I went to the fridge, for milk, to finish making tea for my beloved. The milk bottle has ¼ inch of milk in the bottom of it. I look at it, frustrated. I think to myself, “Why does someone leave such a small amount of milk?” There are 4 of us adults in the house. We have a second fridge in the garage (which you can reach directly from the kitchen) where several days’ supplies of things live. I ask myself, “Why don’t they finish it off and get another bottle from the other fridge?” I muse on who is the likely culprit. My son comes downstairs. I share with him, “I can’t believe how often I find this. Why doesn’t the person finish this one and get a new one. They’re not thinking of the next person. Someone has a real aversion to making that trip to the garage.”
He replies, “Maybe they use just the right amount of milk and that’s what’s left. Maybe if they put that in too it would be too milky.”
Maybe he has a point.
I look deeper within myself. I reflect on one of the many aphorisms that rattle around my head, “The faults we see in others are often reflections of ourselves.”
I reflect on how ticked off I am to be the one finishing the milk and having to be the one who goes to the garage.
It doesn’t explain why this happens so often.
It does remind me how often my first reaction can be inconsiderate, and indeed wrong.
I lose my frustration with the mystery criminal, as once again I’m reminded of, “Just like me, they…”
I forgive myself, and in doing so forgive them. Or maybe I forgive them, and in doing so forgive myself.
And I remind myself of how lucky I am to have milk in the fridge. And the family I have. And tea. And hot water. And…
I thank my son.
And take tea to my beloved.
