Artisan bread, oven-roasted turkey, Colby Jack cheese slices.
Last week’s meal prep process was sandwich assembly on steroids. Tomato slices were de-slimed and set aside for each of the five sandwiches, which would become my lunches for this week.
The red onion—the best part, in my opinion—was saved for last. When I reached that delightful step, I pulled my favorite knife from its slot in the organizer on the counter, preparing to gingerly slice a set of slim circles, starting with the first sandwich.
Normally, the veggie is oozing with freshness, and its rings jump off the knife.
This time, there were no rings or jumping to be had.
Tired, dry, and shrunken, the vegetable in my hand had folded in on itself. The scary part was, it gave no indication of its condition on the outside. Had I not cut into it, I would’ve never known the inner ugliness. This was completely unexpected since groceries had been delivered hours before.
I stood there holding the ruined onion over the trash. Then it hit me.
I’ve met some people just like this onion.
They’re colorful and polished on the outside, but getting to know them reveals the inside… and it ain’t pretty. Sometimes, there’s simply nothing there. No substance. A facade. Even worse, a malleable individual, influenced by anyone and everyone.
My favorite people are like the typical “red onion experience.” It’s delightful, and I’m left wanting more.
And let’s not forget the fence-riders, the “ish” people.
The next time you reach for a red onion, or a person, remember: it’s what’s on the inside that determines whether you’re left wanting more, or just left wondering.
Which one are you?
I know which one I want to be: the kind of onion people are glad they cut into.
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