Hey Reader,
I was a vegetarian for 26 years.
From the age of 11, I gave up meat and ate a fully vegetarian diet. My mum wasn’t exactly thrilled about cooking two different meals every day, but she eventually caved to the will of her animal-loving gobshite pre-teen.
But being vegetarian in the 90s was madness.
I’m not even talking vegan—I drank cow’s milk, ate eggs, loved cheese. But I still got treated like I’d joined a cult headed by Linda McCartney and powered by lentils and noxious farts. I learned very quickly not to mention it, because a baffling number of people took my choice to bodyswerve a Big Mac as a personal attack.
People took it upon themselves to make their steaks moo at me over dinner. I got told, repeatedly, “We have canine teeth for a reason, you know!” like that was some kind of mic-drop. (Human canine teeth are for breaking larger, tougher items into smaller bites. That’s it. We’re not lions.)
And this wasn’t just playground nonsense—some grown-ass adults would get weirdly defensive, interrogate me like I was making a life choice that contravened the fucking Geneva Conventions, or give me that tight-lipped smile that said how annoying for your parents.
On reflection, I now realise that some people felt really triggered by my personal choice because, to them, it DID feel like I was casting aspersions on their lifestyle—even when I never even raised the topic to begin with. I would never purport vegetarianism to be The One True Way nor try to inflict my beliefs on them like some kind of plant-based Jehovah’s Witness, but I still had to withstand some very weird behaviour from people who should have known better.
All this to say that the strangest interactions actually came from people who were quite positive about the idea.
“I’d love to go veggie, but I couldn’t give up my Christmas dinner”
Babe, the answer is right there.
You CAN go vegetarian, and then whenever Christmas rolls around again, gorge yourself on boiled hams and a turkey with all the trimmings, and then? Just be veggie again.
Mate, cover yourself in strips of bacon and call yourself a pig in a blanket for all I care.
You don’t need to do something perfectly or not at all. We’re not in a “win, or just fuck off and die” scenario—and yeah, I know that competitive school environments, some pushier parents, and David Goggins would love push this narrative, but how about this:
You get to make choices that challenge you, but also do it sustainably and enjoyably.
You can be vegan EXCEPT for cheese.
You can write that newsletter once a fortnight, or once a month, or even just once.
You can start that new tech stack or blog or side-project and do it badly, or inconsistently, or imperfectly—and it still counts.
Because done imperfectly still moves the needle. The myth of “all or nothing” is the fastest way to stay stuck.
And weirdly? Half-assing something often gets you further than not-assing at all.
Repeat after me: You don’t need your full ass in every pie. (That’s one quotable for your latest post…)
You get to define your own level of commitment.
You get to change your mind.
You get to do things on your terms, at your pace.
Eat the cheese, enjoy the turkey, post that singular newsletter.
You don’t need to be a zealot to self-perfection, you majestic little sausage.
