I will be bliss

I decided to be a vegetarian.

I decided to be a vegetarian maybe how most people decide to be a vegetarian. I woke up one day, after several compounding periodic days of contemplation about the feat, and decided that it was actually time to be serious about it. Like, drop-and-give-me-twenty, no-turning-back-now, in-it-to-win-it, kind of serious.

Moments of intense clarity tend to hit me like that–seemingly out of the blue, but with such urgency that there suddenly becomes no other way, no plan B, no ulterior path nor alternate route… except for this one. And I can either take action, or take action. I mean, in hindsight, I didn’t have to take any action at all. But, in my wake of clarity, I did.

So just like that, I became a vegetarian. Cuz that’s how it works, right? 

You say, “Wanna try?” 

I say, “Sure.”

You say, “Sounds good.”

Boom. Bang. Pow. Suddenly, the fairy godmother has turned me into a vegetarian.

This vegetarianism thing wasn’t my first rodeo with decision making. It certainly was not my first lap around the track with decisiveness, while simultaneously having zero insight as to what might come of my decisiveness, yet finding the courage to be decisive anyway.

I also decided to quit my job. More precisely, I decided to quit three jobs within the past two years. Much rhyme and reason went into these decisions to draw the final line, the main point being that on my most recent quitting escapade, I did things a little differently than before. I didn’t leave my current form of employment for some other form of employment with comparable amenities (like safety and comfort), and other fun add-ons (like health insurance and annoying co-workers). I didn’t replace my nine-to-five, detached routine with another, eerily similar and soul-sucking rebound gig.

Instead, I just quit.

I quit my job with the fantasy that I could escape regret, exhaustion, and paralysis, and that my next, unknown steps would accelerate only the positive in my life (like happiness and adventure and fulfillment). By quitting my latest, traditional office job, I would abandon the monotonous and accentuate the passionate. I would find new, unconventional ways to learn. I would encounter exponential personal growth. I would discover and succumb to an organic and destined career path. And I would transcend the mundane, forevermore… so I romanticized…

Needless to say, I was feeling a little lost and confused when it came to my long-term goals. And soon, an insatiable desire to trade stability for the wild, wild world, got me dreaming and scheming for an immediate outlet. I fully believed that the moment I started impulsively closing the lifeless, stable doors in my present reality, new doors, with brighter lights shining on more interesting interiors, would open on their own, without any third-party assistance. I quit my job thinking that the magnetic pull of my availability would immediately shatter the crown molding on previously cemented door frames, and that I would merrily skip through these new, blasted holes in the wall that, “by divine fate!”, outlined my exact size.

I didn’t get lost in the weeds and details of what I expected to find behind said doors. I just assumed that the hidden realities would be better. Greener. Definitely worth while and quite possibly worry free. I was hopeful to believe that nothing could or would go wrong.

And I guess if something did go wrong, my pragmatic side was comforted by a thought that I could not stand out in the rain forever. Eventually, if I was patient and polite, someone or something would open a door, let me in, and keep me warm, safe, and dry while the storm passed. Or until I encountered restlessness once more, and made yet another sudden decision to reroute my journey.

When I initially quit my job, I did the “smart” thing. I went home to my childhood bedroom. I hunkered down with family and friends and family that are friends and long-lost relatives and even borderline acquaintances for a few months. One might say that I respectfully and responsibly free-loaded wherever I possibly could during the void of quitting one thing and starting the next. I say respectfully and responsibly because I finagled my savings, resourcefulness, and helping nature in a way that supported my decisions. And in return, I was blessed with a loving network of understanding people who provided me with food, shelter, and laughs that made the void possible.

Because of this support during the void, I was able to seamlessly freelance a little, think a lot, and also visit Michael Singer.

Singer is a visionary, a thought leader, an author (if you’ve heard of The Untethered Soul, then you’ve heard of Singer), a teacher (and advanced student) of surrender, a spiritual being, and much, much more, who hosts meditation gatherings at his Temple of the Universe in Alachua County, FL. I decided to visit Singer during this transitory time for his enlightening wisdom… and also because his temple is conveniently located on the outskirts of my alma mater, meaning I could scream and shout inside Ben Hill Griffith Stadium while watching Gator Football the day prior to a peaceful morning meditation session amidst the North Florida woods.

My previous encounter with Singer was during my rambunctious undergraduate days at the University of Florida. Michael transferred some sage insight to me then, so a visit to his temple was a must before embarking on my still unknown, next adventure. I figured maybe he could brush some luck onto the wheels of my Subaru tires before I traversed the country in search of the un-searchable and in surrender to a life-discovery journey.

Yes, I’m calling it a “life-discovery” journey. Many times, when I explain my decisions and current circumstances to others, I’ll throw in the term self-discovery, and imply that after quitting my job and leaving NYC, I am now on some sort of inner-transformative, solitudinous, personal-healing expedition in order to better understand my own self. Sure, that’s part of it. But, it’s also profoundly more. My “discovery” journey is connected just as much to learning about myself, who I am, my passions, and my skills, as it is to learning about the world, what it needs, why it is hurting, what can maybe remain same, and what absolutely needs to change.

So no, on this journey I’m not just learning about me. I’m learning about the world. But I’m also not just learning about the world. I am learning about my place in the world. Why am I here? What is my purpose? How can I use my interests and unique talents to positively impact our systems and communities in need, all in the name of love? What is my calling, and how can I contribute to help, in the words of Michael Jackson, “Heal the World”? That is… if you believe that we all have a calling and that the world needs healing. 

But yeah, with these questions in mind, I headed straight for Temple of the Universe on Singer’s property. It felt so natural to be en route to the temple, almost as if Singer was my good ol’ pal from our younger days, and that him and I had some sort of memorable, exciting history together back in ’75 that would trigger the motions of a shared hand-shake and a nostalgic smirk upon our union. I guess when you spend your life dedicated to exploring and maintaining inner-peace you have that kind of effect on people.

In a bit of a disappointment, the hand-shake and smirk did not occur. But, I brought two friends/Singer novices with me, and upon arrival, the three of us without hesitation meditated and mantra’d alongside Mickey and a group of other eclectics. Almost instantly, Michael reminded me of why I love his work so much. To summarize, Singer highlighted that in an expansive, mystically inexplicable, grandiose Universe, humans are just microscopic, nearly independently insignificant beings, occupying space for a very, very, very brief moment of time, yet in all of our independent insignificance, we still have… so… many… “problems”.

Michael questions, as do I, who are we, what are we, to do things like whine and complain and bitch about trivial life matters, like traffic and our natural hair and the weather? Why does our human race consistently struggle to release the meaningless bullshit and simply enjoy our blip of time on planet Earth for what it’s worth? Why can’t we understand and utilize our over-active minds in such a way that silences the drama, and amplifies the love? Why is that so “hard” for us?

In my attempt to make sense of humanity, I really believe that we are all trying our best. We all are doing what we can, giving what we can, and at the very least, trying to be our best selves. And the negativity and unhealthy reactions stem from the unconscious and unaware parts of us that fortunately can, and hopefully will, evolve in due time. But all in all, I’m grateful for Singer’s reminder that a “problem” is really just an over-complicated construct. It’s a word with a stigma that is used to share and relate concerns and experiences with others. Nothing more. Nothing less. And the mindset that “a problem is only a problem because we define it as a problem,” and is overall better defined as a teaching moment, will be a helpful tool to reference while trekking out into the unknown and exploring a… calling. 

It was when I started honoring this so called calling that my moments of clarity became increasingly more powerful and frequent. And without warning, while I was comfortably attached to a part-time customer service job and daily dog walking in Manhattan, this acute clarity swooped in once again, and said, “JUMP NOW.”

“Jump. Right. Now.”

So I jumped.

And by jumped, I mean that I quit my job(s). I moved out of my apartment. I left New York City. And I gambled with the future.

I leapt blindly off a cliff (in an attempt to fly, of course), and consequently said yes to the unknown and to freedom and to purpose. I said yes to authentic action and curiosity and determination. I said yes to more trials and tribulations and problem-solving. I said yes to spontaneity, courage, and experiencing life. All of life.

But after jumping, after saying yes… no, I did not immediately ascend to the pearly gates of Heaven and live happily ever after. My life didn’t instantaneously transform into favorable circumstances beyond my wildest dreams. I didn’t close my eyes one night and open them the next morning to every idealistic fantasy that had ever surfaced in my conscious. One typically doesn’t quit a job, abandon a lifestyle, tearfully exit a community, and then angelically descend onto cloud nine. At least not right away.

My decision to jump was… decisive, impulsive, rash, daring, brave, whatever you wanna call it. But, the transition in the aftermath was exactly that–a transition. It was a gradual shift of many things, and involved enrolling in health insurance, dabbling in minimalism, implementing stricter financial boundaries, and finding methods to ease the unavoidable anxieties that arise during change.

Jumping was sudden, I’ll admit, but the following steps I found to be more methodical than hasty. They were slow moving, not part of a one-two-and-done process. These baby steps after jumping eventually became the key data points that conclude a fairly cliche, yet simplistically valuable life lesson.

Earlier I spoke of a void–the time between departing one thing and taking-off with another–that I entered after quitting my job. Voids have come and gone limitlessly in my life, but this particular one lasted roughly four months. Four months. During those four months, I had no choice but to accept life unfolding slowly. I stayed active, but I also stayed patient. I clarified my goals, but I also trusted that I would know when I was ready to jump again.

I spent much time reading, writing, running, and reflecting. And while reflecting, I realized how much I had actually learned in “the void.” It taught me how to honor my authentic self, better understand my likes and dislikes, identify what I can handle vs. what I refuse to, and it simultaneously allowed me to narrow the areas I would like to push myself vs. establish where my true boundaries lie. And most of all, the void taught me that change takes time.

Change takes time. Especially lasting and sustainable change. Especially change that involves reforming old systems, whether they are outdated institutions existing in the world, or maybe long-expired behavior patterns existing inside of oneself.

Desired change takes time.

When I eventually felt ready to leave the void–when my goals felt more aligned and my confidence returned–I bought a one way ticket to Hawaii.

I bought a one way ticket to Hawaii and proclaimed to the Universe and anyone with ears that I was going to live and work on a farm for a month, maybe two, quite possibly indefinitely. I wanted to experience discomfort again. I wanted to meet new people. I wanted to learn about sustainable living. I wanted to explore the natural, earthy parts of myself. And Hawaii was the first destination to respond to this checklist.

And I said yes. Again, I didn’t have to take action. I didn’t have to jump. I didn’t have to travel one-way, indefinitely, and with not much of a plan. But in my wake of clarity, I did.

In her book, What I Know For Sure, Oprah writes:

“In every job I’ve ever taken and every city in which I’ve lived, I have known that it’s time to move on when I’ve grown as much as I can. Sometimes moving on terrified me. But always it taught me that the true meaning of courage is to be afraid, and then, with your knees knocking, to step out anyway. Making a bold move is the only way to advance toward the grandest vision the universe has for you.”

Maybe I didn’t have to take action, to quit my job, to pack up my life as I knew it and relocate, with an incomplete vision in mind. But then again, maybe I did. Maybe I was done growing at my previous job and former residence, and it was time to move on. Maybe where I was was stagnant, and where I was going was grand. Maybe, just maybe, my moments of clarity and decisions to jump weren’t random sensations, but were influenced all along by an innate hunger for more knowledge, more information, more life, and more light.

Whatever the case, I still wanted to shake things up for a bit, just to see how I weathered. I was eager to watch the pieces of my life get rolled around, chewed up, and spat back out, just to kinda see what would happen. Could I handle the changes? Did I want to handle them? What would I learn by trying?

I’m not sure I can answer these questions in full just yet. I just started the rolling and the chewing, and have yet to feel the effects of being spat back out a shiny, slobbery, and changed self.

What I will say, however, is that when you do start to make these adjustments–when you take a risk, flounder in a void, and dredge through uncharted waters–you begin noticing things that you’ve never noticed before. Certain things catch your attention that were previously brushed under the rug. Like, when you’re driving through New Mexico, you notice that there is snow in the desert. Snow in the desert! I was astonished. I had no clue that during the winter months there were actually frozen water particles existing as snow IN THE DESERT. Like, who knew about this? And, how did I not know about this?

I mean, it’s not because I don’t understand physical science or high-altitude ecosystems in such a way that validates the existence of snow in the desert. I’ve just never thought about it snowing in the desert before. I’ve also never thought about rats living in the sand on Ocean Beach before. I’ve never thought about Arizona’s political stance on the time change before. And I certainly have never thought about the global outbreak of an infectious disease transforming the nation within my lifetime.

So many of life’s compelling intricacies are glossed over… until they are forced into your physical reality. Until you actually see the snow in the desert with your own eyes. Or you encounter the rat on the beach while you’re reading a book. Or you’re visiting Arizona during Daylight Savings time. Or, an outbreak of coronaviru… You get my point.

Some of these revelations can shock you. Take you by initial surprise. Maybe even confuse you for a moment. But then, they inspire you to ask more questions and seek deeper meaning in the world around you. They capture your attention, leave you a little speechless, and provoke cognition. They widen your eyes, open your mind, and then, out of the blue, they make you ask questions like, why do humans eat meat?

And, why are some humans vegetarian? Why are others vegan? Whole-foods, plant-based? Why? For what reason? Because it’s healthy? Because it’s humane? Sustainable? Because it’s cool? All the popular kids are doing it?

Seeing snow in the desert really got me thinking… Why are people vegetarian?

And… Why, like I said, am I now trying to be one of those people? And also, why does it feel hard to be one of those people? Yes, why is it challenging for me to completely adhere to the guidelines of vegetarianism?

And then, the snow made me want to ask another question… Why are people NOT vegetarian?

And in my opinion… I think the answer to this is rooted in many of our inherent, egoic black or white mentalities. People are not vegetarians because we have created a world fueled by division. A world that always seeks to identify the others. A world that is either black or white, but hardly ever gray.

When it comes to being a vegetarian… you either are one, or you are not. There is no middle ground–no terminology for someone who is trying their best, but not meeting the standards. Because, if you are a vegetarian then you definitely are not not a vegetarian, and if you are not a vegetarian, even if it’s just for one meal, one day, or one month, then you most certainly are still not a vegetarian… if you catch my drift. You can’t have your cake and eat it too. Or, more fitting, you can’t eat meat once a week and be a vegetarian too. It’s all or nothing. It’s black or white.

But, is that really the point of being a vegetarian? Is quitting meat, cold-turkey, and for the indefinite future, the point of being a vegetarian? Should a vegetarian lifestyle really be contingent on the fact that meat has entered your body within the past week, month, or year? Or is there more to it?

The way I see it, vegetarianism has a lot more to offer than a yes or no question… and subsequently a yes or no answer. For me, vegetarianism is about making decisions that are better for oneself and for the world when presented with a choice. Vegetarianism is about using all the relevant information, resources, and knowledge that we have access to in order to make a wise, conscious decision in any given moment. But I beg to differ that it requires perfectionism.

Being vegetarian can be a little push and pull too–a little starting over every day and doing one’s best. It doesn’t have to be about eating NO meat, but it can be about eating LESS meat. Because through it all, vegetarianism is just another word, with another connotation, that labels individuals and rigidly defines another construct in society. But, instead of using the word as a label, we can use it as guidance. Instead of using it to define a self-image or clarify one’s social identity, we can use it as a way to make active decisions. Instead of using it to segregate the human population, we can use it to lessen the hierarchal gap between humans and animals.

The main motivator for me in putting my foot down and becoming a “vegetarian” was empathy–increased empathy for Earth’s animal kingdom; disgust with the inhumane operations of meat production facilities; acknowledgement of the health benefits of a meat-less diet; excitement regarding the missions and efforts of locally grown food sources. Eating meat suddenly became more than, “did I do it, or did I not?” It became, “why was I doing it?” and “when/if/how/under what circumstances should I do it, or not do it, again?”

I won’t hide the fact that since I’ve decided to be a vegetarian, I have eaten meat. Whoops. I’ve eaten friends’ meaty leftovers. I have eaten non-vegetarian cuisine at catered events. I’ve eaten Mom’s all-encompassing home-cooked meals. I have even willingly ordered the Napa chicken salad sandwich at Panera Bread once or thrice. But, with each of these encounters with meat, I had questions in mind, like why was I eating meat? How were these products sourced? Would this food go to waste?

Not all of my answers were exactly justifiable. But again, the point being: change takes time. And, better yet: change is constant. Change takes time because it can really only be measured on a multi-dimensional continuum, where regression, propulsion, and redirection are inevitable.

When making my decision to enact change in my diet, I decided to eliminate beef and pork first. My next goal would be chicken, and then I would work my way towards other dairy/animal products on the market. But in the meantime, I vowed to not mercilessly berate myself if meat ended up winding through my digestive track every once in a while because change takes time.

My good friend Liva, whom I met while working on the organic farm in Hawaii, put it very simply: “Don’t pressure yourself.” Liva was speaking about her own experience with veganism–you go, girl!–when she spoke these simple, yet insightful three words. Don’t pressure yourself. 

It’s so simple, yet so the truth.

Don’t pressure yourself to never eat meat ever again, until the end of time. Just eat less of it. Don’t pressure yourself to have it all figured out, every single day, all day. Just remember to laugh. Don’t pressure yourself to risk it all for a dream and expect results over night. Just take baby steps. Don’t pressure yourself to be someone who you are not. Don’t pressure yourself to do things that you would rather not.

I didn’t leave my job, my apartment, and my community just to immediately define my self and my career in some new title or degree program or city or circle of friends. Instead, I spent a few months, and am still spending a few months, trying some new things, quitting some more things, going back to those old things, hop scotching a little, double dutching, doing a few loop de loops, awing at the fact that a pandemic is actually in full swing, chatting with confusion a bunch… but, I’m doing this all in the name of honoring myself. Honoring my calling–my growth and my development. Honoring the planet–its voice and its needs. Honoring who I want to be, and how I want to help. This process could be one year or ten, or it could last for the rest of my lifetime because, change takes time. There is no fairy godmother. And also, I’m not going to pressure myself. 

When experiencing life… whether that’s through travel or work or relationships or service or even solitude… I find that each new experience helps me debunk myths. Whether it’s a myth about one’s self, about other cultures, lifestyles, cities, or just myths about the local restaurant with a 5-star Yelp rating… getting out and experiencing life will debunk those myths.

Sometimes, myths are busted in their favor. Like, you learn that Hawaii actually is as incredible as people say. Some myths shock you, like when you unexpectedly come across snow chillin’ in the desert. And then some myths provide you with new philosophies to guide you in life, like: change takes time, so don’t pressure yourself.

XXOO,