Joy on a Plate/Burritos are the New Celery
So my friend Shania was like, “If you want a burrito just have a burrito.”
And I was like, “I dunno.”
But I actually did know. I just didn’t want to know what I know about me and burritos.
Because I love burritos. Don’t you?
So I have wanted a burrito for a while now, probably months, but there are certain elements involved in a burrito — the big white flour tortilla, the beans, the fatty rice, the cheese, the overall greasy-ness — that I know don’t sit well with my particular system.
And then there are certain elements, like all of the above, plus spicy salsa and creamy guacamole, and did I mention melty melty cheesy cheese, that sit so well with my crave buds taste buds.
So there’s the dilemma: Test the theory? Do the crime and the time? Say eff it and just go for it? Let present self win against future self? All that kind of stuff.
Yes. Sometimes. And that’s what I did last night: I ate an effing burrito.
And it was spectacular. It was sooooo good. It was the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life. Joy on a plate.
And then, not very long after, actually before I was done eating, came the mild discomfort, then the pain, and then the feeling of needing to lie down, and the bitter aftertaste of regret, “Why? Why? Why? Why did I let myself do that? How did this happen again?”
But it’s obvious, on the surface, how it happened: I decided to do it, I placed the order, I drove to the restaurant, I paid for it, brought it home, set the table, and ate it. Pretty much all of it except for the tortilla parts that weren’t soaked in sauce and tastiness.
And so some kind of brain malfunction, some non-self-preservation thing, must have been happening during that whole time because at no point did I stop and say to myself: “Hey, Self, you and burritos have shared some good times in the past, perhaps, but you know that right now it’s not going to feel good to eat that beast.
I overrode whatever part of me was perhaps quietly whispering, “Just have an avocado and a sweet potato and be done with it. Have an egg white, with maybe some sautéed spinach or mushrooms. Be good to yourself! No burrito!”
I didn’t hear that voice. I heard, “You’ve been eating clean as eff for weeks now and your stomach hurts and you’re in a funk. Eat the effing burrito maybe it’ll perk you up. It couldn’t be worse.”
So I did eat it, and it was worse. But then the bloat subsided, with the help of time and ginger ale. And now today, the next morning, I’m amazed at my own resilience. And I’m once again looking at that Knowing-Doing gap and the mystery of my own actions and wondering what, if anything, I’ve learned.
One thing is that if eating a burrito is the worst thing I do to myself then I’m in good shape. Another thing is why would I want to do anything unkind to myself ever?
And so. I’m gonna keep going.