NOT long ago, I had a series of uncanny dreams that explicitly referred to an upcoming event I was feeling anxious about. I was raised as a vegetarian, and for the first two and-a-half decades of my life, I didn’t – to the best of my knowledge – consume a single morsel of meat or fish.
I held my breath when I walked past meaty restaurants. In high school, I made a boyfriend brush his teeth after eating meat in front of me. But after spending nearly a quarter-century carefully avoiding meat, I decided I’d had enough. I’d never had any real ideological justification for my diet; I didn’t have any particular affinity with animals – my diet was based on nothing more than an ingrained habit.
I was sick of dealing with an annoying restriction when I travelled and I was tired of inconveniencing friends and hosts. Plus, I was curious about what I might be missing.