I wish life was like breakfast.
Breakfast time at the Murray house is very simple. There are a total of three healthy choices: oatmeal, eggs or cold cereal. The breakfast decision is made while pulling on your clothes, making your bed and picking up your room and takes all of thirty seconds.
“Cold cereal, please. Raisin Crunchie O’s,” they will call out from their rooms, their voices muffled by the fourteen stuffed animals that adorn their beds and must be arranged very specifically.
It is a relief, breakfast. There is no second-guessing your choice. There is no drama. No “well, I really love eggs, but I’m not sure, what if the poaching doesn’t go as planned?” Breakfast is limited, and therefore comforting, I think. It’s an oasis of simplicity in a world of complexity.
Perhaps I should apply the breakfast principle to my life in general. Perhaps I should have a three-color palette for home décor: if it’s not brown, mustard or green, it doesn’t darken our doorstep. We will have three options for dinner every night: spaghetti, spaghetti with meatballs and turkey corndogs (I have a six-year old who’s middle name is corndog. Really. Finn Corndog Murray). We will have three clothing options: uniform 1, uniform 2 and weekend wear. We will have three friends to socialize with. Three hobbies to choose from. Three places we vacation.
Ah, I feel the relaxation, the simplicity taking over.
OK, life might get boring after a while living under the breakfast principle, but actual breakfast never does. I believe it was Hunter Thompson who said everyone needs at least one psychic anchor every twenty-four hours and his was breakfast. I’m thinking mine might be too. How about you?