The Profound Purpose of the Perfect Pancake

Do you really love shrimp or shellfish? Or do you love dipping it in that warm butter?

Do you really love ‘salad’? Or do you love smothering that lettuce in ranch dressing, and bacon, and maybe some cheese and croutons…and bacon?

Isn’t it interesting how many things in life serve as merely a carrier, for what we really want?

Do we really love to workout? Or do we just love the results?

Do we really love our jobs? Or do we just love the means that it provides?

Today I’m challenging myself…to look beyond the surface. To understand if those things I claim to love are genuinely rooted in who I am and who I desire to be, or are superficially based in what I may receive.

Do I love that new car? Or do I love how it might make me look?

Do I love some of the people that I surround myself with? Or do I love what they may do for me, or give to me?

Do some people around me love me for me? Or do they love what I may do for them, or give to them?

Do I love to serve others? Or do I love the recognition or reward that may follow?

Tough questions. Raw questions.

Now I don’t mean for this exercise to produce a negative sentiment…but to expand my own perspective. To simplify my thoughts. To engage what truly drives me, and to act in such a way that my future self will be proud of.

And perhaps most importantly… to serve as a reminder that while life is a constant quid pro quo (more than any of us may want to acknowledge), the purest form of gratitude comes when we give without expectation.

You know who I feel sorry for? Pancakes.

Does anyone really love pancakes? Or do they just love that warm maple syrup?

Is all pancake consumption really just a metaphor for our consumption-obsessed culture?

Or is there a great nobility in being a pancake? Knowing that you are beloved merely for being the world’s greatest surrogate…but continuing to serve anyway.

Or, perhaps…I’m overthinking this.

Yes. I’m overthinking this.

I really need to wrap this up.

OK, I got it.

Go forth my friends, and be pancakes.

Give, without expectation.

Serve, knowing that while some may love you only for the syrup…many love you for who you are.

A big, fluffy, golden brown stack of baked buttermilk.

Profound. I know.

I think we’re done here.

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