I was craving a sugary snack on the way to a work event, and was near a cafe that has amazing desserts. It was crazy because I gave up added sugar over a month ago, but I couldn’t shake the thought and my mind was going wild with justifications and rationalizations for why this time it was worth the inevitable regret and discomfort. I had just eaten a nice dinner so I knew I wasn’t actually hungry, but I was still obsessing.
I actually stopped in my tracks, paused the podcast I wasn’t listening to anyways, and asked myself, “what do I really want? Surely not a stomach ache and sugar crash, so what?”. And I realized I just wanted an escape, because although I genuinely love my job, I would’ve rather not spent my evening working a fundraising event, which I find moderately stressful. I wanted a sweet distraction and to feel like I could reclaim some part of the evening for my own enjoyment. But I knew, now that I was being honest, that a slice of cheesecake would only leave me bloated and miserable for the rest of the night.
So I put on a favorite album and took a walk, swaying my hips to the beat, and felt like a new women in the same time it would’ve taken me to wait in line, spend my hardearned cash, scarf down a mound of sugar quickly so I could rush to work, and start the long litany of mental self-flagellation. Instead of a “treat” to escape my life, I took some time to live it. Pastries pale in comparison.
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