In the quiet early hours of the morning stillness, I walk to the nearest supermarket to pick up some breakfast essentials. As I enter the huge supermarket, I am greeted with shelves perfectly arranged with hundreds of choices, stretched out in all directions. No matter which supermarket I walk into, I am met with an excess that verges on bewilderment.
I head to the cereal aisle. There are rows of boxes filling every space, each one promising health, happiness and contentment. Corn flakes, puffs, clusters, granola, muesli, honey-drizzled, chocolate-dusted, high-protein, gluten-free, ancient grains, the list goes on and on. I see a young woman frozen in the aisle, paralysed by the endless choices.
Why does such bounty not yield contentment? What does it mean that, with shelves overflowing, peace remains so distant?
Selecting a simple cereal can morph into second-guessing and a battleground of identities. The health-conscious identity fights with the child identity who wants sugary treats. The restless mind wants to pick one and move on.
The question is no longer, “What will keep the body alive?” but “What will make this day begin with meaning, with comfort, with health, with happiness?”
Beneath each decision,there is a quiet hidden plea: let this choice be the right one, let this be the perfect choice. Yet once breakfast is finished, the same questions often return. The deep hunger is not for food alone.
It is tempting to believe that choice is always a blessing, that more is always better. Yet, psychological research reveals otherwise. There is a point where more options become a source of stress and regret. With each added possibility, the burden of responsibility grows.
Every option not taken becomes a silent judge, whispering of roads not traveled and lives not lived. This is the paradox of freedom: the more choices available, the greater the risk of missing out, of making the “wrong” choice. The consequence is not contentment, but anxiety and FOMO.
Beneath all this, the body holds onto stress. The nerves become tense and the mind grows restless. The hunger that remains is not physical at all, but a wish for peace and wholeness. This need cannot be answered by what sits on a shelf.
What is the way out? How can peace be found in a world of endless cereal boxes and limitless choices which breeds anxiety?
There is an ancient wisdom in the practice of enough, a practice forgotten by a world obsessed with more. To accept that no product and no possession will resolve the fundamental questions of existence is to find freedom in the midst of plenty.
In the cereal aisle, there is a gentle lesson waiting. Take a box. Let the decision be simple. Begin the morning without regret or second-guessing. Real nourishment comes not from getting everything right, but from meeting the day as it is, and meeting ourselves with kindness.
The abundance remains, but it no longer oppresses. The choice is made, and the morning proceeds. There is no regret for what was left behind. The ritual of breakfast becomes a meditation on the ordinary, a way to remember that contentment is not found in endless searching, but in the gentle acceptance of this moment, just as it is.
The world will continue to offer new boxes and new dreams. But peace grows in the space where we pause, where we come to the wisdom that we are already enough.