In Ravenous, I wrote about trying to disentangle myself from various food habits — too much sausage, too many sweets. Two and a half years have passed since it was published, and I find myself still wrestling — this time, not so much with the sausage or chocolate, but with my habit of holding on to them.
The other day, when I tasted a bite of salami, I didn’t like it. It tasted dead. It had no appeal. So I didn’t eat it. Victory, right? But, as I put the salami down, I noticed a residue of sadness, which surprised me. I realized that I’ve become so used to the struggle, that I didn’t know exactly who I was without having a fight to fight. And that’s what I mean by “the habit of habits.”
If we are not defined by our struggles, then who are we, really? And what do we do with all that blessed freedom?