Why You Should 'Eat the Shrimp'

My path from self-denial to the middle way

Are there places in your life where you’re denying yourself unnecessarily?

Dear Friend,

I grew up privileged. My family always had food, shelter, and clothing. But with four kids and only one income, money was tight.

One day, my coach said I needed cleats after sliding all over the field during a soccer game. When I told my mom, she shrugged. “Nah, you’ll just outgrow them.” She wasn’t wrong—I was twelve and growing fast.

I realized then that wanting is not the same as needing.

Despite having my material needs met, I struggled with chronic anxiety and waves of depression from at least third grade onward. Simultaneously, murmurings of spirituality vaguely promised something beyond the human realm.

The idea of asceticism was particularly appealing.

In the Beginning: Self-Denial

By high school, I decided to explore asceticism through self-denial. I thought if I could strip away enough pleasure, indulgence, and comfort, I might be able to get closer to God or at least something otherworldly.

So I started small: No sugar. No junk food. No coffee.

In my twenties, I took it further: I took cold showers, did not listen to music while exercising (because it felt like cheating), and did not buy anything nice for myself, even on my birthday.

In my thirties, I pushed my physical limits: climbing mountains in winter, making long trail runs up hills and running with a 45-pound (20.4 kg) pack to train for bigger mountains.

At the time, I believed this discipline was leading me toward the divine. But while I didn’t realize it then, my asceticism wasn’t just about discipline. It was a convenient form of self-flagellation, all under the guise of seeking a higher state of consciousness.

I got stronger. More resilient. More disciplined. But somehow, it wasn’t enough.

Then, Buddhist psychology introduced me to the idea that desire wasn’t the problem—grasping was.

I started experimenting. What if I bought fewer things? What if I got by with fewer clothes?

In my late thirties, I decided to test this theory. One Christmas, I traveled to my ex-in-law’s house with several outfits but only one pair of jeans. By day four, after I came out of the shower and put them on again, my ex-wife groaned.

“Oh, c’mon! You’re wearing those jeans again?!” She wasn’t as excited about my experiment as I was.

That same holiday, her father—a psychiatrist—casually mentioned a book he had just finished reading: Open to Desire. I couldn’t help but wonder: Was that a hint? Did he think I was taking this whole not-wanting-anything thing too far?

Realizing the Middle Way

Backing up a bit, by my early thirties, my approach to life had begun changing. What good is living to 100 if I don’t enjoy myself?

So, at 33, I began drinking coffee and allowing myself to eat whatever I wanted on Sundays. I found that I could enjoy life’s pleasures without becoming possessed.

Years later, I learned the Buddha called this the middle way—neither indulgence nor deprivation, but somewhere between the two.

The Buddha himself had walked the path of self-denial. His disciples, still practicing severe asceticism, once criticized him for living too "cushily."

“What kind of teacher and yogi are you? You are soft, weak, indulgent.”

The Buddha replied, “I, too, have slept on nails. I’ve stood with my eyes open to the sun in the hot sands beside the Ganges. I’ve eaten so little food that you couldn’t fill one fingernail with the amount I ate each day. Whatever ascetic practices under the sun human beings have done, I, too, have done. Through them all, I have learned that fighting against oneself through such practices is not the way.”

He likened the middle way to playing the lute: If the strings are too loose, the music won’t play, and if they’re too tight, they will snap. Harmony is key.

Eat the Shrimp

As I mentioned in Forget About Controlling Your Thoughts. Focus on This Instead, I recently attended a meditation retreat with Alexis Santos.

Toward the middle of the retreat, cupcakes were offered at dinner. When I saw them, my reaction was immediate: Oh, hell yeah. The following day, Alexis asked how many of us had eaten the dessert. Half of the room raised its hands.

He then shared a story from his time ordained as a monk. A fellow samanera (novice monk) had loved shrimp, and she felt a craving arose when it was served one night. The closer she got to the shrimp, the stronger the desire. The following day, she shared with her teacher, Sayadaw U Tejaniya, how she had skillfully worked with desire.

Sayadaw listened and asked, “So… did you eat the shrimp?”

“No,” she replied.

He shook his head. “You practiced with desire, but you didn’t eat the shrimp? Eat the shrimp!”

Everyone laughed, but the message stuck with me, confirming what had taken me years to realize.

Self-denial was never the answer.

We can cultivate discipline, but discipline must be wedded to joy. Spirituality doesn’t mean punishing ourselves but participating in all of life without becoming unbalanced and unhappy and compounding our suffering.

Sylvia Boorstein, a meditation teacher, shared a story that highlights this beautifully.

Every Friday, she would buy fresh flowers. They brought her joy. But eventually, she wondered if she had become too attached to her weekly ritual, so she decided to stop. Two years later, she still hadn’t bought flowers.

One day, after sharing this in a Dharma talk, a student asked, “Don’t you think you’re a little too attached to not buying flowers?” The room erupted in laughter.

This is the essence of the middle way: Pleasure isn’t the problem—attachment is.

We can savor a good meal, wear nice clothes, listen to music while exercising, eat sugar and drink coffee. Enjoy it, but don’t be owned by it.

Those who walk the middle path understand this. They take what life offers without clinging or resisting. They find beauty in the ordinary, harmony in discord, pleasure in simplicity.

And when life doesn’t give them what they want? They accept it for what it is and keep moving.

Keep finding the middle way,

Ryan

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What About You?

Are there places in your life where you’re denying yourself unnecessarily? A place where you’re practicing restraint, but maybe… just maybe… you should eat the shrimp?

Leave a comment and tell me: What’s your shrimp?

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Simba’s guardian has been traveling for work, so he stays with us frequently.