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Musings on Queso and Life

For a number of personal reasons, I'm experimenting with making some changes in my diet.

In the past I've eaten Keto, I've eaten Paleo, and now I'm in the process of transitioning to a whole foods plant based diet. Yes, that basically translates into a vegan diet. I'm not 100% switched over yet and this may not be a Forever Thing, but I'm giving it a chance and will do so until if and when I change my mind.

As anyone who knows me can attest, I have a love affair with cheese, specifically queso. The thought of being without my precious cheesy vice, fills me with sadness and a touch of panic. So, when I went to lunch with a friend yesterday and had the opportunity to order vegan queso, I couldn't resist. Now, obviously said queso being vegan, there was a crucial ingredient missing: cheese. When the dip was brought out to the table, the first thing that I noticed was that it wasn't yellow. Hell, it wasn't even white. It was... reddish orange? Skeptical Me was Skeptical.

I took the requisite picture of the queso (because, hey, I'm me) and began to indulge.

Here's what that looked like...

First Bite: Huh. What the fuck is this? This isn't queso.   Second Bite: It tastes kind of... tomatoey? I can tell there's nutritional yeast in there. Hm. Third Bite: This really isn't queso. WTAF. <insert indignation here>

And so, for a few moments I sat in dismay and self-pity lamenting over the fact that I was willingly signing on for a life without something I really enjoy, only to be relegated to a life of a tomatoey nutritional yeasty impostery substitute. Poor me.

And then I remembered a friend of mine telling me a few weeks ago that vegan queso was its own thing. So, I decided to take another bite and taste it for what it actually was instead of what I wanted it to be.

Fourth Bite: Huh. This is actually pretty good. Fifth Bite: Mmmm, tomatoey. It has a Tex-Mex flavor. Sixth Bite: Okay, this is good. I like this.

And so, I decided I would eat my vegan queso and enjoy it for what it was, instead of what I wanted it to be.

Of course, me being me, I couldn't help but notice the parallels of my expectations surrounding this “queso” and my expectations in life. As a human being, I have expectations about a lot of things: how I should behave, how you should behave, how my dog should behave, how people should drive, how people should steer their shopping carts in the grocery store, and as we've already discussed, how vegan queso should taste. The list of expectations goes on, (and on and on), but for the sake of brevity, I'll leave it at that; you get the point.

The thing about expectations, is that they're resentments waiting to happen. They also stand in the way of us experiencing and accepting people, things, and situations, for who and what they are. When I'm focusing on my expectations, I am robbing myself of the reality of the experience; I'm seeing the person, thing, or situation in the light of what it isn't, rather than what it is. When I can drop my expectations and come to a place of acceptance, I can experience it (and appreciate it) fully.

So, no. Kerbey Lane vegan queso isn't “queso” as far as I'm concerned. But, it's still pretty damn delicious. And, I'm glad I didn't allow my expectations and preconceived notions stand in the way of enjoying it for what it is.

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Musings on Gratitude

Today is Thanksgiving, and since I knocked out my Turkey-day have-to-do items last night, that means I get to spend the morning lounging in bed with my dog, drinking coffee, and doing one of my favorite things: reflecting (not to be confused with overthinking). And, with today being Thanksgiving, my thoughts naturally turned to gratitude.

When it comes to things that just feel the best, there are a few that are at the top of my list, one of the very biggest ones being gratitude.

Gratitude feels fucking amazing.

I've been spending the last week or so reflecting on how much my life has changed in the last several years. A lot of the change was painful and chaotic and oh-my-fucking-Gods hard, but if I had to choose one thing that helped save my ass and keep me (relatively) sane aside from the love of my friends, it would be gratitude.

Because even when things are stupid hard, even when they're painful and messy, if I look closely enough, there's always gratitude to be found. Sure, it may take a while to find it when I'm in the middle of the uncomfortable, but it's always there.

Today, I'm attending two Friendsgivings and will spend my day with many (but not all) of my chosen family. We'll eat more food than any human being should in one day, let alone one sitting, and exchange hugs and laughter. New inside jokes will be formed, we'll take ridiculous selfies, and we'll remember what matters most in life - connection and the people we love.

I'll close this off with a quote by Nietzsche:

“There are no facts, only interpretations.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche

I'm grateful that when it comes to interpretations, gratitude is my game-changer.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.

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I Need To Get My Shit Together

"I need to get my shit together." That's what I told a dear friend of mine last night. When she reminded me that no one really has their shit together, I clarified; my shit is very much together, it just needs some tweaking. I need to pay more attention to some health habits, make healthier choices with what I eat, start running again, be consistent with my yoga and meditation practice, and be more fervent in my spiritual path.

This morning I awoke thinking the same phrase, but with much more amusement than I did when it was uttered last night. Getting my shit together at 40 looks a whole hell of a lot different than it did when I was in my 20s, or even in my 30s. Once upon a time, (in my 20s), I was driving around Los Angeles with expired out of state registration, no car insurance, living with friends, and my sustenance consisted largely of a once a day meal of chicken nuggets and baked potatoes from Wendy's Value Menu. At that point, I definitely needed to get my shit together. Now? I frantically look through my laundry basket in the morning to find a matching pair of socks and throw my fists at the air in frustration, all the while scolding myself: I cannot live like this! My life is in disarray! I need to get my shit together!

Oh, perspective. I suppose if "get my shit together" today means I need to unpack a few boxes that have been tucked away in my closet since my January move, and actually take fifteen minutes to sort my clean socks into matching pairs, I'm not doing too bad.  The fact is, is that we can always do better in some area of our lives. That self-critic is a bitch. I can look back with nothing but love, compassion, and fondness for the free-spirited 20-something year old who lived so haphazardly. Hell, sometimes I even miss her. But, 40 year old me who just needs to sort her fucking socks, unpack a few boxes, and turn out the damn lights at 11PM? Do better. 

I could say that this all comes from society's current obsession with busyness, productivity, and the addiction to the quest for eternal self-improvement. But, the truth is, I've always been this way. I think most people are. We like to think we're unique with our incessant internal ass-kicking narrative. And, maybe some of us are "worse" than others in this regard, but it's human nature. This is why we have religion, this is why we have self-help; because we're all searching for something and we all feel the need to improve. We all feel fucked up in one way or another and regardless of how much we accept ourselves or say we accept ourselves, we're still trying to fix what doesn't feel quite right inside. We are all fighting ourselves. 

At the age of 20, I left the religion of my youth. I was sick of feeling like I had to adhere to some unattainable way of life, even though I was told that it was all about "faith". After all, faith without works is dead, right? Now, half my lifetime later, I still see that mode of thinking creep up from time to time. It is embodied in the soul of the self-critic. I don't know that I'll ever rid myself entirely of that voice, but I do know that laughter and taking a step back to listen to the quiet makes it a little easier to point and laugh at the notion that my life is falling apart because my socks aren't neatly in a drawer. And, when I can laugh at that notion, it becomes a little (okay, a lot) easier to look within and ask myself What I Really Want. Not what society wants, not what he or she or they wants, not what my whimsy wants, but what *I* Really Want. Because there, in that place - that’s where the magic is - and when I align myself with *that*, well, that’s when things will flow. 

Maybe it's time to introduce a new dialogue: I need to get my shit together. Okay, Sam. Whatever. :)

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hey, little ladybug

‘hey, little ladybug’

hey, little ladybug, (or maybe you’re an asian lady beetle - there is a difference, even though you look similar, the same. black-dots and almost-red, but biting and invasive, and isn’t that the way it is with people sometimes - almost beautiful, yet biting and invasive)

hey, little ladybug, (or maybe you’re an asian lady beetle - this isn’t a poem about any-one in particular, or no-one in particular, but a random observation that even in the beautiful, we can find pain, and even in the pain, we can find beautiful, and really everyone is beautiful and an inflictor of pain at times, because that is life and that is balance)

hey, little ladybug, (or maybe you’re an asian lady beetle - it was just raining and perhaps you’re coming out to get a drink of dew after the sky opened itself or perhaps you were taking shelter in this ground-cover, waiting for what seemed like the storm of your lifetime - to pass, because eventually, all storms do pass)

hey, little ladybug, (i’ll just call you a ladybug and assume the best, because it feels better that way)

© Samantha W., 3.11.17 noisyzen.net