Sententia (sen-ten’-ti-a): One of several terms describing short, pithy sayings. Others include adage, apothegem, gnome, maxim, paroemia, and proverb.
“Don’t count your eggs,” Wisdom of Chickens 2:96
There are countless complications in life. Just when you think you know what’s going on you crash your car into a light pole, or the zipper on your pants pops open during a job interview for school crossing guard, or you slip on a patch of ice and hit your head and loose your memory for a week. I’m sure one or more of these things have happened to you.
Not counting your eggs is a helpful remedy. You just know you have eggs, but you resist counting them.This act of resistance will liberate you from knowing how many you have. It eliminates the shamefulness of desire. If you don’t know how many eggs you have, you can’t plot out a week of egg consumption, for example: boiled on Monday, fried on Tuesday, scrambled on Wednesday, poached on Thursday, soft-boiled on Friday, eggs Benedict on Saturday, Shirred eggs on Sunday. Clear. To the point. In line, 1, 2, 3. No fuss. No muss. Seven eggs. Seven days. Expectations set and fulfilled. But then, your brother Nick shows up for breakfast. You try to push dry cereal on him, but he refuses it, asking for an egg instead. You start to shake. You almost can’t hold the spatula as you make him a fried egg to order: sunny-side up.
As I pushed the spatula under the egg and let it slide off onto my brother’s dish, for a brief flicker, I was going to kill him. A slam on the head with my skillet would’ve sent him off to the coroner while I was sent off to jail. A voice in my head said “No.” I listened to it and put the skillet down, back on the stove. But in my rage, at any rate, I had already retaliated: I had put a tiny shell fragment in my brother’s egg. When I saw him bite down on it, make face, and spit it out, I felt vindicated, but also, sad. My 7-egg fixation had blinded me to the potential for chance events in each and every moment. If we “count” our eggs we will fall victim to painful random intercessions, some inducing rage and desire to murder a fellow human being. Not all of us have “little” voices in our heads that divert us from evil. My little voices help me all the time. My little voices follow on my sayings—they sort of wake them up my and give them something to say, usually “yes” or “no.” But lately, the little voices don’t need a saying to reflect on and they just blurt out observations and commands. Today when I was taking my daily shower a voice said: “Your.mother wants to see you naked.” It was crystal clear and spoken with resolve. I thought for a minute how the voice knew this. After all, he was in my head! So, in this case I failed to comply with the voice. I felt guilty, but I’ve forged on with a more robust sense of agency, but I’m not going to count my eggs. I will not be confused or frustrated by life’s randomness. Unattached, I will just eat one egg at a time. But I will not desire it until it’s in the frying pan. Is that possible?
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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