Every once in a while I get an image of myself as I’d like to be: admirably self-controlled, unruffled, good-humored, respectful of others and therefore eliciting respect for herself, setting high standards for myself but being tolerant of others . . . the list goes on. It’s a picture of my so-called “best self.” That person doesn’t actually exist, unfortunately, but I find that picturing her is helpful. Last night, for example, we were at a restaurant celebrating a family birthday and I had ordered chili rellenos. Very, very good. But there were two of them, and I knew after finishing one that I didn’t need any more. I could save the rest for today. But that second one, with its crispy crust (always get the crispy rellenos! it’s a rule of life) was very tempting. I looked at it; it looked at me. And I thought, ‘My ideal self wouldn’t eat it. She’d stick to what she decided to do.’ So, while I did cut off one corner, the rest came home with me and is sitting in the fridge even now, waiting to be consumed for lunch.
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