I Didn’t Think I was an Artistic Genius, Then I Took an Off-Center Photo of my Parfait

There I was, standing in my kitchen, like any other morning. Suddenly, it came to me. I wasn’t going to barrel through breakfast today, lost in a fog of existential dread and an adolescent inability to do the most basic tasks — a disturbing side effect of finding myself back in my mother’s home as a fully formed adult.

I flew to the fridge. Strawberries, Yoplait, blueberries, mixed granola. Everything I needed to create a masterpiece. I dolloped the yogurt into my bowl. Wow. What grace, what elegance! A generous heap of granola clusters for contrast. Then, with a delicacy I didn’t know I possessed, I carefully arranged the fruit in a pattern reminiscent of a mandala sure to make the breakfast gods openly weep.

I gazed at my creation, in awe of its beauty. I perched above it, teetering on the edge of the wicker chair, the sleep drool still drying on my pajama shirt. I prepared to take a photo, centered, in the standard, uninspired position. Then, it struck me — why do that, when the smallest shift to the right could take the composition from amateur to resplendent?

My raw, newly birthed piece stared up at me from the glowing screen. I faced the final choice: Paris, Oslo, Lagos, Melbourne, Jakarta, Abu Dhabi, Buenos Aires, New York, Jaipur, Cairo, Tokyo, Rio de Janeiro…or nothing? #NoFilter? Send my vulnerable baby bird out into the world naked? A testament to our own vulnerability?

Yes. Posted. Off it went. And off I went, the second coming of da Vinci, to change my shirt.