You Will Never Believe How I Ended 2025
My final act of the year was the act of a changed man I barely recognize…
It’s a metaphor but it’s also literal (you’ll see, keep reading.)
Motivational speakers (and apparently, according to the internet, William S. Burroughs) love to tell people that if they aren’t growing, then they’re dying. While this sentiment is used to justify some of the dumbest, most head-scratchingly baffling choices made by humans (cough, capitalism, cough again), I do, for the most part, believe that personal growth is good.
But sometimes, that growth leads to a moment so out of character for the person that you imagine yourself to be, you’re left wondering who you actually are and what happened to the old you. What path did I take that brought me to this place, and is it too late to retrace my steps if I don’t like the scenery here and want to go back? Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and how the hell did I end up here, ya know?
I found myself feeling this way as I threw an entire, untouched (by me, at least), perfectly good to the naked eye, pizza into a dumpster on New Year’s Eve. Who am I, and what have I done with myself?
Ordering pizza on New Year’s Eve is one of the small holiday traditions my wife and I have built together. It started in 2021 when, a few days into our overly ambitious plan to visit both of our families for the holidays, we learned that we came into close contact with somebody who, just after we saw them, tested positive for Covid. We didn’t feel comfortable with the possibility of continuing our trip and hanging out with grandparents and babies, and anybody else who might not have the strongest immune system. After testing negative, we had to decide if we wanted to spend the holidays isolated in a Holiday Inn Express in the middle of Illinois or return to Los Angeles while we were still in the clear. We chose the latter and had a makeshift, cozy (and Covid-free) holiday season at home. It ended up being a very special first holidays together.
We continued those traditions this year, most of which are food-related. We made Italian Wedding Soup on Christmas Eve (a tradition inspired by my family’s Christmas Eve celebration). We made stuffed shells on Christmas Day (a comfort meal from my wife’s childhood). And on New Year’s Eve, we ordered our favorite pie from our new favorite LA pizza location. Does this make us sound like the most Italian family in Los Angeles? I assure you, we are not.
The pizza delivery arrived, and I ran through the cold Los Angeles rain to meet the delivery driver at our gate. I thanked them, wished them a Happy New Year, and danced through the raindrops on my way back home, delicious pizza in my arms. When I returned to our apartment, after shaking off the rain like a wet dog, I realized the tamper-proof seal on our pizza box was broken, and the slices of pizza inside looked a little…off. My wife and I were once again faced with a health-related decision that would affect our holiday celebration plans. Do we eat the pizza and risk facing…whatever could have possibly happened to the pizza in the time the box was definitely opened, and slices clearly touched? Or do we throw a full pizza in the trash?
I’m going to stop right here for a moment for a few reasons. First, I already told you what we did. You know that I threw the whole, entire, beautiful pizza into the dumpster behind our apartment. Also, I want to tell you that I’m not writing this to complain about the delivery driver or the pizza restaurant. I’m not trying to get anybody in trouble here. It was most likely an honest goof that happened, and there was no malfeasance involved. There was probably not any poison or dirt or anything on our pizza other than sauce and cheese, and some thin ribbons of perfectly chiffonade basil. I’m also not some kind of rich asshole. I don’t have “throw pizza in the garbage” money. I barely have “order pizza so I can eat it” money (you can help out with this if you’d like by becoming a premium subscriber to my content, wink wink).
And but still, my mouth and tummy remain empty of pizza.
The old me would have shrugged off any potential tampering. The old me would have eaten the entire pizza, while my wife watched on in horror, hand clutching her phone, 911 dialed and finger hovering over the SEND button (this joke is much less funny now that we have cell phones - I want to write that she has “9-1” dialed just waiting for my throat to close, or for me to foam at the mouth or something in order to finish dialing, but that doesn’t work with modern technology). The old me would have probably been fine and unpoisoned (unless you count over-indulgence as a type of self-poison).
I “blame” (using quotes for my selection of the word blame because “attribute” would be more accurate, but “blame” is funnier to me) my pizza funeral in the dumpster graveyard on the fact that I am now a father. I can’t afford to be the old me now, because there is a tiny child who relies on me for just about everything, and on her mother for actually almost everything. I am way less necessary than she is in this parenting situation, but still. Throwing away an entire pizza out of an abundance of caution is a metaphor for my new reality. In this specific case, it’s not a metaphor; it is literal, but I will use it as a metaphor going forward for not being able to take the same type of stupid risks I used to when it didn’t matter what the hell happened to me.
I am also aware that this is the silliest “sacrifice” any new parent has ever claimed. I want you to know how aware I am, okay! The pizza is a metaphor (again, it’s literal, but big picture it is a metaphor) of leaving reckless abandon behind and embracing a somewhat more cautious future. I don’t want to become somebody afraid of living though. Some risks will still be worth taking. I have to figure out the balance. I know that eating possibly poisoned pizza probably isn’t one of them, even if the possibility is most likely a fraction of a percent (again, who am I and what have I done with me?) Imagine getting taken out by poisoned pizza on New Year’s Eve, and my wife having to be like, “I friggin told him not to eat it.” And then my daughter has the learn that story some day. Embarrassing. Okay, maybe not ending up on the revival of A Million and One Stupid Ways 2 Die when The Revenge of GuyTV inevitably takes over the airwaves and becomes government-mandated viewing is actually what stopped me from eating the pizza.
To put it another way, as a true millennial like myself only could; I guess this is growing up.
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