Dedicated to Matisyahu’s concern for my pizza infatuation.
“Love comes in eight slices.”
I frequently say that phrase when referencing the heavenly dough layered with sauce, cheese, toppings, and encouraging aromas.
Pizza is my best romance. It probably shouldn’t be, but it is.
Cheesy, I’ll admit.
Brief reasons summarizing my saucy romance:
- I love pizza because it’s familiar.
- I love pizza because it’s comfort food.
- I love pizza because topping possibilities are unlimited.
- I love pizza because it (usually) connects hearts.
- I love pizza because it’s inexpensive. Duh.
- I love pizza because…I always have?
- I love pizza because it’s symmetrical.
- I love pizza because it’s easily accessible.
- I love pizza because fries are second.
- I love pizza because it’s universal.
As I typed out these reasons, I recognized resonating themes: the fear of vulnerability and dismal disappointment.
Venturing into the unknown often leaves jarring, painful scars.
When carrying relational expectations and hopes, you expect great things. Especially from a person. You hope the other individual is sincere, sensitive, and straight-forward. Because that is what you are seeking in your slice of life.
People are complex. Simple detail: they aren’t always who they say they are.
Food and human relationships vastly vary–especially in commitment and communication. For example, food is more committed with my waistline than with my heart. Nonetheless, I appreciate the commitment.
Often I go back to the things I know—the foods, the people, the books, the sounds, the shows. Maybe I love pizza because pizza is simply scrumptious. Or maybe I love pizza because it is consistent. Exceptions exist, of course. We all know there’s good pizza and bad pizza. Oily crust, salty sauce, too cheesy, or barely any cheese—those pizzas pitifully fail perfection.
How we view the faults of pizza and humans also differs.
We blame the baker—not the pizza. Later, we simply choose selections elsewhere.
We don’t always do that with our relationships.
Sometimes we throw out a pizza box in disgust and refuse to ever savor it again. We blame ourselves for trying imperfect pizza, and vow that slice was our last.
I’m guilty of throwing out relationships like some toss out pizza. I would rather raise up walls in my life guarding against possible relationships or even beginning new friendships rather than face failed expectations again.
Perhaps you can relate.
I’m working on trusting my life’s chef with the dough and other ingredients. My Baker created me with certain ingredients for a specific purpose. A fearful and wonderful purpose that I strive to accomplish in my words—written, spoken, and performed.
My sauciness, cheesy humor, quirky toppings—all these essentials must be daily prepared and baked by a master chef.
Love comes in eight slices; but love is sliced in our every action.
Don’t miss out on your slice.