Choosing What’s On My Plate

The chocolate beet cake I made in an effort to make myself like beets.

I jotted down the note “I chose what’s on my plate” so many months ago, I can’t remember the full context of that moment. But it’s been an idea simmering in the back of my mind for a while now.

I think I was coming to the realization that my unorthodox path in career and personal life was truly my choice. That I had subconsciously and consciously wanted what I have created. That it was a product of my ego and my higher self, and every version of me in between. And that there is power in acknowledging my choice.

I had that thought pre-pandemic, pre-marriage, pre-business pivot. I think I was talking to a friend and saying, “I have a lot going on but I chose this. And I own it. And I don’t regret it. I trust my process.” That has been a consistent comfort to me as the months roll on. That I did choose this life I am creating. I chose my career and my clients and my partner and my friends and my lifestyle and the food I eat and the clothes I wear and the places I focus my energy and attention.

Some days I’m delighted with my choices and other days I’m overwhelmed and depressed. Some days I have lots of grace for the process and other days I have just a small piece of hope in it. But I keep noticing, again and again, that I keep choosing this path. This unique, one-of-a-kind way through life. It’s my way. It’s my best effort. It’s okay.

I wanted to finally write down my thoughts on this topic because I think it’s simmered in the background for long enough. Now, if ever, is the time for me to own what I have been creating, who I have been becoming. I like her. She’s capable of so much good. And she walks her own way that isn’t how other people would walk — for better and worse.

If you’ve been feeling overwhelmed with what’s on your plate, I offer you the peace that comes from owning what you have served yourself. In seeing the beauty and the best in it. In believing in your capacity to make good of it. Not alone, not miraculously, not in the dark. Step by step, month by month, lesson by lesson.

I think this is where the real feast is. In enjoying what we’ve chosen to put on our plates.