My backyard onions are total con artists. For months, they stood tall with these proud green tops, looking like they were training for the Vegetable Olympics. I was already picturing the look on my friend’s face when my champion onions put his to shame. But when I pulled them up, their bulbs were the size of gumballs. It was the ultimate betrayal by a root vegetable — the kind of scam even the FBI wouldn’t bother investigating.

And as I stared at this tiny failure, I realized it wasn’t just a gardening disaster—it was a perfect picture of life. Life is constantly handing you things that look amazing on the outside but are disappointing on the inside. You start peeling, hoping to find something wonderful, but you either start crying for no reason or discover it was all just for show. A bad relationship? More layers, more stink. That dream job? Just a well-decorated trap full of bad coffee and pointless meetings. Another day, another onion.

So why do we keep peeling? Because we’re suckers for hope. We’re eternal optimists, convinced that this onion will have a sweet, perfect center. It’s the same part of the brain that makes us believe the next YouTube tutorial will finally teach us how to fold a fitted sheet. We believe in the potential, even while holding a stinky, tear-inducing orb of disappointment.

In the end, my green-top frauds taught me something: don’t trust tall leaves, and stop worrying whether your onions are as good as your friend’s. Life saves the best stuff for someone else’s garden, and that’s fine. The real goal is to get good at chopping up the failures, tossing them in butter, and enjoying them anyway. If you’re going to cry, at least let it be over something that tastes good.