My Coke Dealer Was Ruining My Life.
(I mean the guy at the store who kept my Coca-Cola cold and ready every night.) Although now that I think about it... the dynamic was pretty much the same. I showed up every night. He had exactly what I needed. I paid. I left feeling good. And the next morning, I was a mess. Classic dealer behaviour. Anyway. That's not the story. A few weeks ago, I made a decision that felt small but turned out to be massive. I quit Coca-Cola. For a month. For a long time, I thought something was seriously wrong with me every morning. Not "I'm a little tired" wrong. The kind of wrong where you sit down to work and an hour disappears, and you have nothing to show for it. I couldn't focus. I was disoriented. My thinking was slow. My output was suffering. And I couldn't figure out why. So I tried everything. Meditation. Exercise. Coffee. Cold showers. Supplements. All of it. Nothing moved. Someone then suggested I quit sodas. I almost laughed. You're telling me the answer to my problems is... the can of Coke I've been drinking for as long as I can remember? So eventually, out of pure frustration, I cut the Coke. Not because I believed it would work. Because I had run out of other things to try. A few days in, I noticed I was getting things done. Fast. Before I'd even fully registered that I was awake. Tasks I used to grind through all morning were done before 10am. Now, I'm not here to cancel Coca-Cola or anything. My body just decided to wage a private war against it without telling me. But here's what I am saying: We all have a Coke. Something we love. Something that's become such a fixture we'd never think to question it. Something that feels like comfort, while it quietly takes the edge off everything we're trying to build. We don't find it by adding more systems or habits. We find it by listening to our bodies. Right now, I'm quitting sodas for good, and I'm also cutting out all processed food. My new rule: if it wouldn't exist on a shelf 100 years ago, it's not going into my body.