I start almost every week day with eggs.  Anyone close to me knows I’m “weird about  my eggs” (re: not always a huge fan), but I know their protein is valuable to my vegetarian diet, they’re cheap, and incredibly easy to prepare, so I’ll do just about anything to make them more appealing.  I often eat hard boiled eggs with spicy mustard and lately I’ve even taken to treating my fried eggs like pancakes- fresh blueberries and little maple syrup go a long way for this egg-hesitant lady.  I know, I know, it’s weird.  But I’m deviating from the point, which is that on most mornings, my egg tricks are a success, and I fill up on protein before my body has even fully woken.  Win-win.

This morning started like any other.  I was completing my usually morning routine with the heating of the tea kettle, the sipping of the lemon water and the cracking of the eggs.  Despite my best efforts, often times my egg-cracking skills are…sub par; The shells break jaggedly, yokes pierced and unruly and I’m picking teeny shards out of the gooey egg whites.  But this morning, something strange happened.  I picked up my first egg and, tired morning hands gripping with the strength of a lazy goldfish, promptly dropped it onto the cutting board.  The shell broke, not in the shattered, messy way one might expect, but in a perfectly straight line circling the diameter of the egg.  It was a clean break, yoke intact and whites just baaarely spilling out…and it happened completely by accident.

I can’t help but see this “egg incident” as some sort of a sign.  A sign to just let go.  To relinquish control and let things fall apart on their own.  It’s counterintuitive for my type A personality; a planner, a list-making, superstitious, organizer.  But when you attempt to oversee every aspect of your life, you make it impossible for the new, the unknown, and the accidentally perfect to enter it.  Surrender this power, and give it back to life.  The results may not be what you expected, but they might just be perfect.