Every family has a story.
Ours involved a cookie jar.
My mother always kept a large glass cookie jar on the kitchen counter. Whenever she had time, she’d bake several dozen homemade cookies and fill that jar to the brim.
At least, that was the plan.
The problem was four hungry kids.
Whenever the jar was full, it became a race. We’d grab two or three cookies every time we walked by. If one of my brothers or sisters headed toward the kitchen, someone else wasn’t far behind. Within a day, sometimes less, the jar was empty.
Mom couldn’t understand it.
“I just baked four dozen cookies!”
Eventually, she became frustrated. Why spend an afternoon baking if the cookies disappeared almost as quickly as they came out of the oven?
Then she read something that completely changed her thinking. (I think it came from Hints from Heloise, a favourite read of my Mom)
The article suggested that children often eat from a scarcity mindset.
If they believe there may not be cookies tomorrow, they’ll eat more today.
“Tomorrow?” our young minds would have said. “They might be gone by then!”
So Mom tried something different.
Instead of waiting for the cookie jar to become empty, she made sure it never did.
Whenever the level started to drop, she’d bake another batch before it ran out.
At first, nothing seemed different.
We still reached for cookies.
But over time, something unexpected happened.
Without rules.
Without lectures.
Without anyone saying, “Save some for tomorrow.”
…our behaviour changed.
One cookie became enough.
Sometimes we walked past the jar without taking any at all.
Mom actually became concerned.
“Are you kids okay? You hardly eat cookies anymore.”
Ironically, she ended up baking less often than she ever had before.
The cookie jar stayed full.
And the urgency quietly disappeared.
I’ve thought about that little experiment many times over the years because I think many of us spend our lives standing in front of invisible cookie jars.
Money.
Time.
Opportunities.
Recognition.
Success.
Love.
We rush.
We collect.
We hold on tightly.
We worry someone else might get there first.
We fear missing out.
From the outside, it looks like ambition or careful planning.
Sometimes it’s simply scarcity wearing a different hat.
But here’s what fascinates me.
The cookies didn’t change.
We did.
Not because someone taught us better habits.
Not because we practised gratitude.
Not because we developed more willpower.
And certainly not because Mom convinced us to become more disciplined.
She simply changed the context.
The behaviour she wanted from us appeared naturally once the misunderstanding faded.
That strikes me as very different from how we often approach change.
We’re quick to reach for techniques.
Practice gratitude.
Think positively.
Develop an abundance mindset.
Use more self-control.
Those suggestions may be well-intentioned, but they all assume that our behaviour needs managing.
What if behaviour is often revealing something much deeper?
What if the grabbing wasn’t the problem?
What if it was simply an innocent response to believing there wouldn’t be enough?
Mom didn’t solve the problem by telling us to think differently.
Life quietly showed us something different.
Day after day, the jar was still full.
Eventually, our thinking caught up with reality.
Perhaps that’s how many of our deepest insights arrive.
Not because someone talks us into them.
But because understanding naturally replaces misunderstanding.
Maybe abundance isn’t about convincing ourselves that there’s enough.
Maybe it’s what naturally becomes visible when fearful thinking settles.
Perhaps life has always been a full cookie jar.
Sometimes our Thinkiverse simply convinces us it’s about to be empty.
Reflection
Where in your life are you trying to manage a behaviour…
…when the behaviour may simply be pointing to an innocent misunderstanding?
And if that misunderstanding quietly dissolved…
Would the behaviour need managing at all?
Much Love,
