It’s hard to write about finding your way when you haven’t found your way yet. But I guess it’s like… when you’re in the grocery store, any you’re trying to be healthier, or make better choices, and go a little further then your comfortable generic meat-cheese-eggs-bread haul. So you’re loading up your basket with foods you have tried, and you like but you’re worried you might not be able to finish all on you’re own, but you want to try again anyway. Or things you haven’t tried yet, but you want to or know you should because they’ll be good for you, or you think they’ll be good for you, so you pile them on even though you know you’re risking them rotting in the back of your fridge two weeks from now.

And don’t get me started on the baskets— the ones you swear you don’t need, utterly convinced that you’re just coming in for a handful of things, that you don’t need one, only to be juggling an armful of groceries you most certainly don’t have the armful-capacity to handle and struggling to keep that stray tomato from tumbling to the ground, too stubborn to go back and get a cart and too stubborn— too embarrassed— to ask for help.

But at least you’re trying. And maybe that spaghetti made out of squash you bought because you’re pretty sure you’re some level of gluten intolerant will taste gross no matter how much different sauces or seasonings you layer on it, and maybe the rest will sit in the back of your fridge until it gets slimy and gross and forgotten. But you’re trying. You’re finding out what works, and what doesn’t. You’re making the effort, despite everything. Sometimes, maybe many times, you’ll regress back to frozen meals and ramen and eggs and bread and the most basic of things, but you still make you’re way to the store, and you still buy that stupid squash or that new fish meal or that fresh salad mix. And you might find that you like it, and you might find that you don’t, but you’re trying, and you’re muddling along, and you’re learning more about your tastes and your desires and your plans for your next grocery shop every day. So it’s like a whole journey, by the time you’ve checked out at Whole Foods and decided to forego the box of wine.

And after all that, I’m pretty sure that’s a simile, not a metaphor.