By: Daniel Hodgman
The Tuesday before New Years Day, as the sun slid beyond the outer reaches of Florida’s horizon line behind cackling trees with leaves starting to fall, I found myself leaving work and looking forward to my last meal of meat and a start to a healthier lifestyle. I had proclaimed proudly, merely two weeks before, that I would cut out all meats from my diet–most notably red meat, which has hampered my health just like penalty flags for the Detroit Lions. My reasoning behind this was–because even I can admit that certain meat is healthy for your diet–that if I could cut out meat entirely, I could cut out fast food entirely, and I could also implement more sustainable foods that I had previously avoided like the plague: yogurt, soy, beans, tofu, more than a single plate of veggies.
Here I found myself standing in front of a pulled pork sandwich, the clock skulking towards my deadline–8:00, okay I have four more hours. I took a bite, and then I took a few more, and without thinking I just stopped. Maybe it was the pressure of the new year distorting my thoughts, but at some point while engulfing my last bit of meat for life I felt disgusted with myself. I felt disgusted with the fact that even though I had decided to give up meat more than two weeks ago, I selfishly chose to use 2014 as an excuse to extend my eating habits to the very crumbling precipice that is my health. I felt disgusted with the fact that it took me 23 years to realize that maybe my eating habits weren’t the best for my body. Most importantly however–and the point I’m trying to make to drive this letter home–I felt disgusted because instead of just doing something, I found some sort of excuse to delay the slow churning problem that was presented in front of me.