Once upon a time I was vegan.
It was a short but sweet affair, one that I still hold dear to this day.
It’s as if I was running through a green, leafy forest with a crown of wild flowers in my hair, only feasting on fresh fruit and veggies, all in touch with nature and shit. It was beautiful. I even bought a little lamb necklace and shirt that said Give Peas a Chance. I was legit.
But then a road trip happened. A last minute, unprepared road trip from hell. I was ripped from my magical Fern Gully forest and sent through a concrete jungle of golden arches and heavily botoxed Kings urging me to have it my way. There were palm trees and milkshakes and I caved in. I succumbed to temptation disguised as two beef patties. I was powerless against the secret sauce and milkshakes.
I left behind my beans and rice with the excuse that it would be ok as long as my meat was humanely treated. As if being held captive and then murdered is ever humane.
For the past couple of weeks I’ve been reading paleo logic, vegetarian logic, vegan logic. I decided to listen to my body.
Meat has been losing it’s appeal to me. I’ve never really liked the texture and refuse to touch raw meat, but the taste of a well cooked steak could take me to taste bud heaven. Lately though, not so much. That and with all the articles I’ve read this week concerning it’s safety and origin I’m kind of wanting to go back to my old love.
I have nothing against meat eaters, fruitarians, paleo crossfitters… Peace and respect, I say.
Today I go back to fruits, veggies, legumes and the occasional celebratory dairy product because that is the best version of ME.
Live, love, laugh.
Oh, and here’s to Mayweather getting his ass kicked! Cheers!