You’ve seen it—the image shared across screens, passed between friends, sparking laughter and debate:
A box. Six eggs. Three sentences.
“I broke 2. I fried 2. I ate 2. How many eggs are left?”
At first glance, it feels like a trick.
But it’s not.
It’s an invitation.
An invitation to notice how quickly we answer—
how often we assume—
how easily we let habit override thought.
Let’s walk through it gently. Not to win, but to wake up.
The Eggs, Unhurried
We begin with six. Whole. Quiet. Whole.
Then:
→ “I broke 2.”
They’re not gone. They’re changed. Still in the bowl—just no longer whole.
→ “I fried 2.”
Not two new eggs. The same two. The broken ones. Now sizzling in the pan.
→ “I ate 2.”
Again—the same two. The broken, the fried, the eaten. One journey. Two eggs.
So how many remain?
Four.
Whole. Unbroken. Waiting.
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