One Fish, Two Fish
Well, one fish, so far anyway--a fish more red fish than blue fish.
After writing recently about my year as a vegan wannabe, I spent a week being inexplicably fatigued and depressed. I knew enough time had elapsed since my exhausting marathon experience that I needed to return to running. I knew I had to be present for friends in need of solace in the aftermath of losing loved ones. I knew I had to show up for work in fighting form rather than in flighting form. All these imperatives, the kind that I'm used to rising up and meeting, felt overwhelming to me.
My body, which for the most part has done well during my year-long adventures in foodland, last week seemed ready to glare at the whole living actively thing and just mail it in and return to bed. I felt as if it was telling my inner hunter-gatherer to go find some protein. (Side note: I stopped eating meat in 1988 but continued to eat seafood. This aspect of my history made turning to some piscine protein a natural thing to do.)
The inner moral imperatives that drove me to forgo animal-based food for a year arose mainly out of my desire not to participate in the infliction of pain and suffering on other living creatures or on the earth itself. That said, I recognize that death is a natural part of the food chain, and we humans are all food-chain participants in one way or another. If you believe (and I do) that a terrible life is equally or even more awful than a terrible death, then it's possible to argue that killing a fish is better than killing a chicken, a cow, a pig, or a lamb. My objection to seeing an inexhaustible food source in fish, who seem capable of living pretty well in their watery world, has always been tied more to the alarming degradation of our oceans than to the cruelty of ending fish lives (although I haven't been crazy about that, either). I know that fish farming can be an ecological nightmare, so I searched out and bought a couple of pieces of salmon that were labeled "wild caught."
I swear that when I cook chicken for Z I can sometimes feel the pain and suffering of the animals rising up at me out of the pan--something about the body reactions they must have had to the inhumane treatment they received before they ended up as parts in the meat case. (We know that the unalleviated release of stress hormones by human bodies under duress can cause illness and also cause the sufferers to pass their angst on to others--surely other living creatures can be affected in a similar way.) I didn't feel those sad vibes when I cooked the salmon, although who's to say I wasn't just fooling myself. I don't know how much fish I'll buy and eat in the months to come, but I do feel that at least for now, that door is partially open.
What's indisputable is that I had a fine run early today. Whether it was related to last night's dinner is not a question I can answer. But I did feel good when I awoke, and had a lively time this birdsong-filled morning. Wispy fog drifted overhead but never really took hold (see below).
After writing recently about my year as a vegan wannabe, I spent a week being inexplicably fatigued and depressed. I knew enough time had elapsed since my exhausting marathon experience that I needed to return to running. I knew I had to be present for friends in need of solace in the aftermath of losing loved ones. I knew I had to show up for work in fighting form rather than in flighting form. All these imperatives, the kind that I'm used to rising up and meeting, felt overwhelming to me.
Eating a fish seemed like a reasonable remedial action to take, so I took it.
My body, which for the most part has done well during my year-long adventures in foodland, last week seemed ready to glare at the whole living actively thing and just mail it in and return to bed. I felt as if it was telling my inner hunter-gatherer to go find some protein. (Side note: I stopped eating meat in 1988 but continued to eat seafood. This aspect of my history made turning to some piscine protein a natural thing to do.)
The inner moral imperatives that drove me to forgo animal-based food for a year arose mainly out of my desire not to participate in the infliction of pain and suffering on other living creatures or on the earth itself. That said, I recognize that death is a natural part of the food chain, and we humans are all food-chain participants in one way or another. If you believe (and I do) that a terrible life is equally or even more awful than a terrible death, then it's possible to argue that killing a fish is better than killing a chicken, a cow, a pig, or a lamb. My objection to seeing an inexhaustible food source in fish, who seem capable of living pretty well in their watery world, has always been tied more to the alarming degradation of our oceans than to the cruelty of ending fish lives (although I haven't been crazy about that, either). I know that fish farming can be an ecological nightmare, so I searched out and bought a couple of pieces of salmon that were labeled "wild caught."
I swear that when I cook chicken for Z I can sometimes feel the pain and suffering of the animals rising up at me out of the pan--something about the body reactions they must have had to the inhumane treatment they received before they ended up as parts in the meat case. (We know that the unalleviated release of stress hormones by human bodies under duress can cause illness and also cause the sufferers to pass their angst on to others--surely other living creatures can be affected in a similar way.) I didn't feel those sad vibes when I cooked the salmon, although who's to say I wasn't just fooling myself. I don't know how much fish I'll buy and eat in the months to come, but I do feel that at least for now, that door is partially open.
What's indisputable is that I had a fine run early today. Whether it was related to last night's dinner is not a question I can answer. But I did feel good when I awoke, and had a lively time this birdsong-filled morning. Wispy fog drifted overhead but never really took hold (see below).
Sight # 1 from the run: Here's the backside of the mighty and and rather puzzling Berkeley gate I featured in this blog not long ago.
Sight # 2: And here's the Berkeley Montessori School, housed in the old Sante Fe railway station. Looks like budding Berkeley peaceniks have been decorating the window.
Sight # 2: And here's the Berkeley Montessori School, housed in the old Sante Fe railway station. Looks like budding Berkeley peaceniks have been decorating the window.
I don't want to misrepresent myself in this space, and that's why I'm writing about my fish tale. I feel that I'd rather not eat fish, but if and when I do, I need to 'fess up. Life, death, fish, running. Complicated stuff!
Comments
I read a book recently that engaged me in ways that might resonate with you: Eating Animals. The book made me think about eating meat in limited ways, that by investing in humane and sustainable practices I may be more of a participant in creating a market. Better than being an innocent bystander, which is what I've always considered myself to be. I haven't changed yet but I'm exploring it. Give it a read and let me know what you think. Eating is complicated and personal but I enjoy hearing what others think.