On Being Free

Since moving to Boston, I feel as though I've been catapulted off a high diving board, left to feel all the customary sensations that follow. At first, I'm flying--if only for a moment--feeling the wind rush past my cheeks and the weightlessness as I rise higher. What comes next is always expected and yet, each time it feels at once wonderful and uncertain. As gravity gives in, my stomach turns. I've long enjoyed this feeling, and so I welcome it and attempt to avoid the anticipation of what will surely follow. Inevitably, I reach the water. Of course, I don't have to belly flop: I can cascade into its surface without so much as a splash. But I'm not a seasoned diver. In fact, I'm very much new to the trade, and while my start and execution might impress the judges, the finish is flat and uninspiring.

I'm not afraid to take risks in life, and I'm highly attuned to my wants and needs. Nevertheless, change isn't easy for most people, me included. I'm constantly struggling to find that right combination of behaviors and thoughts that might provide me some solace, relief, and freedom from the near-constant battle in my head. A friend once advised me to trust the process and know that, while positive change comes in fits and starts, its not always apparent. But that doesn't mean it's not there.

Right now, I'm climbing the ladder to reach that high rise once again. Only this time, I don't plan to return to my default dive. It's antiquated and the judges are tired of watching the same motions again and again. I want something new and fresh, not because I want to impress the judges, but because I want to finish with grace and confidence.

Right now, I'm sitting in a café near Harvard, drinking wonderful coffee and listening to John Coltrane--my favorite. The chill of fall is in the air (my first fall ever, really) and I'm excited to wear boots and scarves and nubby sweaters in the muted tones of the trees that surround me. And yet...I wonder how long this feeling will last. Maybe by characterizing it as fleeting, I'm presupposing a relapse. I'd like to believe that the progress will continue trending upward, but fear and uncertainty plague me and I question my own strength. Ultimately, it's a moot point: I've decided that this life is too precious, too devastating, and too wonderful not to take part--with every fiber of my being.

And so: 

“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” Albert Camus

xo

The Hardest Part of Being Vegan: A Case for Acceptance

As a seasoned vegan, I’m accustomed to the typical questions and criticisms that have become stereotypic of the lifestyle. “Where do you get your protein?” “Plants have feelings, too.” “I could be vegetarian, but there’s no way I’m parting with cheese.” These are just a few responses that vegans know all too well. I’ll be honest: there have been times when I’ve been less than patient with others, often becoming defensive or upset when prompted to justify my choices. However, I know these hostile interactions are counterproductive at best. They lend veganism a bad name, one that is founded on a “holier-than-thou” attitude.

This weekend, I came across a graphic that speaks directly to this issue. Titled “The Hardest Part of Being Vegan,” a pie chart shows small percentages that are labeled with common issues such as dining at restaurants or with friends, obtaining adequate vitamins, and accessing vegan products. The majority of the pie is reserved for a “Dealing with Idiots” category. I find this analysis to be problematic for multiple reasons. First, the chart appears to address veganism on only a superficial level. Veganism encompasses more than restaurant selection and nutrient intake; it is a way of being that informs every decision and interaction that one makes. Moreover, the chart gives power to the misconception that vegans are an exclusive group, one that treats outsiders as uneducated and ignorant.

Most importantly, an image like this is reason enough to deter someone from experimenting with a plant-based lifestyle. No one enjoys being verbally attacked for his or her choices (as vegans, we should understand this issue intimately), and taking issue with something so fundamental as one’s character is sure to elicit a strong reaction.

Of course, I know this popular meme was created in jest. Its author was obviously catering to a select group of individuals, all of which find solidarity in commiserating over veganism’s challenges. Certainly, we can all identify with feelings of being misunderstood, judged, or alienated. It is easy to feel spiteful in these situations, but we should never let ourselves reject others simply because their world view does not parallel ours.

Whenever I’m feeling defensive or impatient with friends and family, I like to remind myself that before I was vegan, I wasn’t. Before I understood the business of animal exploitation, I didn’t. Before I learned about animal sentience, tasted delicious vegan food, and understood the concept of non-violence…I didn’t. In my opinion, the hardest part of being vegan isn’t about the food, the tenuous relationships, or maintaining my health. The hardest part of being vegan is extending the movement’s principle of compassion to humans, and learning to accept that we are all simply trying to find our way.