The Existential Crisis I Found in My Refrigerator

It started like this: I was hungry, bored, mildly dehydrated, and emotionally ambiguous (a common state these days). I opened the fridge door and stared inside, as if the shelves might whisper back some grand purpose.

But instead of culinary inspiration, I found something else. Something cold. Something unsettling.

I found me.

A Fridge is Basically a Metaphor for Life

Let’s unpack this (pun intended). Your fridge is a curated collection of your choices, your laziness, your optimism, and your delusions. That expired hummus? That’s the dream you had in your twenties. The one you told everyone about at parties and then forgot in the back of your mind. The kale rotting in the bottom drawer? Your attempt to become someone who does yoga at sunrise.

And the cheese? That’s your comfort zone. Soft, squishy, and aging questionably.

In this moment, fridge light blinding me like a divine spotlight, I realized something chilling (and not just because the door was open too long):

I had no idea what I wanted.
Not for dinner. Not for life.

The Myth of the Fully Defrosted Human

We all walk around pretending we’re well-organized pantries. Labeled jars. Stackable containers. Spices alphabetized by region.

But most of us are just barely-functioning freezers. Something’s leaking. Something’s frozen solid. Something smells vaguely like regret.

And yet, we fake it. We go to work. We post sunsets. We ask each other, “How are you?” knowing the answer will always be: “Busy.”

Busy doing what, exactly?
Avoiding the moldy yogurt of our own unresolved issues?

I stood there, hand on a bottle of mustard I didn’t remember buying, and suddenly saw my life for what it was: a series of attempts to make expiration dates feel like milestones.

Do You Even Know What You’re Hungry For?

Because that’s what this all comes down to, doesn’t it?
Hunger.

Not just physical, but emotional, spiritual, philosophical hunger. The hunger to be seen. To matter. To be chosen by fate or Tinder, preferably both.

You scroll. You consume. You swipe right on people you wouldn’t even talk to at a dentist’s office.

You attend webinars. You buy books on productivity. You eat almonds instead of chips, hoping self-discipline will make you a better person.

But are you full?

Are you?

The Day I Almost Became a Pickle

There was a moment (don’t laugh) when I considered eating that ancient jar of pickles. It was a metaphorical crossroads. Do I consume something questionable just to satisfy a temporary urge? Or do I, for once, let the hunger linger?

That’s when it hit me:
We spend our entire lives trying to feed feelings that aren’t even hunger.
We eat when we’re sad. We buy things when we’re lonely. We work like maniacs to avoid silence. We fill every crack with noise, distraction, or bacon-flavored snacks.

But what if we sat with the discomfort?
What if we opened the fridge, acknowledged the mess, and just stood there—chilled and unfulfilled—but aware?

The Surprising Conclusion

You want to know what I ended up eating?

Nothing.

I closed the fridge.
I sat down.
I wrote this.

And in doing so, I felt strangely… nourished.

Because sometimes, you don’t need more stuff in your fridge.
You need to stop opening it out of habit and start opening yourself instead.

And yes, I realize that sounds like the tagline for a bad self-help book.

But maybe—just maybe—that’s how life works:
We’re all just leftovers trying not to rot before we find the recipe we were meant for.

So the next time you open your fridge, ask yourself:

Am I really hungry?
Or am I just avoiding myself again?

Bon appétit, existential wanderers.