So, it's no secret that I'm an unabashed cheese fanatic. In fact, "The Unfortunate Cheese Incident" is one of the stories I get the most audience requests for when I read from my first book, Living With Intention, at author events and book signings. I've always intrinsically felt like cheese is one of the great unifiers of society, but I didn't really understand the breadth and depth of that unity until I actually agreed to...I can't believe how hard it is to look at this in print...give up cheese for an undetermined but significant period of time.
When I injured my back, my good friend Kelli, a highly esteemed chiropractor and healer extraordinaire, suggested that I might consider giving up dairy to help decrease some of the inflammation in my body. "Dairy?" I mentioned. "You mean including cheese?" I asked (since I knew but didn't really want to hear the answer). "Yes, including cheese," she replied nonchalantly (all the while I could feel the panic briskly making its way into every cell of my being).
"You mean FOREVER?"I stuttered. She could see my eyes darting around looking for an exit, but I think she realized that my back injury conveniently would prevent me from running screaming from the building. "Well, I would prefer forever, but at least while you are healing from this injury. If you want to heal faster and more effectively, that is." The room started to close in.
Just prior to having to resuscitate me from a hyperventilation-induced swoon, she managed to share a very compelling and well-founded argument that convinced me to embrace the "cheese free me" for an indeterminate time frame. She assured me that such a feat would not only speed my recovery, but also likely would not single-handedly signal the demise of the dairy industry (though I still have to wonder if "Deanna swears off cheese consumption" shouldn't be considered one of the seven signs of the Apocalypse for cows everywhere).
I told her I'd give it my best try and headed home, where I kicked myself for agreeing to it (kind of like the way you do when you say something like, "sure, I'd love to coordinate the family reunion logistics." You know it's a train wreck waiting to happen but you've always been told that bright lights in the distance are supposed to be signaling something good rather than impending doom).
I shared the decision to embark on my self-imposed cheese fast with my Business Development Director, Katie, whose first response, laced with utter shock and indignation, was, "FOREVER?" As you may recall, this was exactly my response when introduced to the idea to begin with. I proceeded to share the merits of my decision with her while trying to assure her that I would likely survive the ordeal though may possibly be somehow disabled or disfigured during the process (by my own hands or other means). In such case, I advised her to seek business reparations from my friend the chiropractor (Kelli, I love you but I need to provide for my children's future).
Katie, a freelance writer and fellow foodie, proceeded to leave that day on a writing assignment for a regional magazine with the task of profiling a lovely mountain retreat and its many pampering and culinary services. She returned the next day and (to this day I don't know what possessed her) proceeded to share with me the highlight of her trip--a gourmet cheese platter with no less than fifteen creamy delicacies served to her with great fanfare the evening before. "I couldn't take another bite because everything was so good and I ate so much," she complained. So, she reported, she had brought home the leftovers, which she offered to me just prior to recalling that I was living in a self-imposed cheese deprivation chamber. I contemplated pummeling her with a wedge of aged white cheddar but held back. "I'm stronger than this," I thought, but it was the realization that "If I take her out now, I'll have to assume her workload" that actually saved her that day. Who knew that dairy products could incite violence?
I then showed up to my chiropractic appointment, chirping to my doctor/friend that I had made it "one week, cheese free!" I thought I should get a coin or a certificate or at least a standing ovation from the reception desk, but no congratulations were forthcoming. It turns out, though, that the physical therapists in the area had been chatting with her about the merits of dropping dairy, and she held me up as a recent success story for them. "Yep," I said, "I said goodbye to cheese last Friday because I'm willing to do this for my health." One of them piped up, "you gave up cheese FOREVER?" with a disturbing combination of awe and disgust laced with a touch of fear and trepidation. "Ooooohhhh nooooooo," I assured her. "I'm just on a dairy sabbatical. But I'll be baaaacccckkk."
Finally, at a girls' night out event yesterday I shared with my good friend Alison the whole tale of my recent cheese strike and its impact on my life. Like the others, she chimed incredulously, "You gave up cheese FOREVER?", her eyes big and wide like rounds of brie (in case you're wondering, I really did think that). I assured her it was temporary and she relaxed enough to hear the rest of the story.
What have I learned through my ten days of cheese sobriety?
- Yes, it's possible to do even the most painful of things when the benefits outweigh the drawbacks, even when they are significant and publicly documented by others.
- Yes, it is possible and sometimes productive to set an indefinite goal simply to start moving in the right direction.
- Yes, cheese really is the great unifier. Everyone I've shared this decision with has responded in exactly the same way, with fear and horror followed by a simple peace that suggests, "hey, I'm just glad it's you and not me."
Seriously, though, the cheese free me has found this experience a bit enlightening. It's all a matter of knowing what you value in your life. At this time I value my health and mobility over my undying commitment to smoked gouda. I'm willing to do what it takesto honor that value. At least for today. I don't know how long I'll decide to boycott my beloved butterkase but I do know that the decision is entirely mine and I can commit to it in this moment. And when I'm ready, in the next moment. One decision, one step, one moment, one cheese-free day at a time.
