The Buddhist Who Eats at Jack-in-the-Box

I am typing this from inside a Jack in the Box.  The smell of a fresh Supreme Croissant is wafting up from the table before me, perched next to my keyboard, still half contained in the wrapper, peeking out coyly.  In a few moments I will have eaten it, washed down with some delicious aspartame-enhanced Diet Coke, dispensed from a growling machine.  I come here most mornings, and give an enormous, faceless corporation $4.88 of my money to feed me Sysco bacon and non-diary imitation cheese.  From any perspective, the list of sins of this experience is long.  Vegetarians and Vegans would no doubt scold me for consuming a living animal.  Any nutritionist worth their salt would recoil in horror from the fat and salt, not to mention the ingredient list.  Organic food devotees would probably just lose their lunch (fava beans, raised locally).  Local food and slow food activists are probably already gathering to picket outside.

I am not thumbing my nose at these believers.  I have been a Vegetarian before.  I run marathons and study nutrition and believe wholeheartedly in a balanced diet.  I'm a fan of buying and eating locally.  And I'm as suspicious of GMOs as any quality San Franciscan would be.

So, why, then?  What's going on?  Am I living a lie?  Unable to face my demons, am I simply succumbing to my base desires?  Am I just a creature of habit?

Am I…a bad person?

I have, at times, fought my desire to eat fast food.  I threw every argument in the book at myself.  I looked at my Dad, a bit too paunch around the middle, and convinced myself I was headed for pot-bellied doom.  I told myself my marathon times would suffer.  I experienced some success here and there, especially during running season.  I, in fact, stopped eating fast food for 4 or 5 months.  I was miserable, slogging through mornings of cereal and fruit.  One day, bags under my eyes, I gazed at myself in the shaving mirror and realized: I hate this.  The emotion was so strong, I told myself I was a bad Yogi; a bad meditator; maybe, a bad person.  I felt lousy about myself.

What is the right answer?  Should I clamp down on my own behavior, keeping a tight grip on myself to ensure I never slip, hate myself for every failure, never trusting or loving myself enough to let go for even a moment?  Or, should I give up, enjoy the immediate pleasure of gorging myself on fast food, and then hate myself every time I look in the mirror?

No.  Both of these paths are founded on hate, mistrust, regret, fear.  I reject them and choose love for myself.  I choose the third path, the path of love, of patience, of kindness.  I love myself enough to eat the Supreme Croissant when I really, really want one.  But I also love myself enough to leave off the cheese.  I love myself enough to order the chocolate shake - but I also love myself enough to get the small, and to go running first.  I love myself enough to trust that I will make the right choices.  And the more I let go, the less anxiety I feel, and an interesting thing happens - my desire to eat fast food lessens.  It never goes away completely, because eating salt and fat is part of who I am.  It was part of my childhood.  It makes me feel safe (laugh if you want, but it does).  But now, when I do eat fast food, I'm eating what I really want to eat, not what my anxiety pushes me to consume to make me feel whole.  

There is a lesson here for anyone trying to lose weight, quit smoking, finish that dissertation, whatever it is: the more you hate, the more you fail.  When you try to pile up enough hate to succeed, you are like a man in a desert trying to fashion a drink of water out of more and more sand.  You cannot hate yourself enough to succeed at tasks like these - not in the long run, at least.  So, when self-deprivation feels like self-hate, it's not the right path.  But, at the same time, when indulgence feels like self-loathing, it's also time to stop.  When you reach for that cigarette, or that double cheeseburger, do so mindfully, fully aware and accepting of the present.  Enjoy it fully.  When you're halfway done, check in with yourself - do you need the second half?  Could you maybe be happy with just putting out that light, or throwing away the second half?  If the answer is no, then keep going - if yes, put it down.  Depending on who you are, you may just find yourself wanting it less and less, and perhaps eventually you'll really quit.  Or maybe you won't.

But at least you won't hate yourself.

P.S. I'm not, actually, a Buddhist; just a fan of the principles and precepts.  But it made for a nicer title.