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Hear the lighthearted yet profound words of Jenny McCarthy, who once declared: “When I travel, I like to take advantage of room service. I’m really into eggs Benedict in the morning.” At first glance, her saying seems playful, a simple remark about food and travel. Yet hidden within this jest lies a deeper truth about comfort, indulgence, and the way small rituals can transform the vast and exhausting act of travel into something luminous. For often, it is in the ordinary delights that the soul finds rest.

The essence of her words lies in the embrace of simple pleasures. Travel, though glorious, is also wearying. The road can strip us of familiarity, remove us from the anchor of home, and place us in the strangeness of new surroundings. To order room service, to savor a plate of eggs Benedict, is to carve out a small sanctuary of comfort amid the unfamiliar. It is to remind oneself that joy can be found not only in monuments and adventures, but also in the first bite of breakfast, warm and familiar, delivered with care.

The ancients, too, knew the value of such rituals. The Roman general Lucullus, famed for his military exploits, was equally renowned for the meals he prepared for himself, even when alone. When asked why he ate with such care in solitude, he answered: “Today Lucullus dines with Lucullus.” Like McCarthy, he understood that self-care, even in small acts, can elevate the spirit and strengthen one for greater labors. The meal becomes not indulgence alone, but a ritual of self-respect and restoration.

McCarthy also reminds us of the power of travel itself—for room service and breakfast in bed are not simply acts of leisure, but privileges of movement. They symbolize that one has been carried beyond the walls of home, into another city, another place, where one may taste the luxury of being served. The delight in eggs Benedict is not only in the hollandaise and the poached egg, but in the recognition that travel can bring unexpected joy, even in the quiet mornings before the day begins.

There is also wisdom here about gratitude. She says she likes to “take advantage” of room service, but not with disdain or excess; rather, with delight. She cherishes it as something special, not an entitlement. This, too, is an ancient truth: to appreciate what is before you transforms even ordinary pleasures into gifts. To eat eggs with gratitude is nobler than to feast without thought.

Consider, too, the weary pilgrims of history—the medieval travelers on the Camino de Santiago, or the caravans upon the Silk Road. Their journeys were long and harsh, yet they often wrote of the small joys found in bread and wine, in a bed under a roof, in the kindness of a host. These small comforts, like McCarthy’s room service, became the sustenance that gave meaning to greater journeys. What seems trivial to the proud is sacred to the traveler who knows both weariness and gratitude.

The lesson, then, is this: cherish the small rituals that bring you joy, especially in times of movement or uncertainty. Do not think them frivolous, for they anchor the soul. Whether it is breakfast in bed, a cup of tea at dawn, or a moment of silence before the day begins, these things restore the heart and prepare it to face the world. They are not distractions from the journey—they are the fuel that sustains it.

And in practice: when you travel or when you work, find your own “eggs Benedict,” that small indulgence which lifts your spirit and reminds you that life is not only labor, but also joy. Give thanks for it, savor it fully, and let it strengthen you. For as McCarthy teaches in her playful yet wise words, the path of life is made not only of great monuments, but also of small, golden moments, where comfort and gratitude transform the ordinary into the extraordinary.