It’s Friday, kumquats! For all my mouthing off about how insomnia gave me post-a-day super powers, I managed to abandon you all for the latter half of the week, didn’t I? And yes, I am feeling more rested thankyouverymuch. A friend/commenter told me February is THE season for irregular sleep patterns, so it looks like we’ve all just gotta flow wit it. And since we’re awake anyway, let’s talk veganism, shall we?
Just me and my meat friends in Argentina
As you’ve probably gleaned from my little internet queendom, I eat vegan. I specify “eat” as opposed to “am” because I’m currently wearing suede moccasins and I bought the most (vegan) buttery(-spread-like) leather jacket in Italy for 65 American dollars. My point is this: being vegan-ish for the past three years has made me healthier and happier, but it has not given me the right to judge anyone else for their lapses in social consciousness. Above all, I think our characters are defined by how we treat people, not least of which by how we treat ourselves. I know eating vegan is best for my bod, and I feel good about that.
Truth: gently advocating a green, harm-fee life has sort of become my jam amidst co-workers and people I’m not closerthanclose with (i.e. people who don’t feel entitled to point out all of my flaws and inconsistencies on a regular basis.) For instance, at the insistence of a favorite colleague, I recently led and landed myself in major trouble for hosting a lunch-hour “vegan challenge” for curious peers… Sigh. As I mentioned in Midwest is Best, I love being that girl: the smiley one who eats her spirulina quinoa snack in lieu of beef cheeks (beef. cheeks.) because before I found veganism, I was that other girl: the one who sullenly poked her meat, ate an oily vegetable or two, came home starving and threw DOWN with an entire bag of generic cookies and ancient Halloween candy. Not pretty, and not terribly representative of inner peace and self respect.
But the truth I was getting to is this: I still, albeit very rarely, have slip ups – slip ups in my mastery of a functional vegan diet (because it takes dedication, it really does), and even more rarely: slip ups in self respect. Last year, for a little while, I decided that I was going to eat Greek yogurt again – it was one of my favorite foods prior to being vegan – partially because it’s delicious, and partially because it contains a crap ton of protein for not a lot of calories. The problem? I’m allergic to greek yogurt. Eating it makes me feel like I have a jalapeno plant sprouting up my esophagus and gives me terrible, horrible, no good cramps. The larger problem? I was intentionally eating food that made me sick because I equated it with being thin – this after I considered myself free of disordered thoughts. No bueno, pals.
There have been other discrepancies in my veganism – just this past Christmas, whilst in the throes of relationship dissolution, my poor family watched in bewilderment as I ate all. of. the. cookies. But, but… I hadn’t brought any vegan options and I really needed cookies, okay? I am much more comfortable with that than I am with my yogurt affair because I was listening to my (admittedly emotional) needs rather than ignoring them. And even IF the end brings some Gandhi-figure/dairy cow in the sky who evaluates whether I should come back in my next life as Ivanka Trump or a floating piece of plankton, He’d totes understand that sometimes a girl NEEDS a freaking cookie no matter how much butter is in it.
For me, being vegan is just a small part of being the person I wish to become: a thoughtful but not preachy hippie goddess who contributes as little abuse as possible to the world around her, and nourishes her own vibrant health and blooming spirit. In my head, this fly lady is 99% vegan… but Hell, yes she’ll eat a macaron or 20 in Paris, or a slice of her G-mama’s famous pie once a year. And she’ll be all the healthier for it.
I mostly wanted to air this lest anyone reading thinks I’m a “perfect” vegan, or even that I care to be a “perfect” vegan. Nah. What I really care about is being kind to myself and making choices as a consumer that I’m proud of. Now you. Does the way you eat play into how you see yourself? Do you plan to douse me in red paint next time you see me in my leather?
XOXO
Rose
P.S. This week’s baby love list: cara cara oranges (they’re pink inside!), dramatic exchanges with my two girls, biznass videos from Marie Forleo, plotting out crazy delish Valentine’s treats for da blog, planning to spend V-day WITH MY MOM! (awwww/#motherdaughtermanhaters), experimenting with hair chalk (T$, I had to), attempts to make a headpiece a la this one for a Midnight in Paris themed soiree. I’ve gone through two pairs of pliers so far but I have faith! <3
