It’s funny how having a greasy slice of deep crust pizza can turn your mood around.

 Even if you’re supposedly a very healthy person, even if you are disciplined, even if you are a connoisseur of fine cuisine – if you are sad, pizza can make you feel better.

But the thing about using pizza to make yourself feel better is that the effect is inversely related to how often you self-medicate with the substance.

Like a narcotic, the amount of food you need to make yourself feel better grows greater with the frequency of use.

 I am a worrier and constantly anxious.  I worry about whether there will be heavy traffic on my way from work to dinner, about whether I left the coffee pot on, about whether the Bachelor will pick a bachelorette I don’t approve of, about whether my boyfriend will fall out of love with me.

Interestingly, my boyfriend doesn’t have this problem.  Like a golden retriever, he takes joy in his everyday activities.  He takes life as it comes and enjoys simple moments without stressing over when the next one will come — or how to make it come.  I sometimes like to think that my anxiety is related to my high intelligence and motivation, but he proves me wrong on these points. He’s as hard-working as I am, as ambitious, as smart… but content.  

 Is it possible that there is a segment of society (my segment) whose activities are primarily reactionary? I call friends when I miss them, so the missing will stop.  I buy water when I’m thirsty, so I can quench.  I eat pizza when I’m sad, to feel comfort. While all of this may seem normal, there is a problem: It is never really enough. I’ll miss people again, I’ll be thirsty again, I’ll be sad again.  There really isn’t enough substance to permanently fill a void.

I once watched my boyfriend agonize over a beverage choice on a warm day on which we were biking.  He chose Coke.  I picked Gatorade, because my electrolytes were depleted. When I asked him why he would choose a carbonated caffeinated beverage for such an activity, he pointed happily to the sign above us: “Enjoy Coke.”

 What if… we did things because we simply enjoyed them?  What if every time we run into a friend, we let it feed our soul and store in our hearts against loneliness?  What if every time we ate something delicious, we closed our eyes and felt its comfort?  What if every moment of our life, we just… existed and enjoyed it. What if we accepted the moments and impulses and longings in our life and did not feel the irresistible urge to immediately shut them down?

 Would we feel less anxious?  Would we search for solutions less frantically? Would we stop self-medicating? I’m not sure, and I don’t have time to think about it.  I need to go heat up my coffee.  Because I’m cold.