Monday, March 13, 2006
Giving up or letting go?
There are things that are bad for you, but you could eat and like and just suffer for them with mild indigestion. What about the other side of things, food you let go of for your necessity of spirit and respect for life? Nearly three years in, I look back at letting go of meat, something I once liked, as I prepare to let go of something I love; my military-bound brother.
I don’t see as much of him now, living a couple time zones apart, but I think of him always. When I let meat go, I wasn’t seeing much of that either. It was around, sure, but not on my plate. I seesawed for a while, and came down heavily on the side of animals. Protecting them, that is.
After thinking long and hard about meat-packing, animals living sad lives and hormones coursing through all our veins, I knew that the best thing for me was to step away. I forged my own path, alongside the other vegetarians running rampant in the States.
Over the years, I’ve developed into a talented vegetarian cook, and cultivated my love for vegetables and a beautiful kitchen that inspires peace and tranquility. I look around me at all of the amazing food—without meat—and think to myself, who needs to eat flesh to be happy?
That was my decision. My choice. I celebrate that choice and the art of making decisions for myself. But what happens when the stakes are raised; what happens when your choices could kill you? What happens when you’re giving up, by choice, the right to make your own decisions?
When my brother decided to join the Marines, I fought long and hard to stop him. Much like the way my grandmother kept trying to tell me the bacon on my potato wasn’t meat, I tried every trick in the book to change his mind. Just as I saw through the guise of Bacos (posing as breadcrumbs?), my brother looked past my claims of, “just an fyi” or, “thought you might be interested.” He knew I was trying to change his mind.
Just as surely as my stomach will churn when I think of eating chicken, my voice will crack when I think of letting go of this child (man?) whom I love more than myself. But the choice is his. What’s right for him, you or I is only for us to determine.
In time, he may become a great soldier. He may rise through military ranks as I rose from a Morning Star Farms microwave dinner addict to tofu connoisseur. He may also, with his decision-making power gone, fight for his right to critical thought.
The difference is clear: In letting go of meat, I’ve made myself healthier and happier. In letting go of my brother, I’m doing just the opposite. But even as he gives up his right to decisions, I refuse to give up on him.
I don’t see as much of him now, living a couple time zones apart, but I think of him always. When I let meat go, I wasn’t seeing much of that either. It was around, sure, but not on my plate. I seesawed for a while, and came down heavily on the side of animals. Protecting them, that is.
After thinking long and hard about meat-packing, animals living sad lives and hormones coursing through all our veins, I knew that the best thing for me was to step away. I forged my own path, alongside the other vegetarians running rampant in the States.
Over the years, I’ve developed into a talented vegetarian cook, and cultivated my love for vegetables and a beautiful kitchen that inspires peace and tranquility. I look around me at all of the amazing food—without meat—and think to myself, who needs to eat flesh to be happy?
That was my decision. My choice. I celebrate that choice and the art of making decisions for myself. But what happens when the stakes are raised; what happens when your choices could kill you? What happens when you’re giving up, by choice, the right to make your own decisions?
When my brother decided to join the Marines, I fought long and hard to stop him. Much like the way my grandmother kept trying to tell me the bacon on my potato wasn’t meat, I tried every trick in the book to change his mind. Just as I saw through the guise of Bacos (posing as breadcrumbs?), my brother looked past my claims of, “just an fyi” or, “thought you might be interested.” He knew I was trying to change his mind.
Just as surely as my stomach will churn when I think of eating chicken, my voice will crack when I think of letting go of this child (man?) whom I love more than myself. But the choice is his. What’s right for him, you or I is only for us to determine.
In time, he may become a great soldier. He may rise through military ranks as I rose from a Morning Star Farms microwave dinner addict to tofu connoisseur. He may also, with his decision-making power gone, fight for his right to critical thought.
The difference is clear: In letting go of meat, I’ve made myself healthier and happier. In letting go of my brother, I’m doing just the opposite. But even as he gives up his right to decisions, I refuse to give up on him.
