I got stuck at Muji today. Completely frozen. At the utensils.
I’ve been by twice since moving to my new apartment because I wanted to buy some more utensils to go with the ones I bought a little over a year ago when we moved back to Paris. That time, we’d taken the package where the movers do the packing and they’d missed a drawer and left all our utensils in Toulouse. So I had to run out and buy some so that we could eat until the old ones could be picked up and brought to us. I’d gone to Muji and chosen a set with nice, clean lines. But only enough for the four of us to use for a short period of time. The store manager had mentioned that it was a regular line that they always had.
With the separation and upcoming divorce, I knew that I only wanted these Muji utensils because I preferred their style to the other utensils we had. Nice clean lines. Basic. Simple. I find them pleasing. So when I was boxing things up, I took my Mujis and went on my way.
Once I was moved in, I went back to Muji. No utensils. They said they were changing things around in the store, the utensils would be back the following week. Okay, no big deal. I returned. The display container for the utensils was there, but empty. Fine, I was just a little too early. So I went back today. I’d already taken a photo of my Mujis on my phone, so I’d be sure to get the right ones just in case there were multiple kinds to choose from. And there were. My forks were there. As were my knives.
However.
There were two kinds of spoons. Two new kinds of spoons. Two spoons that were not my spoons.
I stood there, in front of the utensil display case, with one of each of these wrong spoons in my hand and could not move.
These were not my spoons.
What’s interesting is that just a few months ago, I would have started beating myself up for my reaction. For the fact that I was internally enraged at the fact that my spoons were not there and I would now have to get rid of the spoons that I do have because if I keep them alongside the ones I buy to have enough for my kids and I, the dissonance will constantly bother me. Rather than acknowledge that this was upsetting me as much as it was because maybe my mind works a little differently from other people’s, I would be calling myself immature and stupid and a loser. On top of stuffing down my emotional distress.
(I checked. Their website is currently down. My quest for correct spoons may be fruitless.)
I purchased one of each of the wrong spoons just to see if I can live with either one. We will test them over the coming days.
As I walked down the street, I analyzed the situation. I was still enraged. But maybe that’s not the right word. I was still in a high emotional state. There was a lot of disappointment. And frustration. I felt like I was holding in a temper tantrum. I certainly had been standing in front of the display case. Was that a meltdown?
I’d been absolutely lovely with the person at the checkout desk. Even made a little joke about the weather. They’d have had no idea I wanted to throw myself on the ground and start kicking and screaming. Was that masking?
I felt tired when I was waiting for the light to change as I crossed the street. How many times in my life has that happened? Huge burst of emotion that I’ve held in, followed by a blast of fatigue, then I’ve had to dig deep and push through it without anyone knowing? Only about a billion.
This is an experience. I never would have imagined that spoons would give me the opportunity to think about myself differently. But I suppose anything can be an object lesson. Anything can be a chance to learn how to give ourselves grace.