This post is about peanut butter.

When we're children, there is little to no distinction between "wants" and "needs."  Slowly, as we mature, the delineation appears, (not without a little help from our parents) and thus are born the skills of moderation, budgeting, and practicality.  Crucial attributes to a healthy and productive adult life.  I moderate my luxury spending so I have enough money to pay rent and bills.  I don't drink too much because I know that a hangover feels awful.  I know it isn't practical to go out to dinner every night because restaurants are expensive.  The art of being an adult is essentially how confidently we can say "no" to temptation.

Then there are things that are neither wants nor needs, but exist somewhere in the middle.  Like peanut butter.  I don't need peanut butter to survive, but I don't break the bank to buy a jar.  It's a nice-to-have.  It's tasty, goes well with jelly and Nutella, and I make some mean PB and chocolate chip cookies.  I always stocked my cupboards with at least one jar of peanut butter, and when I ran out, I would jog over to the grocery store and buy another one without a second thought.  Delicious stuff, peanut butter, but not really up in the specialty, highly-desired category.

After living in Europe for four months, peanut butter has moved into the want/need bracket.  Peanut butter is virtually non-existent in Europe.  There are no peanut butter/chocolate candies, the grocery stores aren't stocked with five different brands and a million varieties of smooth and chunky.  PB&J is literally a foreign concept.  In the US, peanut butter was among my favorite foods, but now it's practically deified in my mind.  That smooth, savory taste, melting in the mouth like nutty, salty gold.  Just thinking about it makes me homesick.

I was allowed a brief respite from this desire in October when my aunt sent me a package of goodies, including a jar of peanut butter.  But being the foolish youngster I was two months ago, I gobbled the whole thing up in maybe a week.  Since then, I've passed by the "foreign food" aisle in the grocery store, and pouted at the 7€ minuscule jars of the good stuff.  At the rate I dig through one jar, 7€ a pop would probably break the bank.

Then, a Christmas miracle.  Or probably not a miracle given the rate I complain about missing American food.  Both my parents and my brother and sister-in-law sent me packages containing peanut butter.  Smooth from my parents, chunky from Sal and Courtney.  My cupboard is once again stocked, and my wants have been met.  I'm going to be very careful about rationing out how much I eat, as though it were fine gourmet chocolate imported from some fancy European country.  In fact, fancy gourmet European chocolate is now easier to come by...

Emily + anticipation + sharp knife...

PEANUT BUTTER.  Also, read salad dressing, which
they don't have here either...

The absence of peanut butter is just a small example of how illuminating the expat experience is.  It's hard to understand just how much you appreciate the little things until they lose their ubiquity.  My wants and needs have gone through a bit of a makeover since August.  For the past few years, it would have been nice (read: I wanted) to be able to speak French.  Now, it's become a necessity.  When I used to visit Ben, I would try to speak a little here and there, and everyone thought it was cute.  Now, I need to be able to converse if I want to exist independently (I do).  Our wants and needs elucidate a sense of equilibrium in our lives.  Adjusting to a totally new set of desires and requisites is awkward, and it takes time to understand how we best exist in any given situation.  But through that experience of adjustment comes a fresh understanding of self and strength, as well as a re-evaluation of where to expend energy.  When it might have reduced me to tears before, I now have the ability to laugh off rude or impatient insular administrators.  I know now not to waste energy getting upset in these annoying situations - energy that is better conserved for remembering how to say a correct verb tense.

Or at least when I have to deal with those petty paper-pushers, I have a morsel of peanut butter to look forward to at home.