Six years ago, I stopped eating meat, fish, eggs, and cheese.
At the time, I assumed this would become a story about self-discipline. Most people imagine dietary change that way. They picture someone staring mournfully at food they can no longer eat, sustained only by moral superiority and chickpeas.
To my surprise, that never happened.
Well, almost never. If dairy products were a historical empire, I have successfully liberated most of the territory, but a few stubborn provinces continue to resist occupation.
Perfection, however, was never the point.
What began as an attempt to live a little more consistently with my values gradually became one of the best decisions I have ever made. Not because it made me virtuous or enlightened. It certainly did not grant me access to secret vegan powers. But it did provide something I had not expected: a remarkable sense of coherence between what I believe and what I do every day.
I genuinely love eating this way. I love that fruits, vegetables, legumes, mushrooms, herbs, spices, seeds, and whole grains occupy the center of my plate rather than appearing as decorative accessories around a piece of meat. And I love discovering that something which simply feels right to me also happens to align with what public health authorities have been recommending for decades. I am lucky that my personal preference and the scientific literature seem to be heading in roughly the same direction.
What I find less reassuring is the extraordinary amount of money, effort, and creativity invested in convincing people that nutrition is hopelessly confusing.
Entire industries have spent decades transforming straightforward questions into ideological battlegrounds. The result is a public conversation where evidence often struggles to compete with marketing, celebrity endorsements, bestselling miracle diets, and somebody's uncle who apparently reached the age of ninety-seven while smoking daily and eating bacon for breakfast.
Human beings are remarkably skilled at believing good news. Particularly when that good news informs us that we need not change anything at all.
Yet knowledge still matters. We know far more today about the relationship between diet and chronic disease than previous generations ever could. We know that what we eat influences cardiovascular health, metabolic health, disease risk, and the quality of our lives as we age.
At the same time, I have little interest in turning food into a moral crusade.
One lesson I learned over time is that joy persuades people far more effectively than judgment. Almost nobody changes because they are shamed into it. People change when they discover something they genuinely enjoy.
As for me, I enjoy this way of eating more today than I did when I started. My plate is more colorful than it used to be. It is certainly more interesting. And if someone had told my younger self that kale and lentils would one day become a source of genuine excitement, I would have considered that individual deeply unwell.
Six years later, I do not feel deprived.
I feel fortunate.
What started as an experiment became a habit, and what became a habit gradually grew into one of the most reliable sources of satisfaction in my daily life. I am still imperfect in my adherence to a fully plant-based diet. Sacher Torte and Lindt Kugeln, unfortunately, continue their stubborn resistance.
I remain uncertain about many things in life.
This decision is not one of them. The passing years have only strengthened my conviction.
