Regenerating Pie of Wondrousness
Life is not a box of chocolates, it is a pie with a finite number of pieces.
At least, that is what I used to think. Until very very very very recently.
I viewed life as a massive pie, typically meringue. Lemon meringue. And I would have to share this pie with everyone around me. And the lemon meringue was not only made of citrus and flour and egg whites, but achievements and talent and sugary success.
If someone helped themselves to a large piece of pie by accomplishing something, say, an acquaintance beat 500 others to be the second stand-in for the back line of the chorus in the Broadway production of “Nietzsche, The Dancing Philosopher”, there would be less pie left for the rest of us.
Less pie is BAD. Less pie makes us folk with only little forkfuls of pie (or, heaven forbid, no pie at all) anxious and panicked about going through life armed only with pockets full of crumbs.
Now, the people who achieved things that I didn’t give a rat’s ass about, like chess or anything taking place outdoors, had their own pies to fight over. Sports pies, and hiking pies, and calculus pies. On the other hand, when it came to things I was intensely interested in like dancing, suddenly there were people from all over the world helping themselves to my pie. Little 7 year old ballet prodigies in Russia and Korean hip hop crews and every single person who made it to Vegas on “So You Think You Can Dance” were all digging their dirty little fingers into my damned pie!
But how can there only be one pie? Wouldn’t it have run out when you were five years old?
No. Totally wrong. The pie would, like, occasionally be replaced with other pies and sometimes… Um. Oh! People would put their pie back because instead of becoming famous in NYC like they were supposed to they decided to take drugs or push out babies or wait tables. Yeah. Not that waiting tables is like taking drugs, cause it definitely is not and I always appreciate good servers and tip them accordingly.
Having babies is also not like taking drugs.
Except for the lifelong consequences.
You know what? Don’t worry about the logical, scientific details of my pie. It’s not important.
What IS important, is how viewing life like a pie that is perpetually running out is a really shitty way to exist. Instead of being inspired by world-class artists and performers I was mortally threatened. Instead of being happy for my friend whose perfect breasts and angelic singing voice attracted record deals, I would be churning with extreme jealousy and freaking out because she would totally be taking all of the current pie and a good quarter of the next one.
In fact, instead of actually sitting down and writing this blog that I envisioned in my head, oh, FIVE MILLION YEARS AGO, I would comb through the internet in hopes that every blog in existence sucked and I could look forward to claiming a colossal amount of blog pie should I someday ever leap into action. All I discovered, though, was that there are scads of incredibly written blogs and even when I was laughing so hard that coconut moisturizer got into my eyes and felt like the burning flames of hell, part of my brain was hissing “This blog is so hilarious it surely takes up a good three-quarters of a pie, and those other awesome blogs probably add up to a good ten pies. Do you see? That’s all of the pie. They’re taking all of the pies for the next twenty years. There’s no pie left for you! NO PIE FOR YOU!!! NO PIE!!!”
You know what constantly thinking there’s no pie left makes you do?
You do crap nothing. You don’t try hard, you don’t focus, you don’t take initiative. You sit at home and watch television and eat beef sticks and cookies made by elves and feel resentment towards all of the horrible people who have stolen your pie.
But then I noticed something.
There were new restaurants opening. New, amazing, orgasm-in-the-mouth restaurants that were overflowing with people even at 5pm on a Monday. They were definitely getting ginormous pieces of local restaurant pie, even though that bacon ice cream food truck had supposedly already taken the year’s entire pie. And my Spotify continuously introduced me to amazing musicians I had never heard of who were absolutely getting humangoid pieces of music stardom pie even though I’m mostly certain the pie had been indefinitely used up by LMFAO’s “Party Rock” several years ago… PLUS, there was a lady getting great big helpings of youtube pie and becoming a millionaire by OPENING PLASTIC EGGS. Where the heck did she get all that pie? I don’t even know what kind of pie she was getting. Plastic-eggs-full-of-crap-trinkets pie I suppose.
At this point I couldn’t help but see people everywhere, all over the place, inventing new taxi services, developing new clothing lines, discovering new scientific thingies, giving world-altering TED talks, making new internets, and they were ALL helping themselves to mounds and mounds of pie!
Where was all this pie coming from?!!
Here’s the secret. Are you listening? You should be listening. Shhhhh, come close.
Yes! It is not a depressing mostly gone pie, but a huge magical pie of regeneration that poofs into existence as soon as you earn it. The key is to earn the pie. We can’t just roll around on the floor wishing for more pie.
Just keep going. Keep going and you’ll get to the finish line. And what’s at the finish line?
Here’s another look:
Got it? Kind of? ONE MORE TIME!
Everyone could, at all hours, help themselves to pie and it would never, ever run out. It’s like a 24 hour diner. But way better. Cause it’s magic. The awesomeness isn’t running out, the opportunities aren’t running out, and there is unlimited pie out there for the taking if people would just freaking TAKE IT! Leap into action, do whatever it is you wish you could do, stop eating elf cookies and TAKE IT!
Suffice to say, I’m far happier with my regenerating pie of wondrousness than I ever was with my crumb littered pie tins of despair.
There’s enough for all of us. And if you don’t like pie then you can partake from the regenerating quinoa salad of genius or the regenerating meatloaf of joy. Whatever floats your boat.