At some late point during my first eight hour day of yoga teacher training, with the window open, all I could smell was fried chicken. Fried chicken has been my downfall before. Though I’ve been eating vegan for more than a year now, I visited DC in July and couldn’t leave without fried chicken. It’s not something we get here in Vancouver. KFC, sure. But not real southern soul food fried chicken. I order it every time I find myself in America. Chicken and waffles. Chicken-fried steak. That’s all I wanted to eat tonight, coming home after a long day of new people, new practice, and a new schedule.

I could have stopped at the grocery store to buy something breaded to throw in my oven. There’s a KFC on the next block where I could’ve bought a bucket. Down the hill is the sushi place I like where they make chicken karage, the Japanese interpretation. But I kept walking, all the way home. That’s how you build good habits. Giving in turns into not giving in, and soon that’s the thing you do without thinking. But ask me again tomorrow what I’m craving for dinner.