Indulgences

On Friday we had dinner with some friends and I got myself into a nice little tizzy. We were talking about our kids, so genuine emotion crept in, and shortly thereafter I found myself venting strong opinions. I quite enjoyed this and forayed further into indignation, which was somewhat addictive, and led into a touch of self-righteousness and even judgment on others involved. Shortly after, I felt a moral bloat akin to the gaseous kind I used to get when eating too much dessert from the Cheesecake Factory. Also a bitter kind of aftertaste amid the knowledge that I do live in a glass house and have no merit on which to throw stones. 

The highs of the discussion felt like the rush of any semi-forbidden or self-indulgent activity. Stepping out on a limb, revealing a private experience, feeling like  a dragon who moved her tail to reveal a luscious bit of hidden treasure, but who threatens to move it back again, or just burn the whole house down if she feels like it. I was shocked afterward that I even enjoyed a moment of it, but I shouldn't be.

It's exciting to play with fire and live a tiny bit on the edge. I've been trying to live cautiously since recovery commenced and mostly it serves me well, but sometimes it's boring. I usually am happy to power-walk but sometimes I just want to run. The diet usually makes sense and I am so grateful for my happy stomach that I stick to dried seaweed and plantain chips, but sometimes, damn it!, I want real pizza, chips, guacamole and salsa, ice cream and chocolate. Mostly I aim to breathe in and out and appreciate the present moment but sometimes  I want to dream big, feel the rush and the passion of planning a big race or a daring adventure. 

The question of how to combine Zen calmness and a passion for life is a big one. One thing I know is that self-righteous indignation has no place. It's a poor substitute for the real rush, and I'll have to do better.