Cravings

I have been craving something for several weeks now. It buzzes around me like an insistent gnat... bumping against me often enough to ensure I remain attuned to its presence. I have no idea how to sate it. And... because I am somewhat lost, I find I am turning to my habitual form of response for such unidentified longings: food.

So unfolds several weeks of craving-induced picking - a spectrum of nibbling to over-eating most often geared toward the categories of junk and sugar.

Trader Joe's sweet and salty mix; graham crackers with whip cream spray-can blasted in lovely swirl patterns; banana-oatmeal-coconut-chocolate chip bars with a nod toward health in my experiment to reduce the butter and sugar by substituting apple sauce and maple syrup; dark chocolate candy bars with caramel and sea salt; mounding bowls of popcorn prepared stove-top in a pool of salt-infused extra-virgin olive oil; snap pea crisps; corn chips and homemade guacamole; a handful of my daughter's "all-colors" goldfish snacks; and finally... chocolate chip cookies - in all their buttery, sugary, risque glory.

It was the cookies that finally did it. I opened the mason jar full of chocolate chips and caught a whiff of what smelled like a strange and unnatural (e.g., non-food) scent. Can chocolate chips go bad? I wondered. Shrugging, I dumped them in, cooked all the batter, and sampled my efforts.

They tasted funny. They didn't make me feel any more satisfied. I wondered if I had done something wrong or missed a step or used something funky and past-its-prime.

My husband came home and made a beeline for the container full of goodies. "Oooo! What's this? Are these for us?" "Yup," I answered. He excitedly ate one and grinned and maybe even wiggled a little bit. "They don't taste funny to you?" I asked. "Nooooooooo. They taste really good."

When we moved downstate and re-fashioned our lives into a wholly new state, one of the things my husband and I agreed to do was eat out less often, choose healthier foods, and change our eating patterns so they might include less "fake" food.

With concerted effort, we've actually done a pretty good job. We went from eating out nearly every night of the week to once a week on average (twice if we're being really naughty). We buy whole foods and organic as often as possible; I cook three meals a day most days; and we try not to buy junk food or super fatty/sugary dessert items to reduce temptation and help Ari set food habits heavier on fruit and vegetables than chips and soda.

And while we do indulge in the occasional gelato or sticky rice with mango, for the most part, we are careful in our "treat" consumption. So it's been incredibly fascinating to become more alert to my cravings for unnatural foods - and to wander through some musings on what it all really means.

What am I really craving? I thought it was sugar, salt, and fat (and all manner of man-made concoctions based on processes of refinement and chemical tomfoolery) - but lately I've noticed, just as I had years ago with smoking, that whenever I do indulge the seeming ache for such foods, I wind up feeling worse. The aftermath of such eating is more yuck than yum... and the craving persists, unsatisfied and unmet.

So I have decided to meditate upon my actions and try to pinpoint the message I am sending myself. Clearly, some form of misinterpretation is present. Something is lost in translation... and so I must move toward a clearer form of communication - seek out a process of understanding untied to my habits and long-time associations.

In the meantime, I still feel a strong urge to stuff a cookie into my mouth whenever I walk past them in the kitchen. But so far, remembering how it feels to eat said cookie has enabled me to maintain mountain mind and stand fast. Wandering mind is always close behind though... waiting for the chance to dart through and race after the sugary illusion of comfort.

May you separate your habits from your true desires. May you find satisfaction in all you do.

Habits

When I met my husband, I was a smoker. Probably what you might call a medium smoker. I think I went through a pack in a week - maybe more... and I sometimes hit long stretches where I'd just have one or two per day.

I was out of my cloves stage at this point, and the Marlboro Reds (which may have led to my asthma in my late 20s - who knows). I had very few drug-type vices at this point, and I was loathe to give up smoking entirely... particularly social smoking which often happened in tandem with dinners out or drinks after the show, etc.

My husband, however, was a staunch no-smoker when we began dating. My habit was not a deal-breaker for him, but it was something that stood in the way of our having a child - because he felt very strongly he didn't want his child to grow up around cigarette smoke.

I agreed. I quit (pretty much cold turkey), and I have a new conception of myself as a non-smoker. It is difficult, in fact, to remember what it was like to be a smoker... even harder to remember what I enjoyed about it.

"Such an easy thing to change!" I think, in retrospect. It's remembered with a sense of distance and a feeling of separate-ness because the current "I" and past "I" are so different in this regard.

I have been taking a look at many of my habits lately... ones that are more subtle and insidious than chemical addictions or the tendency to eat lots of sugar when depressed or rely on soda for caffeine. No... the habits I now investigate are the ones connected to behavior - actions and choices seemingly ingrained in my arsenal of "involuntary" responses so that they become unthought/unthinking echoes of rut-like conduct.

Bossiness; attempts to control circumstances or others; a pessimistic perspective; impatience; self-doubt. All seemingly inherent aspects of my personality and self as I currently define it; and yet, every single one is a choice. All are habits I choose knowingly (or unknowingly, which makes it no less of a choice), and all are within my power to alter.

We see habits, I believe, as something generated or existing outside ourselves... dictated by external events or influenced by circumstances - people, places, things. It's so easy to assign the blame to an other of some kind; to engage in self-medication, self-denial, or self-soothing without truly acknowledging the impact of our decisions upon ourselves or others.

They seem so difficult to change; and yet, time and again, we remake ourselves in an effort to please someone else. Maybe a spouse or partner, maybe a mother or sibling, maybe a boss or mentor. And sometimes those changes are great and wonderful things (and sometimes, as you well know, they are not).

The trick is knowing why you are choosing to be who you are. Why you are holding onto the patterns, habits, yens, and ruts in which you currently find yourself... and to embrace - and truly own - the knowledge that you can change any single aspect of who you are at any moment.

Habits are the result of being human; we crave predictability at times. But they should not be an excuse for unhappiness. They should never feel like an anchor or prison. And... if they do... then perhaps it's time to remake yourself - for no one other than yourself.

I have been reminding myself of this - attempting to relearn a lesson I have long forgotten from the carefree and entirely transmutable days of infancy. It's frightening, sometimes, to admit I have the power to define myself every second... it makes my frailties and failings so much more crushing at times. And yet, even choosing to forgive... to answer my weaknesses with compassion and love as I would a dearest friend - even that is a choice I may make.

So much power, and still... I wrestle to pull my habits close to my chest. Enclose them and claim them as my own so I may honestly assess what best defines the person I wish to be. Keep what works, discard the rest. And make no judgments in between.

May you recognize the person you wish to be in each moment; may you feel empowered to choose the habits that fit you best.