Let Me Eat Cake

This morning, I had – essentially – cake for breakfast. It is widely believed by those “in the know” that breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and I have no reason to doubt this belief. That is why I feel justified in beginning the occasional day with a completely unsuitable meal.

For the most part, I am quite careful about how I take care of myself. I don’t eat meat; I exercise; I practice yoga; I protect my mind from exposure to unhealthy television, films, or people (my apologies if you fall into that category and are just now realizing it); I take supplements; I avoid processed food; etc. Most days, I begin my food consumption with a strategic plan. This includes the “cake days.”

“Cake days” – I have come to realize – are perhaps the most important days of all. They are they days that I celebrate all of the other days that I don’t have cake. They are special because they are so rare. One of the side effects of a regular yoga practice is that you feel – very quickly – the effects of different foods, stress, sleep, etc. on your body. On “cake day” I will inevitably have a more difficult practice. This is – in my opinion – good. It is an incentive to not have too many “cake days.”

Also, I have come to believe – over the course of the years – in the occasional “dessert first” philosophy. This is closely related to the “seize the day” line of thinking. What if, I sometimes think, I find out today that I am diabetic? I shall never be able to enjoy cake in quite the same way again. I’d best eat a piece – and savor it – just in case. On my more morbid days, I consider the possibility of arising one morning and denying myself what I really want – cake – in favor of a nutritious but unsatisfying dry protein bar. Then, I imagine, what if I began my day, going about in my normal fashion, but never finished it? This does happen to people all the time. Most likely, no one wakes up thinking “This is it. I know where this day is going, and I’m not going out without chocolate cake.”

On those days, I feel the grip of fear as my mortality is brought sharply into focus. I have to remind myself that I have been just as mortal every other day of my life, and that I have faced this exact same situation every morning. I just haven’t thought about it. I choose to interpret this “morbid” line of thinking as a gentle reminder from my subconscious to be present, to really notice my surroundings and the people and creatures that I value. On “cake days” I try to be grateful to be me, be grateful to have friends and family, be thankful for the opportunity to give my pets a home. I strive to be more forgiving toward myself; to allow for my own errors and inadequacies.

Of course, there is always the possibility that I’m being played the fool, and that it’s actually my stomach pulling all the strings. “Ha!” It plots, deep in the bowels of my torso, “her resolve is weakening! Quick, broadcast the “call for cake!” Oh yeah – don’t forget to cover it up with that “awareness” mumbo jumbo that the liver heard about from the frontal lobe last year…”