Saving the Best for Last: The Paradox of Waiting

It is a small, subtle movement that happens at dinner tables around the world. You look down at your plate. Perhaps it is a perfectly seared scallop, the crispiest piece of skin on the chicken, or the strawberry with the deepest red hue. Instinctively, you push it to the side of the plate. You separate it from the rest of the meal, creating a small, sacred space for it.

You tell yourself: "I will save this. I will eat this last. It will be the grand finale."

We all do this. We trudge through the vegetables and the less flavorful parts of the meal, holding onto the anticipation of that final, perfect bite. But often, by the time we reach it, we are too full to enjoy it. Or worse, the food has gone cold, its texture ruined by the wait.

This behavior, innocent as it seems, is rarely just about food. It is a mirror reflecting how we approach our lives. It is the manifestation of a deeply ingrained habit: the belief that the best things must always be saved for later.

The Museum of Unused Things

Look into your closet. There is likely a shirt or a dress hanging in the back, shrouded in plastic or tucked away in a drawer. You bought it years ago, falling in love with the fabric and the fit. But you told yourself it was "too nice" for a Tuesday. It was reserved for a wedding, a gala, or a date night that had to be absolutely perfect.

Years pass. The fashion changes. Your body changes. The fabric begins to yellow or smell of mothballs. When you finally pull it out, the joy it once sparked is gone. It is no longer a garment; it is an artifact in a museum of unused things.

We do the same with our pleasures. We buy an exquisite bottle of wine, placing it on a high shelf. We promise to uncork it for a promotion, an anniversary, or a massive celebration. But life is often made of small Tuesdays, not grand galas. The wine gathers dust, and the "perfect moment" becomes a moving target that we can never quite hit.

The Waiting Game

The tragedy of "saving the best for last" is most painful when applied to our dreams and our relationships.

We treat time as if it were a guaranteed asset, an infinite bank account that we can draw from whenever we choose. We dream of travel, of seeing the Northern Lights or walking the streets of Paris, but we whisper the fatal mantra: "I’ll go when I have more time. I’ll go when I retire."

We assume that our future self will be just as capable, just as energetic, and just as healthy as we are today. But time is a thief. By the time the calendar clears up, the knees might be too weak to climb the stairs of Montmartre. The money might be there, but the fire of youth might have burned out.

Even heavier is the weight of unspoken words. We hold back apologies because our pride tells us to wait for the other person to break first. We withhold "I love you" because we are waiting for a cinematic moment to say it. We think people are permanent fixtures in our lives. But sometimes, people leave. Sometimes, they are taken from us before we find the "right time."

The chair becomes empty, and the words we saved remain stuck in our throats, turning into regret.

The Scarcity Mindset

Why do we do this? Why do we sabotage our own joy?

At its core, this habit stems from fear—specifically, a scarcity mindset. We differ gratification because we are terrified that if we consume the happiness now, there will be nothing left for later. We are afraid of running out.

We act as if happiness is a finite resource, like a tank of gas that must be rationed. But this is the great paradox of living: joy is not a depletable resource; it is an energy that regenerates. By trying to hoard it, we actually let it spoil.

When you save the best bite for last, you are eating it when your appetite is weakest. When you save your love for later, you are loving with a guarded heart. The more we cling to the future, the more the present slips through our fingers like sand.

Eat the Best Bite First

True happiness does not reside in the hypothetical future of "someday." It lives in the messy, imperfect, fleeting reality of now.

Learning to "eat the best bite first" is a radical act of self-love and mindfulness. It is a declaration that the present moment is worthy of your best self.

Wear the suit to the grocery store. If it makes you feel confident, why does it need a wedding?

Drink the wine on a Wednesday. Celebrate the fact that you survived the middle of the week.

Say "I love you" randomly. Do not wait for a birthday or a crisis. Say it while the feeling is warm in your chest.

Book the ticket. Even if it’s just a weekend trip. Go while your legs are strong and your eyes are hungry for new sights.

Life is fragile. We are not promised the dessert course. We are not even promised the next breath.

So, look down at your plate. Find the most delicious, succulent piece of the meal. And eat it now. Enjoy it while it is hot, while you are hungry, and while you are here. Don't let your happiness be something you only look forward to; let it be something you taste, right now.