Cereal.
Something ordinary. A cardboard box filled with sugared grains that children seem naturally drawn toward. Bright colors. Cartoon mascots. Tiny marshmallows. Easy.
Then one day you wake up and realize you’ve stopped eating cereal.
Somewhere between becoming an adult and becoming responsible, cereal quietly disappeared. Not because you stopped liking it, but because there were more important things to think about. Bills. Schedules. Laundry. Appointments. Dinner.
And suddenly you are responsible for everyone’s everything.
Okay, realistically it’s not the cereal.
It’s the freedom.
The freedom from before you felt responsible for carrying the whole world. Or at least before you believed you were supposed to.
That’s what started this letter.
The thought of cereal.
As a woman with 24 years of marriage, 22 years of motherhood and 42 years of life experience I can honestly say cereal has played a significant role in my story.
Cheerios when little fingers were learning to feed themselves.
Lucky Charms when they got older.
Cinnamon Toast Crunch when they suddenly became emo.
I can tell you the favorite cereal of nearly every person I’ve loved.
But if you had asked me two years ago what my favorite cereal was, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you.
Somewhere along the way I became an expert in everyone else’s preferences and completely forgot my own.
Today I celebrate eighty days sober with a dinner of my choosing.