Geeze, there is NO room in here. I’ve got a bag of groceries to unload and not a damn bit of space in the refrigerator.
I’m sure several items have passed their expiration dates. (Ask my son’s friend who unwittingly chugged curdled milk from the fridge. Or my sister who, thankfully, has a strong sense of smell and avoided eating a two-week-old chicken leg.)
I scan the shelves, looking for the large items first. One large tub of red pepper hummus.
I pluck it from the shelf. It expired, 3 weeks ago. I walk to the trash.
A voice inside my head — my husband’s voice — says, "You're not going to throw that out, are you? I'm sure it's fine. Can't you eat it for lunch tomorrow? Or breakfast? Throw an egg on it. You know, there are starving children in the world. (Okay, that last one was my mother.) And the hummus is no doubt organic, and you probably bought it at that expensive hippy market, which means you are throwing away $10!"
I stand over the garbage, arguing with the voice inside my head.
I walk back to the fridge and place the large tub of expired red pepper hummus back on the shelf. (Yes, I’m certifiable. Who keeps OLD food in their fridge, intentionally? Hint: someone who’s caught up in a story.)
Tomorrow I’ll go through the same exercise, only maybe I'll manage to toss the hummus in the garbage -- being sure to bury it under the morning coffee grounds.
...So why am I sharing this story with you?
Am I trying to tell you that my husband is an intimidating ogre? Quite the contrary. He’s kind, sensitive, and loving. He simply hates to waste food. (If he liked hummus, he would’ve happily eaten it, after scraping off any visible mold.)
So what’s the deal? Is there some lesson hidden in my story of expired hummus? Yes, I've learned there is!
And it has to do with painful thoughts…stories we tell ourselves…stories that hold us back from throwing away the expired hummus, or more seriously, stories that hold us back from living our best lives.
As I stood over the garbage can, I was making up a story about how my husband would react, what he might think of me (wasteful, spendthrift, etc.). He wasn’t even in the room with me. Maybe he would’ve teased me. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter, because I have NO CONTROL over what my husband does, thinks, or says. Sure, in the best of times, maybe I can influence him, but I do not possess an absolute ability to direct his exact behavior...dang.
I can only affect what’s happening within me. And I can do this by becoming AWARE of the painful story in my head and then questioning the story.
Here is the FACT: The hummus in my refrigerator has expired.
What's my THOUGHT about that fact? I'm a loser. I'm wasteful. (Yes, there are many more thoughts, but for this exercise, we'll stick with just one.)
How does that thought make me FEEL? Bummed. Defeated.
What do I DO when I feel bummed and defeated? I do nothing! I'm immobilized.
What's the RESULT of my doing nothing? The hummus remains in the fridge, so I have to stare at it every time I open the refrigerator door, which reinforces my thought that I'm such a loser!
Here's the deal. I can’t change the fact that the hummus is expired. It’s the past.
But I can question my painful thought: I’m a loser.
- Is my thought true?
- How do I react when I believe that painful thought?
- Who would I be without the thought?*
I would turn the thought around: I'm NOT a loser. And I would come up with several examples of how that is truer. And the grip of my painful thought would loosen its hold on me.
And then, I would simply throw the expired hummus in the trash, on TOP of the coffee grounds.
Do you want to play around with questioning your own painful thoughts?* I'd love to guide you. LET'S CHAT!
P.S. This “incident” happened about several years ago. I can happily report that I no longer face an internal battle when it’s time to throw away expired hummus, curdled milk, or two-week-old chicken legs. I have experienced the happiness of undoing my painful thoughts!
*I also invite you to check out "The Work" of Byron Katie at www.thework.com.
