Honey

So I wrote a big giant post about being vegan and then this serendipitously showed up in my blog reader from Boing Boing:

I must have this tshirt. It’s just too much of a coincidence to pass up!

It’s only been a few months since I packed up the cheese and waved a sad goodbye to scrambled eggs, since I consciously turned my back on all those assorted milk derivatives (and there are many of them), started diligently inspecting ingredient lists, and headed out on yet another adventure of self discipline and understanding.

For almost as long as I can remember, my favorite meal in the whole world included a grilled cheese sandwich, white bread toasted with plenty of butter, melted American cheese oozing out the sides. I never really thought I’d see a day when I would have to look for something else on the menu (and look really hard, for that matter). I’m a white bread girl who doesn’t particularly enjoy cooking and even after all these years, still feels a little suspicious of “healthy” food. When I was a kid, my mom would sneak crumbled tofu into my spaghetti and though I would eat it, I thought it was pretty weird.

So why am I vegan?
The number one reason that I am vegan is pure laziness. I don’t really like to think too much when it comes to my daily physical upkeep. I pretty much wear the same clothes, commute the same way, and enjoy the same meals. I am a habitual person who strives in a consistent environment. I feel comfortable in a rut, and will often wake up and realize that I’ve been doing the same thing (the same way) every day for weeks, months, or even years.

When it comes to my diet, I certainly prefer anything that is well outside the fruit and vegetable family. I’ve grown accustomed to tofu and quinoa, romaine and red peppers, but if the choice is between a big salad and a big bacon cheeseburger, I’d go for the tasty, meaty goodness every time.

And so I did. My consistent, habitual diet has always included more steak than vegetables, and certainly more candy than fruit. It’s been easy to eat this way, not only because it tastes so good, but also because I could walk into any restaurant or cafeteria and order anything off the menu. I didn’t have to think about it, and so I didn’t.

I began a life-changing process a few years ago that started with The Artist’s Way. As a result of writing consistently every day, parts of myself and my life opened up in a way I’d never seen before. So much of my denial fell away, and I was left staring at a reflection of someone who was stuck in a few too many addictive ruts. I didn’t like what I saw, and so I started (slowly) to change. Some changes were easier than others (the hardest by far was quitting smoking), and at times I’ve temporarily slipped on a majority of my addictions. These times of regression have only served to prove to me that it’s real and true: my life is better in a million ways as a result of being honest with myself and changing my behavior.

By choosing to be vegan, and continuing full awareness that I am a person who prefers a nice, deep rut, I have effectively placed myself on a self-piloting track. It’s true that I have to think a little more about what may be entering my digestive system, but for the most part, I can look back on the last few months and know that I have eaten more fresh produce than I have consumed (and enjoyed) processed foods.

What’s it like to be vegan?
At first, the novelty of the idea and the thrill of self denial kept me inspired to resist the salty, rich deliciousness that pervaded my daily diet, mostly in the form of cheese. As a vegetarian who was mostly intolerant to soy, cheese became a staple, spread generously over most of my standard meals. In retrospect, I realize that being vegetarian was far easier than being vegan, way easier than I thought it was at the time. I enjoyed a lot more options, especially when dining with family and friends at a typical restaurant.

As a white bread girl, my favorite dining establishments primarily serve American food. Unfortunately, as a vegan, I no longer enjoy the same experience. Settling into a comfortable booth at a laminated table with interesting artifacts of Americana staring down at me from the walls and the occasional (and welcome) game on a suspended TV, I excitedly pick up the menu, open it up, and begin to peruse the contents. I become a little more disappointed with every passed over item, if not section, of the menu. Dejectedly, I spiral down through the menu, checking and rechecking for anything that might possibly fit into the pigeon hole that is my diet, ending up inevitably at the same place every time. I stare at a limited list of salads, invariably requiring significant modifications that will make the iceberg lettuce even less appetizing.

Although I’ve learned to avoid my favorite restaurants and force myself to “try new things”, there are frequently times when this experience cannot be avoided. I would even proclaim that the majority of restaurants do not have a single, solitary vegan option on the menu. I’ve only begun to ponder what it really means that so many of us include an animal product or byproduct in every single meal we eat. Part of me observes this as a strange and alien cultural phenomenon, this unfailing, deep dependence on bovine and other gentle, caged creatures.

I might be one of the luckiest vegans on the planet because I live in an extremely vegan-friendly town. Hurray for Portland! A search for “vegan” on yelp.com comes back with 262 results. I would never have discovered the deliciousness of my favorite local restaurant, Papa G’s, if I hadn’t taken the big plunge into veganism. Places like the Paradox Palace Cafe, Nutshell, and Vita Cafe cater only to vegetarians and vegans. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else with these self-imposed limitations, that’s for sure.

I’ve felt amazing since going vegan. I have a ton of energy, my attitude has improved, and my body feels better. I’m eating a lot more fruit and vegetables, and my taste buds are adapting in order to enjoy these new and exotic foods, like apples and carrots. The most exciting new addition to my tasty palate is avocado. I’ve never liked avocado in any form, including guacamole, until eating more and more of it as a vegan with few alternative options. I am now an avocado convert. If you ever want to feed me anything that has an avocado element, I will be more than happy to oblige. (Now if only I could have even the slightest tolerance for mushrooms…)

My dietary strategy has changed somewhat as a result of the change. I find myself snacking more often, since a) I don’t like to cook elaborate meals, and b) I’m consistently hungry pretty much all the time. A lot more of my time is spent grazing, usually while doing other things as well. My most favorite snacks at the moment are avocado on toast (of course), vegan pizza, and fruit salad. Yum. I think I’m hungry right now, actually.

What’s next?
As a number of my friends already know, I’m fascinated by people who enjoy a raw food diet. Not willing to stay in place for too long, I’ve already begun to take steps toward realizing an all natural, all the time, eating experience. I’ve run out of cereal and rice milk, and have replaced my morning meal with fruit. It might take a minute to adjust the quantity and types of fruit I consume for breakfast in order to maintain maximum physical efficiency. I’m listening closely to my body and adjusting things accordingly. It is with great pleasure that I continue to discover my body’s desires in more and more subtle ways. This is yet another sweet joy of getting older (and wiser, I hope).

I’ve felt like an outsider my whole life. There are many reasons, I can imagine, that I have felt that way, including the frequent moves as a young child and being without a sibling. I’m sure being queer, and gender queer at that, didn’t help anything either.

I’m attached to feeling like an outsider, because that’s what makes me feel special. The fact is, that I’m a perfectly ordinary white, middle-class, married straight guy, who gets along with everyone.

I feel like an outsider because I don’t accept myself. As long as I feel this way, I will never be satisfied with my life or anything about it. I’m not content being ordinary, so I create mini personal dramas. I’m an orphan, I’m different, I don’t fit in, I’m gay, I’m a woman, etc., etc., etc., as my girlfriend will attest.

Agent says:

A good way to combat these feelings is to do the things that actually are special to you, like how you’re a good singer and you can play the piano, which not everyone can do. Do those things more because those things make you feel good about yourself in a positive, reality-based, tangible way, rather than looking for your specialness in a way that separates you and makes you full of pity.

When I drank regularly, my cocktail of choice was an ice cold Jack and Coke. I savored the burning sensation in my mouth and throat when I took my first swallow. I looked forward to the moment I reached sweet, numb bliss. I rarely drank too much, and only one occasion comes to mind on which I made obviously bad decisions as a result of my inebriation.

I was on a short business trip a few years ago. After I had attended all required meetings, I headed into the city to seek out an adventure. I started drinking in the park, before the sun went down - miniature bottles of Jack Daniels poured inconspicuously into a plastic bottle of Coke. Eventually, I headed to the bar.

The bar is a blur of lesbian drama, karaoke, a lot more drinking, and general drunken, jovial activity. Before the bar closed, when I realized that I was past the tipping point, I made a barely conscious decision to get back to my hotel.

I was in the subway at 2:30 in the morning, blasted out of my mind. I was unable to focus on anything long enough to figure out what line to catch or which direction to proceed. By some miracle, I was not alone. A young man, himself down on his luck, helped me board the train I needed and identified my stop.

In retrospect, and even at the time, I realized how unbelievably lucky I was that a perfect stranger in a cold, cruel city, in the middle of the night, was willing to help me. I felt like such an idiot, to have put myself in such a dangerous situation. I never wanted to do that again.

There was never anything very fun about drinking in public for me. I was so intent on appearing sober that I never reaped the benefits of suppressed inhibition. If anything, drinking around other people made me irritable, jealous, and generally cranky. I was not a lot of fun to be around.

It wasn’t long after my lucky trip before I decided to quit drinking. I realized that it just wasn’t doing anything for me and I was tired of hating everything and everyone the morning after an all too frequent bender.

I quit cold turkey, stayed away from bars, and tried not to feel resentful of my buddies drinking in the park. I was real jealous, though, and wanted so badly to do what all my friends were doing. I wished that I could find friends who didn’t drink, so I could have someone to talk with about how much I was struggling, but no one came along. And so I weathered the storm with my patient, compassionate girlfriend at my side.

There was a bump in the road this last winter in Portland, which only served to strengthen my resolve against the temptation to escape again into the bottle. Although Portland’s culture is drenched in beer and the bar scene, I’ve met so many people who don’t revolve their lives around drinking that I’m beginning to feel like a normal person again.

I don’t think it will ever be easy. I will always miss the expectation of disorientation, the comradery of sharing a drink together, the hardcore trouble-making of being wasted in the afternoon. I will never escape the images of what I thought drinking was supposed to do for me and how it let me down. I will always be in a state of resistance, day in and day out, for the rest of my life.

A recent Radio Lab episode helped to sustain my ongoing wonderings about truth and deception. One of the segments suggested that people who lie to themselves are less depressed and more successful. Do you lie to yourself? Take the self deception survey and find out.

Unfortunately for me, I’ve dedicated my life to unraveling the hidden and evasive truth within my mind. Every breakthrough is cause for celebration, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

For example, just the other day I realized that I have plenty of everything. This is a particularly difficult fact to get through to my little brain, especially when it comes to money. I have gone most of my life believing that no matter what, I need more money, and this just isn’t true. I’m still working on convincing myself, as the desire for more is second nature to me.

In order to continue this personal quest for truth, I’ve decided to perform an experiment on myself. Just like the guy interviewed on Radio Lab who studies peoples’ faces (Paul Ekman), I’m going to stop lying. For a week. Just to see what happens.

I like how they defined a lie on Radio Lab: to mislead someone without warning. Sarcasm is fine, then, since it’s not really misleading someone. I’ve already made agreements with Agent and our roommate that I will continue to lie to them as normal. (Not that I lie all the time, but who knows.) The whole point of this experiment is to become aware of the times when I lie that I don’t even realize it. And to discover how difficult it is for me to tell the truth all the time.

I figure if things get really hairy, I’ll just tell people I don’t want to talk about it. That’s likely to be more true than anything else I can say.