My father and I have always shared a taste for strange foods. When he finds a new restaurant that looks dangerous, we leave my more squeamish mother and brother behind and embark on an adventure of new flavors. I always let him order.
As a child I savored this connection between us. Once, on a backpacking trip, he brought along exotic canned items I had never seen before and assured me that I would love all of them. The grand finale, he said, would be the tin of smoked oysters. I took his word for it.
I looked forward to those oysters for the entire six miles. When we finally sat down by the edge of the lake that was our destination, I couldn’t wait for him to open the tin. He did, and I ignored the warnings of the rotten fish smell and the green-brown color and swallowed one slimy morsel whole. I just as promptly gagged it into the lake.
Yes, I regret experiencing that inside-of-a-garbage can flavor. But I can’t say that I regret trying the oyster, because I believe that life is about tasting the tins offered to you. Whether they end up being bitter or sweet, you can never know beforehand, so you might as well dig in.
I do not suggest that one should look for the bad tastes on purpose in order to “live life completely.” No intelligent person purposefully acquires food poisoning. We should heed the warnings of common sense. But I am saying I have learned that finding life’s sweetness requires risk.
I like to think of myself as an adventurer, and I often bring up my food experiences to prove my point. With strange foods as well as life, however, the more bad tastes you get, the less you want to try. Moving into adulthood, I’m finding it harder and harder to make myself even smell opportunities life brings, much less swallow spoonfuls wholeheartedly. But I’m trying to remember that life isn’t all sweetness, and no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to avoid bitter experiences completely.
I also learned from the oyster that not everyone chooses to enjoy the same things. I trusted my father, but in that instance, I disagreed with his choice in taste. I also disagreed when he told me I should be a doctor instead of a writer. Sometimes, life is a matter of individual choice and we have to be confident when we assert that something just isn’t palatable.
At this point, the majority of my life remains uncertain. I have just opened the next big tin and am poised for a taste. After this, there will be another, and another. Some will taste like garbage can and others will become favorites and some will be in between. No matter the outcome, I believe in tasting as many as I can, no pun intended.
