The Marshmallow Test

My dad used to tell my brother and me about this Stanford study––

a child sits alone in a room with one marshmallow on the table.

She can eat it now, or wait fifteen minutes and get two.

The patient ones, the researchers said, grew up “better”:

higher scores, better jobs—probably very white teeth,

and neatly trimmed nails to match.

Maybe the problem with art isn’t AI.

Maybe the problem is with us and our unconditional marshmallows:

our bottomless appetite for self-check-out and 

same-day delivery and 

auto-generated playlists and 

movies on their thirteenth sequel 

and then the fourteenth.

Maybe the problem is with us —

We want the reward 

before the risk,

the win

before the work,

the poem

before the feeling.

Maybe the problem is with us —

The ones who hate homemade

unless it comes from a box

with a picture on the front

and instructions on the back.

The ones who say we love “the human touch,”

but only when it’s fast,

sanitized,

pre-approved.

The human footprint is made of carbon.

And the human experience can be regurgitated by a hexagonal knot.

Yet still—

it’s brushing your teeth and clipping your nails,

or growing them long enough to play the guitar.

And it’s something else that I can’t seem to place.

Maybe just that: not knowing what you’re doing

but doing it anyway.

Maybe that’s the point.

Because when they redid the Marshmallow Test,

they found it doesn’t reliably predict much of anything.

Turns out, failing to wait

doesn’t make you a failure.

Turns out, trying—again and again—

is the most human thing of all.

Refined with Gemini.

Other posts that may interest you:

• Pretending to understand
• A Tale of Plunder and Prose