“Things which matter most must never be at the mercy of things which matter least.”
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
The thing about mayonnaise jars is that they always seem like they have more potential than they really do. You see one in a grocery store, and there’s this moment of wonder: What could I store in this? What could I use this for once all the mayo is gone?
It’s a fleeting thought, and most of us just end up tossing them in the recycling, never giving them a chance to fulfill their true purpose. So, it’s no wonder that when a professor pulls one out in front of a class, filled with philosophical wonder, it suddenly becomes the vessel of all life’s mysteries.
Imagine, if you will, the look on the students’ faces as he carefully pours golf balls into the jar. The students probably thought this was some sort of advanced quantum mechanics experiment—or maybe the professor had just lost his marbles, or in this case, golf balls.
But no, the symbolism of it all slowly sinks in as the professor continues his little game. First the golf balls, then the pebbles, then the sand—it’s all very zen garden meets Home Depot.
And there it is—the big revelation: the golf balls are life’s non-negotiables, the pebbles are the things that matter (but maybe not quite as much), and the sand is all the other trivial nonsense we fill our days with. The message is so simple, so elegantly packaged in this ordinary jar, that you’re left wondering why you’ve spent the last three weeks spiraling over whether you should organize your pantry alphabetically or by can size.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
What really happens is you go home, look at your own metaphorical jar, and panic. What’s my sand? you ask, suddenly overwhelmed by the terrifying thought that maybe you’ve been stuffing the jar all wrong. Do I have too much sand? Did I lose a golf ball under the couch somewhere?
And here’s the kicker: when the professor cracks open those beers, you realize you’ve forgotten to make time for the little joys. The beers represent friendship, connection, the chance to just sit back, laugh at nothing, and forget for a moment that you haven’t sorted your recycling in three weeks.
The truth is, most of us are juggling our jars like we’re in some kind of tragic clown show. We’re frantically pouring sand into the jar, letting it pile up with emails, errands, and the perpetual anxiety of forgetting your Netflix password. All the while, the golf balls—the real stuff, the good stuff—get crammed into whatever space is left over, squeezed between the cracks like we’re playing a high-stakes game of Tetris with our happiness.
Here’s the thing about the pebbles: they’re not evil. Your job, your house, your car—they’re good things. I mean, who doesn’t like a nice car? But if they start taking up so much space that you’re neglecting your passion for kayaking or forgetting to call your grandma—who, by the way, still thinks you’re 12 years old because you haven’t visited her since you were actually 12—then maybe it’s time to reassess.
You don’t need me to tell you that life is chaotic. Most of us spend our days reacting to the sand, our attention diverted by the buzzing of our phones and the endless pings of Slack. It’s easy to let the sand take over, and before you know it, the golf balls are rolling around on the floor, ignored and gathering dust.
But here’s the magical part of the whole metaphor: there’s always room for a beer.
Even when you think you’ve packed your life to the brim with responsibilities and deadlines, there’s always a little space left for joy. And not the kind of joy you have to schedule three weeks in advance, but the spontaneous kind—the sort of joy that involves cracking open a cold one with a friend on a Tuesday night just because you can.
So, what’s the takeaway from the mayonnaise jar?
Well, other than the fact that mayonnaise is vastly underrated as a life metaphor, it’s this: put your golf balls in first. Make time for the things that truly matter, the things that, when everything else falls apart, still make life feel full.
And then, when you’ve done that, allow yourself the luxury of knowing that even when you think you’ve reached maximum capacity, there’s always room for a beer—or two, if you’re feeling generous.
And if you forget all of this and end up with a jar full of sand and no space for your golf balls? Don’t worry. Just pour yourself a beer. That always helps.
