Three months into this “lifestyle change,” and I’ve been testing my resolve. And of course, the risk is that there is not much resolve to test.
The other day, I chatted with someone who was sipping on a well-deserved cold beer, while I dutifully nursed a cup of freshly boiled water. Surely, I was enjoying myself more …
Last night, there was an office celebration of my retirement (this, of course, could be interpreted in more ways than one!). As per many social festivities, there was food involved, and while “the diet” can compete with most main course offerings, desert is a completely different matter. You see, the relative absence of sugar is probably the most notable hallmark of this altered form of sustenance. And deserts, by definition, tend to be sweet.
So, I decided to tackle the temptation head on: I planted myself right by the desert selection. There was a wide variety of displayed decadence, from puddings to pies to pastries. My survival tactic was to watch others with full undivided attention as they sampled the multiple options of sheer deliciousness, while allowing myself the pleasure of slowly gnawing on a piece of dry moose meat.
It was an experiment really. I was hypothesizing that close physical approximation to such rapturous consumption, might somehow endow me with a vicarious experience of equal proportion. Much to my chagrin, the hypothesis was not substantiated through the course of the experiment.
So, this morning I’m re-evaluating the relevance of the Scientific Method in my life. Clearly, this logical deductive process demonstrates overtones of dispassionate indifference to the relevance of my personal pleasure. I’m feeling abandoned by science.