Leave the Plate: A Testament to Small Wonders
Here’s a riddle for you:
The person in line behind you has 10 days to live, but they don’t know that. Their favourite smell is freshly baked bread. They suffered a knee injury 8 years ago and they take Advil every day, just to take the edge off. Their favourite colour is deep purple, which is why they find eggplants so beautiful. But eggplants taste like shit, so they buy them just to look at for a few days, then pass them off to someone who can actually cook worth a damn. They watch really cheesy romantic comedies when they are feeling sad. They have 2 daughters.
Now here’s the riddle:
Will that person have enough of their favourite things in the end? Will they find yeast, aubergine, and Advil on the shelves after you finish with them?
And of course, toilet paper. But they didn’t have any strong opinions on that one.
They just assumed they would be able to wipe their butts.
Don’t we all?
- - - - -
The person in line behind you
has ten days to live.
In 2018, I wrote a memoir I titled The Corner Chip. It’s my personal reflections on the grief I experienced after the loss of my best friend. It weaves through the years of my life where my grief was most intense.
There’s a beautiful podcast called Wonderful! I encourage you to give it a listen. It features a hilarious, sweet husband/wife team researching things that they find wonderful. They surprise the other by revealing their "wonderful" selections and interesting details.
Every episode begins with “small wonders.” Seemingly inconsequential, everyday things that they appreciate that need little context.
My small wonder, which actually probably needs some context, is The Corner Chip. Not the book, but the small action behind the title.
Before my friend’s death, we went out to a comedy night. I ordered a massive plate of nachos and she wasn’t very hungry. All she ate was a small corner of one chip.
When the bill came, she offered to pay for half.
It wasn’t about money or etiquette. It was about kindness and generosity of spirit. I believe, even without us knowing, that something was exiting my friend even then. She would be gone 10 days later.
I can’t tell you what she felt or what she was thinking that night. I will live out my days not knowing.
But no matter what she knew, she chose joy.
She chose kindness.
She chose generosity.
She Chose Joy
She chose kindness.
She chose generosity.
It is hard, given the state of the world, not to think of shortages. It is so hard to exist day-to-day without a mindset of scarcity. That is valid. That fear is understandable. I feel it, we all feel it, we can feel it together.
Today I reflect on the notion of giving. Of taking what we need and leaving the rest, and if we can, offering to pay for more than what we took.
Consider what physical possessions you really, truly need, Give what you do not.
If you can, share your monetary wealth.
Open your heart and be emotionally available. Be present.
Be generous with your time.
Whatever it is we are able to give back, we should consider it.
We should consider what it means when we live in a state of “not enough.” This is why there is no yeast to bake bread. This is why there is not enough toilet paper. I speak not from judgment, but from understanding. When things feel so out of our control, we do what we can to feel a sense of control over the outcome of at least one scenario.
You are not evil. You are a complicated human having a complicated experience.
Consider the fact that we are all dying.
Intellectually, you may know it. But if you can take the time to feel it in your bones, you may not take as much. You may leave enough for those who wish to smell baked bread in their kitchen one more time.
Take the necessities, and take the joy you need.
Leave the necessary ingredients for others to make their own joy.
Take the corner chip, but leave the plate.