There's a man. I can't see his face, but he's holding a large block of paraffin wax (bear with me). He has a super fancy sports car. Red. Cherry. Possibly classic. Like maybe a Mustang or Camaro. I don't know. Unimportant. He looks at me and he says, "I'm gonna use this wax to fuel my car." My mouth dropped open. "Are you kidding??" I say. Clearly shocked. "That isn't FUEL." He turns the block over in his hands, examining it from every possible angle. "It's close. It's oily. Oil makes gas. Gas makes cars go. I'm gonna try it." I'm dumbfounded. He has to know you can't use wax to fuel a high-performance sports car. Idiot. "You can't do that to your car. You'll ruin it!"
He turns away from me and goes over to an oven, heating the block in a stockpot. After it's fully melted, he uses a funnel to pour it into the gas tank. I'm aghast, but this crazy man has made up his mind. All I can do is stand there and watch. He climbs into the front seat, turns the engine over, and gives me a thumbs up and a cheesy grin. He's proud of himself. He's impressed with himself. Hell, maybe he's even figured out a way to use cheap, over-processed wax to fuel cars. Could be the next big thing! I'm still standing there, watching and waiting for . . . I don't know. Something terrible to happen.
He drops her into gear, eases off the brakes, and idles to the edge of the driveway. Still all smiles, he signals and turns onto the road. I can see him smirking at me in the rear view, as if to say, "Told ya so." Half a mile down the road, the car sputters and dies, utterly ruined. He gets out, furious. "But it LOOKED like fuel! It even ACTED like fuel! It should have worked!"
He drops her into gear, eases off the brakes, and idles to the edge of the driveway. Still all smiles, he signals and turns onto the road. I can see him smirking at me in the rear view, as if to say, "Told ya so." Half a mile down the road, the car sputters and dies, utterly ruined. He gets out, furious. "But it LOOKED like fuel! It even ACTED like fuel! It should have worked!"
And it hit me - full in the face. This is what I do with food. Now my mouth is agape and I really am aghast. I was so worried about his precious sports car, his high-performance machine. What if he ruined it?? What if it killed the motor? Doesn't he know you can't put wax in a gas tank??? But how am I any different? It looks like food. It seems like food. It should work, right? It's close. I should try it! Why am I not worried about my own engine? My own high-performance machine? What if I ruin it?? What if I kill the motor???
In an instant, I got it. I'm not 100% sure what to do with this sudden realization, but man. What an eye-opener! I'm suddenly motivated to monitor every little thing that goes in my "tank" and my family's tanks. I've been motivated to eat cleaner lately, but this takes it to a whole new level. What am I doing - what have I done - to my body? What have I asked it to run on? How can I possibly expect to reach physical and athletic goals if I'm feeding myself wax of all things? What am I doing to my children. . . ? What am I setting them up for? Time to clean out the pantry, restock the fridge, and fuel with purpose. If I can get that fired up about a car in a dream, I should most certainly get that fired up about my own body and my family's bodies. We only get one. Let's not burn up the engine.
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