Every now and then, I have a moment that I think to myself “my God- that must be what recovery is.”

Today, walking with my coworker- complaining about our long meetings, our torrid love lives,  our mid-20s crisis-ing – she stopped mid-sentence- 5:45pm- and said “Yo I need a hot dog.”
“Huh?” I said, making a face.
“I need a hot dog,” she said, crossing toward the vendor. “We’ve passed like 5 stands and I want one.”

Standing there in Central Park, I watched her order a hot dog- mustard included- nonchalance on her face- and I had a moment that I thought to myself- “Shit, this must be what it’s like to grab food when you want it.”

For 8 years, I’ve passed fro-yo shops, 1$ pizza slices, croissants, muffins, falafel vendors- and thought “you want- but you can’t.”

1 year later- I still have moments that I want sometimes and think “Nah- it’s not time, you can’t eat till this time or that.”

It resonated today- such a simple act- because I think, mostly, that being free is allowing yourself the spontaneity of a hot dog. And I’d love to do that some day.

I can eat a handful of chips- a Dunkin Donut hole- a granola bar- even some Welch fruit snacks

But the awareness of it never leaves me- even now.

They teach you in rehab to listen to yourself.

To listen to your hunger cues- your stomach. Your intuition.

But what they can’t teach you is self-respect.

Flaming self-respect.

And that’s what lends you your ability to trust your intuitions- whatever they may be.

To trust your cues

Your impulses

Your needs.

And maybe I realize some days, that I am still working on that.

Spontaneous hot dogs people- it’s the small things in life.