Let’s imagine something together, shall we?
You find yourself in a large, white room with walls so far away, you can’t even be sure that they are there. You glance up, and realize that you can’t really discern a ceiling either. This looks and feels a lot like the Construct (loading room) from The Matrix movie.
It’s just a big, open, empty room.
Or is it?
As you turn around to investigate, you realize that it’s not totally empty.
There you see a series of tables. They are spread out before you both deep and wide. You quickly estimate that there are hundreds of tables here. Maybe even thousands. It’s impressive.
On each table, there is a white tablecloth, and in the middle of each table, there sits an empty pitcher. As you approach the closest table to investigate further, you realize that your own hands are not empty. You are holding, of all things, a muffin tin.
You know, a muffin tin. It’s like a metal sheet with 12 spots to bake muffins (or cupcakes) in.
But there are no muffins in this tin.
Instead, you notice that some of the muffin spots are filled with varying levels of water. You immediately slow your gait and steady your hands, to keep the water from sloshing and spilling. It takes you a few minutes, but you eventually make it to the table.
As you peer into the top of the pitcher, you learn that it is not actually empty, either. There is a small mound of powder at the bottom of the pitcher. There is also a wooden spoon just behind the pitcher.
Immediately, you recognize the set-up before you.
This is a Kool-Aid station.
As if by instinct, you begin to pour the water from your tin, your eyes bulge and your mouth moistens at the splash of red that has just been created before you. As you pour out the last drop, you set down the tin, grab the spoon, and get stirring.
When the last of the granules is finally dissolved, you set down the spoon, put both hands on the pitcher, and raise it to your mouth. The smell takes you right back to your childhood, and you can hardly wait for the divine concoction to pass your lips.
And then it does.
But your anticipation has not been met with the satisfaction you were so sure of. Yes, the taste of cherries is noticeable, but the overall flavor is pretty bitter.
“Ahhhhh”, you remember… Kool-Aid needs sugar.
You wonder if any of the other pitchers contain sugar in them. As you gaze around the room, you notice that the pitchers are all slightly different in shape and size. Your own is a tall, opaque cylinder. But other containers are taller, wider, shorter, narrower, clearer, etc.
You grab your muffin tin, but before you can take a step towards another table, you realize that your tin is filling with water again. Slowly, and not quite evenly in each spot, water is magically appearing in the little muffin divots.
Startled, you set the tin back down on the table, and notice that the process has stopped.
Curious, you pick it up again, and marvel at the water levels rising again. YOU are the one filling this with water. It’s somehow a part of you. And now, clearly, it’s a part of your tin.
As the muffin tin begins to be full, you find yourself slowing down and steading your hands again as you walk. But with your desire to reach the next table, and your newfound powers of manufacturing water, you decide to pick up the pace, letting some water slosh and spill along the way.
By the time you’ve reached this new table, you only have about half of the liquid that you had before, and there is no longer any filling happening.
You also realize that the journey to the second table had taken more out of you than you would have expected. You find that you are actually quite parched. You pour the contents of your muffin tin into the pitcher anyway, gasping aloud when you notice a bright green solution develop before your eyes. You repeat the stirring process, and take a deep chug of the green stuff, only to immediately spit it out like you are in a bad comedy film.
While there is definitely some sugar in this container, the water to powder ratio was WAY off, creating a drinkable (allegedly) version of what reminds you visually of toxic sludge (or TMNT ooze).
As you begin to put the pieces together, you realize that it will take you a long time to find the “right” container for making Kool-Aid. You figure that somewhere in this sea of tables, pitchers, and wooden spoons, there is a perfectly sized pitcher, probably round and clear, with a smiley face drawn in condensation on the side.
There it is.
You also figure that you are going to have to bring the right amount of water to that pitcher in order to find the perfect balance.
But suddenly, you feel a sense of dread. You know that if you put all of your water in one container, and it turns out to be a bad batch, you’ll have to start the process all over again.
Maybe you should be more cautious. Maybe you should spread your water out among a number of different pitchers, so if a batch ever seems to go sour, you can just fall back on another pitcher that you have started pouring yourself, er uh, your water into. There is a world of potential right before you. You wouldn’t want to make a mistake here by making the wrong choice.
So you put your plan into action, pouring a bit of water over here, a bit more over there, and some more over there. Pretty soon, you are so thirsty that you can’t even wait for the Kool-Aid anymore. You look down at the plain water in your hands, and you start to drink directly from the tin.
You start to rethink your plan. You wonder if maybe you should just choose a single pitcher and close your eyes to the others all around it.
You start to hear voices in your head:
“What if you choose the “wrong” one?”
“What if you keep wandering and looking for a better pitcher?”‘
“What if choosing one is the only way to stay sane?”
“What if…”
“What if…”
“What if…”
What would you do?
