The Only Thing That Was Out of Stock

December 23, 2025

It was a grocery order from multiple stores, two days before Christmas.

Honestly, I expected at least something to go wrong.

I was ordering all the things people order this time of year — food to go with a ham, ingredients for casseroles, snacks for Christmas Eve, coffee supplies for slow mornings at home. The kinds of things every family is buying when everyone’s home and the stores are busy and the calendar is tight.

When the order came through, I braced myself.

And then I realized…

Everything was picked.

Every single item.

Except one.

A bag of toffee bits.

That was it.

The only thing unavailable.

And somehow — somehow — that was the thing my brain latched onto.

Not the fact that, two days before Christmas, with multiple store pickups, I had managed to get everything we needed. Not the small miracle of stocked shelves during one of the busiest weeks of the year. Not the abundance sitting right there, confirmed line by line.

One small, nonessential ingredient.

Here’s the part I want to say out loud, because I know I’m not alone in it:
My emotional reaction didn’t match the situation at all.

I had a child climbing on me. My nervous system was already full. I was juggling pickups, plans, prep lists, mental tabs open everywhere. And suddenly my brain decided this — the missing toffee bits — was the problem that needed solving.

I caught myself thinking:

• Where else could I get them?

• Should I stop at another store?

• Is there something else I could substitute?

It felt urgent. Almost frantic. Completely disproportionate.

And that’s when I noticed it for what it was.

Scarcity.

Not actual scarcity — because clearly, I had more than enough.

But perceived scarcity. The kind that sneaks in quietly and convinces you that the one missing piece is the thing standing between you and satisfaction.

Scarcity doesn’t care about logic or scale.

It doesn’t say, “Most of this worked out.”

It says, “That thing you don’t have? That’s the thing that matters.”

What made this moment stick with me is how absurd it was — and how familiar.

Because how often do we let one small absence overshadow everything that’s present?

A missing ingredient.

An unavailable product.

A detail that doesn’t go as planned.

And suddenly the narrative shifts from gratitude to fixing, from enough to not quite.

I realized in that moment that I didn’t actually need the toffee bits.

What I needed was to close the loop my brain was trying to keep open.

Nothing was broken.

The plan wasn’t ruined.

Christmas wasn’t diminished.

I was just watching my mind try to turn abundance into anxiety.

So I didn’t chase them down.

I didn’t add another stop.

I didn’t let a $2.87 item steal the joy from everything else that had gone right.

I made the coffee anyway.

It was still rich. Still comforting. Still exactly what I needed.

And in that small, quiet decision, I felt something shift.

Not because I powered through or talked myself out of wanting something — but because I noticed the pattern and chose not to let it run me.

Maybe this is the real Christmas miracle I needed this year.

Not perfectly stocked shelves.

Not flawless plans.

But the awareness that I don’t have to let scarcity — even imagined scarcity — decide how full my days feel.

I can notice it.

Name it.

And choose presence over panic.

Even when it’s just about a bag of toffee bits.