Spiderman, French Toast & Spiritual Peace

My wife gave me a Spiderman spatula for Christmas.  Actually it was the
whole set:  Spiderman, Iron Man, Captain American and of course, Hulk...

"It's two of  your favorite things, Honey," She beamed, "Superheroes and cooking!"

"It's all in the juicer"

I looked down on the four men who have been a big part of my life and thought of how good it would be to cook my favorite breakfast: Peanut-butter French Toast using Spiderman or Iron Man to flip them over till  they were a toasty brown but I couldn't.  "I can't use them - I'm juice fasting now."  I sadly proclaimed.

I had bought a juicer - the Breville BJE50XL.   It's like the Tom Brady of juicers.  My plan was simple. Juice, Cleanse and get into the best shape of my life.  I would lose weight, create a clean and high-functioning digestive system and make 2013 the BEST YEAR OF MY LIFE..!! (echo for effect)

"I wear Uggs, too..."

The only problem is I like food.  My wife makes Christmas cookies - all kinds: chocolate with peppermint icing, vanilla cookies with sprinkled candy canes, sandwiched chocolate cookies with Nutella filling - stacks and stacks of cookies and I couldn't eat one.  I was juicing.  I was perfect.  I was Tom Brady.

When we sat down to a Christmas Eve Dinner that included glazed ham, mashed potatoes, sweet yams and pecan pie, I had carrots, kale and ginger juice.  Christmas morning amidst the presents, wrapping paper and scrambled eggs and bacon - I sipped on a mixture of pulverized beets, spinach & celery stalks.

New Years Eve brought our family, everyone's favorite foods ordered from everyone's favorite restaurants.  I had a purple concoction made from beets, celery and ginger.  Happy New Years, indeed...

My wife and kids seemed happy, joyous and content but I was hungry, angry and sick of cleaning out a freaking juicer four or five times a day. Staring at the hanging Spiderman spatula hanging on the kitchen wall conjuring up images of golden brown french toast served underneath a wet blanket of syrup; a cup of Starbucks Christmas Blend coffee on the side just made it worse.


 "Tom Brady..." I grumbled to myself as I took another sip of my red beet juice that tasted like sour dirt.

That night I broke my fast - in the middle of the night.  I had about fourteen sugar cookies, a half a side of ham and three Hershey chocolate Santas.    Shamed and smudged with chocolate, I crawled into bed and slept with Nutella-smothered cookies dancing in my head - 2013 was a few hours old and I had already failed.

The next week went pretty much the same - healthy juicing at day, shameful gluttonous gorging at night, all in the pursuit of Tom Brady-like perfection.  I couldn't look my kids in the eye any time they asked me about what I was putting in my juicer.  It was like a big fat  lineman trying to stick his chubby feet in a pair of Tom Brady Uggs and having his kids say, "Looks good, Dad!"  

"I'm a disgusting gluttonous pig..." I thought to myself as I munched on another sugar cookie.   Then, finally, today, on the first day of the NFL Playoffs - it all changed....

I woke this morning with one affirmative thought in my head:  "I am not Tom Brady".    In the NFL game of Life, I am a blitzing safety, an undersized guard but I am not the QB.  I can't handle having the game rest on my shoulders - I'd rather be the guy who nothing is expected from and then surprises everyone with an occasional big play.    

Sure Tom's got the rings, the supermodel and sits on the throne of greatness but who wants that kind of pressure.  Am I really going to spend the entire year juicing in the pursuit of that? 

I am not Tom Brady - I am Ryan Wendell.  

Undersized and undervalued.  Show up every day and do your job the best you can.  

That's TRUTH.  That's Power.    

My life is not about glory but guts.  Grabbing my lunchbox, going to work and grinding it out every day - a constant pursuit of improvement not perfection.   

That morning - with the sun shining bright,  I walked into the kitchen, pulled out the pan, eggs, Spiderman spatula while shouting, "Who wants some French Toast?!"   

Spidey and I made French Toast, smothered them in Nutella, maple syrup, and powdered sugar.  I was happy, the family was happy and I was at peace.   I was not Tom Brady.  I was Ryan Wendell.  Filled with imperfections, coffee and Nutella-smothered french toast, ready to plop down on the couch watch the NFL playoffs and remember 2013 would be about progress not perfection.    Somewhere out there, I knew Tom Brady was smiling....

And  if he needs a juicer, I can get him one - cheap.