A Beginning: I Would Eat the Marshmellow

Today, I start this blog because of this article in the New Yorker. Before you dive in to the fascinating six page story from Jonah Lehrer, let me warn you, you may never look at marshmellows the same way again. In short summary, a group of psychologists believe that it is possible to actually pinpoint the self-control center of the brain, and their studies were inspired by a group of four-year-olds tested on how long they could resist eating a marshmellow. The scientists are in the nascent stages of looking at how the four-year-olds' responses in the 1960s test predict their lifetime achievements and ability to exhibit self-control as adults.

As I drove home from work, a place where I regularly succumb to the free offer (they're FREE, I HAVE TO) of a bagel with cream cheese, a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice from the frou-frou cafe down the street, or honey-roasted peanuts, it occurred to me that I have always gone for instant gratification when it came to food. As a four-year-0ld, I would unequivocally have gone for the marshmellow. Every time. And I still exhibit a strong weakness for breakfast foods. As I begin my 36th year and attempt to learn self-control in a world where Cinnabon is 2 miles from my house and Coldstone Creamery is literally within walking distance, I need to write about my journey.

The funny thing is, I am not terrible at denying myself other things for practical reasons - new pants get put off until the next paycheck arrives, my hair is colored at home to save me the cost of the salon, and my paperwork is done before my relaxing moments. It is only when I'm confronted with rich yellow cake and raspberry filling that a second slice always seems like a really good idea. And I should know better - my father and grandfathers on both sides of my family, as well as two uncles and my grandmother all have Type II diabetes.

So is it, then, that I watched my dad relax at the end of a day and have not one or two Keebler's Fudge Stripe cookies, but a whole row from the crinkly plastic container that took forever to slide back into the wrapper, for as long as I can remember in my childhood? Or is it that my best moments with my mom were over a hot cup of Lipton tea (with sugar and milk, of course) and a piece of Entemann's Raspberry Danish?

The moments when I feel anxious or angry never last longer than a Snickers Bar or a beautiful pile of strawberry pancakes loaded with whipped cream. And I know that learning to find other outlets for those emotions, like writing, will take time.

For now, I'm going to celebrate finally putting fingers to keys by taking a walk with my potbellied pigs in our backyard. And leave the chocolate for another day.