I Regret the Nachos
What’s your biggest regret in life? A question weve all been asked at least once. There’s a lot I could say. A lot that if you knew me or my story might come to mind.
Funnily enough, my biggest regret is not the eating disorder that robbed me at 15, nor is it dropping out of a school and program I loved to be closer to home. My biggest regret is not any of the big, potentially life-altering things that one might assume.
My biggest regrets are the little things-- the seemingly mundane choices made by me and me alone, that together, had the cumulative impact of distancing and disconnecting me from making memories of moments now lost forever.
My biggest regret was nachos-- or rather, refusing nachos offered to me by the boy I loved. We were new. Just a couple months in, still in that honeymoon, put-you-on-a-pedestal phase that true lovers know all too well. I had taken out my bike for a ride on a sunny day, and 14 kilometers later, arrived on the mainstreet of his house. I had told him I might drop by after my ride, so I called him to see if he still wanted me over. Of course, he responded happily.. I have a surprise for you.
And when I showed up at his house, tanned and sweating from the heat and exertion, he opened the door with a platter of fresh-from-the-oven nachos.
“I even went to the store to find vegan cheese!” He beamed at me on the threshold.
And he did. There it glistened in white and orange chunks, studded with carefully diced tomatoes and onions and all kinds of peppers. It was a beautiful plate of nachos, and a beautiful act of love. He wanted to feed me.
I’m not hungry I told him. Thank you though. I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him a big kiss, as if that could make up for my selfish rejection. He was hurt. More hurt, I realize now, than even he really comprehended at the time. And more than that, I hurt us. I denied us a moment and memory, because of my fear of food, and putting my innate rules and rituals above an opportunity to share in a spontaneous joy.
Three years later, we were over. Dissolved like wet kleenex being used to wipe a winestained shirt. I dont blame the nachos. But I blame all the cumulative moments of rejected conenction, on his end and mine, that eventually escalated in the end of our unconditional love. I put conditions on it. I love you, but only if there is no cheese, no surprises.
I regret the nachos.
Six years later, in this new world of freedom and recovery and a healthy relationship with V, I find myself in so many “nacho” moments . Spontaneous, seemingly benign moments, that are really opportunities for connection.
Sipping drinks waiting on our nachos to arrive at Rosalinda’s
It's not always automatic in my brain, but I make the choice to be open to these moments. To say “yes” to sharing the order of fries or onion rings as an appetizer, even if its more calories than I usually ingest with my go to order.
Fresh’s Onion rings give us life.
Or gratefully accepting the avocado toast lovingly made for me by V on a Sunday morning, even if my brain tells me I don’t “need” to eat yet.
V’s Deelish Avo Toast Creation
And yes, sharing a plate of nachos on a Cinqo de Mayo, because its big and cheap and fun, because as the saying goes, no great night ever started with “I ordered a salad.”
Life is better because I eat. the. nachos.
Sharing deep dish pizza (!!) with V in Chicago