The Old Blog in the Desert

This morning, I sat down at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a strawberry cream cheese muffin in the other, or at least, that’s what the label said it was. The muffin had strawberries, sure enough—sweet, tart little bursts baked right in—but the cream cheese part was about as absent as my hairline.

Now, I don’t know about you, but when something says “cream cheese” on the package, I expect to encounter cream cheese. I didn’t need it to be fancy, just a little pocket of tangy, smooth goodness hiding inside, like a bonus prize for showing up early to breakfast.

Instead, I bit through the muffin top, then the middle, then the bottom, and not a lick of cream cheese was found. I felt betrayed, not deeply betrayed, like finding out your neighbor borrowed your lawnmower and ran off to Mexico with it, but betrayed in a small, breakfast-sized way.

Still, disappointment only lasts so long when there’s a warm muffin in your hand. Strawberries or no strawberries, cream cheese or not, I ate it right down to the crumbs and licked my fingers for good measure.

I figure life’s too short to stay mad at a muffin. That got me thinking, though, how many times in life we expect cream cheese and end up with just the muffin.

We set our hearts on the extra, the bonus, the promise written on the package. And when it doesn’t show up, well, it can throw off our whole day if we let it.

Take fishing, for instance. Every time I head out to the creek, I imagine pulling in a trophy trout that would make the cover of Field & Stream.

But more often than not, I come home with a sunburn and an empty cooler. That’s a muffin-without-cream-cheese situation if there ever was one.

Or think about family reunions. You go expecting your Auntie’s famous potato salad, but she decided this year she’s trying out some kale-and-quinoa experiment.

Nobody says anything out loud, of course—we’re polite people—but you can feel the collective sigh as everyone takes a tentative scoop and pushes it around their plate. No potatoes. Just kale.

But even without the cream cheese, the muffin was still good. I savored it, and my morning went on just fine. Fishing trips without fish still give me quiet hours on the water, and family reunions with kale still give me the chance to laugh with cousins I only see once a year.

I guess what I’m saying is, maybe happiness isn’t always getting what’s promised, but enjoying what you’ve got. Sure, we can write letters to the muffin company, or complain about our bad luck, or fuss about how kale will never replace potatoes–and it won’t–but that’s a lot of energy spent on things we can’t change.

Sometimes you eat the muffin, sip your coffee, and say, “Well, that wasn’t what I expected, but it sure wasn’t all bad.”

Besides, if I really want cream cheese in my muffin tomorrow, nothing’s stopping me from slicing one open and smearing some on myself. Problem solved.