I woke up on autopilot one day this week and instead of taking the time to intentionally start my day with some stretching or meditation I decided to make french toast. There is nothing inherently wrong with french toast but the way I prepared it tells a story about mindfulness – or lack there of.
One of my favorite foods, there is nothing more comforting than the smell of the egg-soaked bread grilling as wafts of cinnamon, vanilla, and nutmeg rise from the pan. On this particular morning I was tired. It was the end of the work week and I didn’t really give myself time to wake up before I started cooking. Moreover I woke up with several projects on my mind. As a result my breakfast-making was a comical scene. I wandered toward the pan rack and stared at the bowl of apples below wondering why I was there. I heated the pan and melted the butter before I even beat the eggs. Mid-preparation I found myself, zombie-like, heading for the fridge reaching for the orange juice. Shuffling around the kitchen in body, but not in mind, I continued to think about other things while I prepared my meal.
When I finally sat down to eat the french toast, I willed myself to bring all my senses to bare. Lo and behold – I had forgotten to put the spices in my french toast batter. My toast was bland – as is all experience when you are doing one thing and thinking about something else. Not only did I rob myself of the experience of flavorful french toast, I robbed myself of the experience of the process. Oh well, tomorrow’s another day, and each day brings opportunities for moments of mindfulness.
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