🥑 Hope, Disappointment, and a Six-Dollar Avocado: An Existential Metaphor for Life
by nicarl
The Six-Dollar Avocado That Betrayed Me
Recently, I found myself hunched over the kitchen counter, eye to eye, with a six-dollar organic avocado that had officially betrayed me. Just the night before, I’d picked it out with a sense of optimism so bright it bordered on foolishness. This one’s perfect, I thought—a game-changer. It wasn’t just an avocado but a symbol of all my best intentions.
But now, there it sat. Bruised, slightly deflated, and unapologetically squishy. It looked like it had survived something traumatic, and in its sad state, I couldn’t help but see a little too much of myself in it.
Big Plans, Small Windows
When I bought it, I had big plans. “I’m going to make all the things,” I told myself. Salads, smoothies, maybe even avocado toast.” I even imagined myself planting the pit and cultivating my very own avocado tree, a testament to my newfound sense of discipline.
Never mind that my current houseplants resemble drought survivors, clinging to life in silent protest. I was convinced that this avocado would mark the beginning of my wellness era.
Sadly, life did not get the memo. The usual chaos—endless to-dos, dirty dishes, and Goldendoodle-level distractions—took over, and my grand avocado plans faded into the background. By the time I remembered it existed, its short, dramatic lifespan had already peaked.
The Avocado is a Perfect Metaphor
That’s the thing about avocados, isn’t it? They give you this impossibly brief window to use them, and if you miss it—even by a little—they go off script and turn into something entirely different. It’s that familiar mix of fleeting potential, misplaced hope, and the slow, inevitable slide into disappointment that hits close to home.
There’s this belief many of us hold onto, the one where we’re told to lean into optimism and hard work because everything will eventually fall into place. Success, fulfillment, and fairness are promised to anyone who follows the steps. But what no one tells you is that those steps often come with hidden challenges. They neglect to mention that some people get a head start, a cheat code, or a map that wasn’t handed out to everybody else.
When you don’t have that privilege, you’re often left scrambling for opportunities that close as quickly as an avocado ripens. One minute they seem promising, and the next, they’re virtually gone, leaving you with crushed dreams and a lingering sense of What now?
On Karens and Other Life Obstacles
And if fleeting chances weren’t enough, life throws in its own side challenges. Enter The Karens of the world. You know who I’m talking about. They’re the self-appointed gatekeepers of something or other, thriving on bureaucratic chaos and arbitrary decisions. They linger in customer service lines, HR departments, or behind passive-aggressive emails signed off with “Best regards.”
Not all Karens, of course. My actual friend Karen (hi, Karen!) is an excellent ally, kind, and probably horrified by what her name has become in pop culture. But for every Karen like her, there’s a Rachel or a Becky ready to make sure something simple becomes unnecessarily difficult. These people hold the keys to small injustices, much like life itself.
And yet, none of that diminishes our human tendency to hope—to try, again and again, to make something good come from frustrating circumstances. Even when life feels unfair, we push forward, determined to make things work.
What I Learned from a Bruised Avocado
By the time my avocado had finished stirring up an existential crisis in my kitchen, I was left wondering why I do this to myself. Why buy into hope when it has such a high expense, whether literal or emotional?
Hope’s a funny thing! Despite the disappointments, we keep reaching for what might be possible, convinced that next time will be different. But sometimes, like today, you’re left with a bruised avocado and a lingering sense of regret—and the nagging question: why the hell did I buy that avocado in the first place?