if our hearts were just whole and ready in a moment; however, often we must take the time to reintegrate and patiently work towards wholeness. If I didn’t have to mix, I don’t think I would even give thought to what the peanut butter is in its parts. Perhaps I would take for granted the process that creates the wondrous thing that is peanut butter. Perhaps I would take for granted that the complexity of human experience requires patient, careful attention to integrate.

After I stirred the peanut butter, I ate an orange. That, too, brought forward some unexpected thoughts. The process of peeling the orange intensified the experience of eating it by creating anticipation. I could feel the juice running down my finger as I peeled, I could smell the sweet flesh. I longed for the first taste as I tore off the final pieces of skin.

Perhaps much of the meaning and beauty of this present life can be seen in the disruptive work we do to enjoy it. Perhaps going through the process does something in and of itself.

The peanut butter took me from agitation to awareness to gratitude.

The orange took me from routine indifference to awareness to anticipation.

I’m sure both of those did something to release dopamine in my brain.

All this to say, I had a very existential experience preparing my breakfast this morning.