I’ve tried them all.
Strawberry. Raspberry. Blackberry. Artisan berry blends that cost more than smashed berries have any business costing.
And yet, I keep coming back to the same thing:
Grape jelly.
Not jam. Not preserves.
Jelly.
Gelatinous. Purple. Perfect.
Every once in a while, I convince myself that I should upgrade.
Maybe develop a more sophisticated palate. Become the kind of distinguished gentleman who spreads handcrafted raspberry preserves onto rustic sourdough.
But I always end up right where I started—slathering grape jelly onto peanut-buttered bread before inhaling the entire sandwich in approximately five seconds.
This happens more often than I’d like to admit.
Not just with jelly.
I’ll find something I genuinely enjoy, then start wondering whether I should replace it with something newer, better, fancier, or more optimized.
Apparently, simply liking something is no longer enough.
We need better morning routines.
More impressive job titles.
Nicer apartments and houses.
Newer cars.
More productive hobbies.
Even our free time needs goals, systems, and measurable outcomes.
Everything becomes another project to improve.
I’ve spent plenty of my life thinking this way. Fitness became something to optimize. Work became something to optimize. Hobbies became potential businesses. Rest became something I had to justify.
Eventually, even the things I enjoyed started feeling like assignments.
But lately, I’ve been thinking more about the things that already work.
The meal I never get tired of.
The friend I can call without making plans three weeks in advance.
The neighborhood walk I’ve taken a hundred times.
The old shirt that fits exactly right.
A day up north with my kids.
Making something because I wanted to—not because it needed to become a business.
Driving past an abandoned building and once again wondering what used to be there and why I remain so inexplicably fascinated by it.
None of these things are particularly impressive.
That might be why they’re so easy to overlook.
Novelty still has its place. I want to explore, change my mind, go somewhere new, and build weird things.
But I’m starting to realize that unfamiliar isn’t automatically better.
Sometimes the ordinary thing remains ordinary because it never stopped being good.
I don’t know if that’s profound or if I’m merely constructing an elaborate philosophical defense of my unsophisticated taste in fruit spreads.
Either way, grape jelly wins.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a sandwich to inhale.