Delight, Artichokes, and Mindfulness
How an artichoke-induced giggle in the produce aisle sparked everyday wonder—and a simpler path to mindfulness.
I still remember the day I found myself giggling—out loud—right in the middle of the grocery store.
Now, let’s be honest: me giggling in public isn’t all that rare. 🙄
It happens more often than I’d like to admit. But this time felt different—like a tiny spark of wonder that lit up the produce aisle.
It all started with an artichoke. Yes, an artichoke: that spiky green mystery. I couldn’t help but imagine the very first person who decided to boil it, peel it back, and hope they didn’t prick themselves in the process.
The mental picture was so absurd that I ended up belly-laughing beside the carrots, cheeks warming at my silliness.
Yet that quick burst of laughter turned out to be a precious gift: a jolt of delight and a reminder to be present, right there in the middle of daily life. It was pure joy—a flash of wonder so unexpected it left me standing beside the cilantro and artichokes, just savoring the moment.
I took a slow, deep breath, noticing how my body relaxed—how the tightness around my shoulders and stomach began to soften.
I let the store's hum wash over me, comforted by the knowledge that I was safe, grounded, and somehow more awake to the small miracles around me.
Eventually, I sighed and continued with my shopping, still smiling at the thought of those first brave artichoke eaters.
And every time that image popped into my head throughout the day, I found myself giggling all over again—reminded that sometimes, the simplest moments hold the sweetest kind of magic.
Mindfulness often tops the list of New Year’s resolutions—right alongside “get in shape” and “finally learn that language you’ve been eyeing.” It’s also something people vow to start practicing all year round because, in theory, it sounds lovely.
Who wouldn’t want more calm, clarity, and presence?
The challenge comes when we overcomplicate mindfulness, defeating its very purpose. We try so hard to “be mindful” that we end up hyper-focusing on the concept instead of simply being in the moment.
So in this little essay, whether you’re brand-new to the mindfulness journey or you’ve been on this path for years, I’d like to offer a simple practice—one that combines a sense of delight with mindfulness:
Find your “artichoke.” (Yes, it can be anything around you!)
Spend a few minutes wondering about it. Be silly, curious, and creative—honor all the ways it came into existence.
Breathe into your belly as you let your mind wonder about your “artichoke.”
Breathe out as you keep wondering, and let a smile form.
Afterward, pause and notice how you feel. Did your muscles relax, even just a little? Has your breath slowed down? Do you feel just a little lighter?
Even if it’s just a fleeting moment of delight, observe how this tiny spark of presence can help your mind and body release a whisper more stress.
Try this a few times and see what shifts for you.
And remember, not every mindfulness practice will click for everyone.
Believe me, I’ve tried a few methods that folks swear by, only to be left scratching my head (or rolling my eyes).
The beauty of mindfulness is its flexibility. It's a personal practice that evolves over time. If one approach doesn’t work, let it go and keep experimenting. You might just stumble upon a quirky little exercise—your personal “artichoke”—that lights you up when you need it most.
In the end, mindfulness doesn’t need to be another chore on your to-do list, nor does it have to be a lofty goal reserved for sage-like gurus. It can be as simple and playful as letting your curiosity roam free over something as ordinary (and occasionally spiky) as an artichoke.
So the next time you feel overwhelmed or you catch yourself striving a little too hard for “perfect mindfulness…”
Pause.
Take a breath.
Look around for your own artichoke—a random object, a funny situation, or even a cloud that looks suspiciously like your favorite cartoon character.
Let your imagination run wild and rediscover that spark of delight.
Because at the heart of mindfulness lies a gentle, joyful presence—one that reminds us we’re alive, we’re capable of wonder, and we’re allowed to laugh at ourselves once in a while.
After all, we often find the most meaningful shifts in life’s simplest moments.
I wish you many moments of artichoke-inspired joy on your journey. And remember: no matter what your practice looks like, you get to define mindfulness on your own terms.
Happy artichoking, my friends!
About Alex
I’m equal parts old soul and curious wanderer, a farmer boy at heart, and a writer whenever I can corral my ADHD. Ultimately, I write for those who crave rest in a world that never pauses.
As a political psychologist, yoga therapist, and integrative coach—anchored by both research and lived experience—I delve into questions of identity, connection, and wholeness, which are the foundation of my Substack publication, Life as I See It.
If you haven’t yet joined me, I invite you to subscribe for free:
Today I spent time observing:
- The rays of the sun penetrating through the dense streets
- Mouthwatering streetfood and how people were eating it
- Merchants and artisans creating the most beautiful sarees and selling them…and
Much more!
Each pause. Each breathe. Filled me with something beautiful beyond words. It made me realise how small I am compared to the world, while also being a whole universe myself. What a beautiful paradox, isn't it??
Listening to this piece (thank you for the voiceover!), made me think about two of my favorite authors: Douglas Adams and Kurt Vonnegut. It makes me giggle just to imagine how they would write about the First Artichoke. And that thought made me think about how, for me, moments of true mindfulness are often - as your artichoke moment was - accompanied by a sense of whimsy … of a realization that life isn’t nearly as serious as we make it out to be. There is a lot of absurdity in this world, if we make even the slightest effort to notice it. And somehow, that brings me comfort.
I assume you’ve seen the Peter Seller’s movie, “On Being”? Or maybe read the book? I feel a connection to that story here as well, but haven’t got time to sort it out because I have to go put on every bit of outdoor gear I own to walk a dog in 7 degree (Fahrenheit) weather. Woo-hoo!
Again - thanks for the post and letting us hear it. 💜