T-shirt edit: Life is too long to trade short-term pleasure for long-term pain.
I saw an ad for that t-shirt, “Life is short, eat the donut,” online the other day, and it really struck me as a counterproductive thing to believe in. Donuts, pizza, cheeseburgers, beer, whatever your poison, there comes a point when continuing to ingest stuff that causes pain or illness because it tastes good for the five minutes you are eating it is just not worth it. I miss cheese sometimes, but I don’t miss feeling slightly sick and having aching joints for two days after I eat it. I wish I could grab a slice of pizza in all it’s gooey, cheesy, greasy glory, but I honestly can’t even imagine what the price would be for that; between the wheat allergy, the lactose intolerance, and the fact that I have been using about 25% of the amount of salt most people use for about five years now. I would probably explode.
So not worth it.
As we get older, our bodies slow down, change happens, we go from growth to a short stasis period to being entropy’s bitches by the time we’re in our 30s. In fact, I have read that the aging process actually starts at about 27 years. Our digestive systems literally, yes, literally stop producing the enzymes we need to digest some of the comfortiest of comfort foods. Dairy is a big one, but according to Lyn-Genet Recitas in her book The Plan, somewhere in our 30s, a lot of people lose the ability to digest – get this – grain and meat at the same time. What’s the single most popular food combination in the Western world? Sammiches. So that cheeseburger just got doubly troubling.
We weren’t designed to go 250,000 miles. We’ve been replacing parts and patching and fixing and repainting to get this far. 45 used to be old, 50 unprecedented. I’m not sure, and please correct me if I am mistaken here, that any anthropologist has ever found an ancient human skeleton over the age of 45. Dying of old age was a rarity in prehistory anyway, with all the dangers handily around to kill you stone dead in your prime.
So really, it’s only been in the last century or so that we’ve been putting this many miles on these meat-cars, and baby, you gotta baby ’em along now! Don’t be using that cheap low octane stuff! And you gotta spring for the “older car” synthetic oil when get an oil change.
Okay, I have driven this car thing as far as it will go. My point is, none of us are actually getting any younger, so don’t eat the damn donut unless you actually want to end up with diabetes II.
There are people who say they would rather die than not eat their daily greaseburger with extra cheese and a side of supersize fries, and my response to them is, “The danger with that plan is that you won’t, and whoever is taking care of you after your heart explodes will be basically force-feeding you kale until you die of old age. Is that what you really want?” Maybe, if you eat more salads and steamed veggies and cut back on the burgers and beer, you can have a cheeseburger with a small side of fries once a week as a treat, m’kay?
Women have not just embraced self-care culture, they have climbed all over it like it was Jason Mamoa dipped in dark chocolate.
And really, it’s not a selfish, self-indulgent thing. It’s self-preservation with a supersize side of deprivation. I don’t eat or drink anything that could cause me harm at this point. Not even to taste it. I know what I’m missing, and after five years of not eating it, a very great deal of it doesn’t even register as “food” with me anymore. Michael was having a bowl of ice cream a few nights ago, and I didn’t even feel a twinge of longing. A friend recently said, “When [bad] stuff like this used to happen, I’d immediately want a drink, but these days, I can’t even imagine wanting a drink when I know being clear headed is a way better state to deal with a problem.”
Amen! Thank you!
What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, eh? Well, sometimes what’s killing us is going to continue to make us vulnerable and weak. I know how hard it is. I’m a fat woman, trust me, I know how hard it is to walk away from cheese and ice cream and crusty French bread. Giving up boiled eggs smothered in Pecorino Romano almost made me cry. But I did it, and when I think back to how I felt on the daily when I was eating that stuff versus how I’m feeling now, I lose any desire to go back.
You are what you eat. Your mood is what you eat. Your pain level is what you eat. Self-care isn’t bath bombs and an entire bottle of Pinot Noir. It’s doing the hard work to make sure we have a strong foundation for wellness supporting us every day. Rest, hydration, healthy food, healthy and regular exercise, laughter, learning, and the cultivation of joy. There’s a meme that claims that the Tibetans have a saying: “Eat half, walk double, laugh often.” I have no idea if that is legit, but it is wise. Eat less, walk more, and have a sense of humor about things. Boy, that’s a simple recipe for living healthy. But it’s not easy. Self-care is, at best, hard work. But if we do it together, we can laugh together, too. Come on, shoes on, let’s go.
We all do better when we have each other to keep us charged up and moving! Stay in touch!