A toast to self-indulgence
I’m doing okay. I have the most excellent jar of strawberry rhubarb jam in my refrigerator right now. It’s an essential part of my new nightly snack and moment of zen. In the midst of trying to get my kids launched and see my mom through her last years, I keep from burning out or falling into martyrdom with strawberry rhubarb jam. Also new sneakers.
Here’s the deal. I get paid twice a month. Out of each paycheck I make sure to buy something for myself. Often it’s something I truly need, but in the past I might have gone without anyway. Usually it’s something small. I’m not talking diamonds. I’m talking new hair elastics or a book of kakuro puzzles. But it’s something for me, a selfish indulgence to keep me human.
A couple of weeks ago it was a pricey jar of strawberry rhubarb jam thrown into the cart with my pile of store brands. I still have half the jar to enjoy after a several nights of enjoying of a spoonful of red heaven spread on toast. This most recent paycheck saw me retire the shoes that have served me for more than a thousand walking miles. I thanked them for their aid and put them out to pasture (literally, I’m using them for yard work now) as I laced up my new sneaks. I have tread again!
Old and Wallered Out, you’ll be expected to train your replacement, New and Shiny.
I don’t know if it’s admirable or pathetic or something else altogether when I find myself coping with a stressful moment in the morning by reminding myself of the snack I can have at night. I hope I’m not straying into “Bread and Jam for Frances” territory.
I don’t think it’s indicative of a pathological food issue. I’ll walk off the calories – I have shoes for that.