I did every diet: Atkins. Cabbage-soup diet. Dean Ornish. But I

"I did every diet: Atkins. Cabbage-soup diet. Dean Ornish. But I couldn't live the rest of my life like a rabbit." – Mike Huckabee

In this confession, Mike Huckabee speaks not merely of food, but of the ancient struggle between discipline and desire, between the body’s needs and the spirit’s yearning for joy. His words, simple yet profound, reveal the futility of seeking freedom through restriction alone. For he had walked many paths—the Atkins, the Cabbage-soup diet, the Dean Ornish regimen—each promising salvation, each demanding obedience. Yet in the end, he discovered that a life ruled entirely by denial is not truly lived. His phrase, “I couldn’t live the rest of my life like a rabbit,” is not a rejection of health, but a recognition of balance. It is the voice of a man who learned that the art of living well is not found in deprivation, but in harmony.

From the earliest ages, the wise have taught that extremes destroy balance. The philosopher Aristotle called it the golden mean—the virtue that lies between excess and deficiency. To eat without thought is gluttony; to starve the senses is asceticism. True health lies between the two. So too did Huckabee discover that endless dieting, though noble in intent, becomes another kind of bondage. To eat only lettuce and broth, to live without flavor or pleasure, is to forget that food is not mere fuel, but a gift of life, a bond between the body and the earth. He speaks as one who has wandered through deserts of self-denial and emerged thirsty for joy, seeking not endless hunger but sustainable wisdom.

The origin of his insight lies in struggle—a journey familiar to all who have sought transformation. Huckabee, once burdened by ill health, turned to diet after diet in search of renewal. Each offered a rulebook, each demanded loyalty. Yet each, in time, became a prison. His awakening came when he realized that lasting change does not come from rules written on paper, but from understanding written in the heart. The body cannot thrive when it is punished; it thrives when it is honored. To “live like a rabbit,” feeding only on austerity, may bring temporary relief, but it cannot sustain the joy and strength that make life worth living.

The ancients knew this truth in their bones. Consider Epicurus, so often misunderstood as a lover of indulgence, yet in truth a philosopher of moderation. He taught that pleasure was not in excess, but in balance—that the sweetest joy comes not from endless consumption, but from the peace of being satisfied with enough. To eat simply, yet gratefully; to enjoy, yet never overindulge—this was his creed. Mike Huckabee’s revelation is a modern echo of that ancient wisdom: that the goal is not to starve oneself into virtue, but to live in right relationship with food, where nourishment and pleasure coexist in harmony.

There is also a deeper lesson within his jest—that rigidity is the enemy of endurance. A diet that feels like punishment will one day be abandoned, just as a path without joy will not be walked for long. The wise gardener does not strip the soil of all richness, but tends it with care, giving it rest and renewal. So must we treat our bodies: not as machines to be fixed, but as living temples that respond to both discipline and kindness. Huckabee’s journey through diets taught him that true transformation is not a temporary act of control, but a lifelong practice of mindful living—a way of choosing what sustains both body and soul.

Consider the story of Buddha, who, before attaining enlightenment, lived as an ascetic, denying himself food and comfort in pursuit of purity. He grew frail and weak, his mind clouded by hunger. Only when he accepted a simple bowl of rice from a village girl did he realize that the path to truth lies not in extreme deprivation, but in the Middle Way—the balance between indulgence and denial. Huckabee’s realization carries the same flame: that one must not starve the body to feed the spirit, for both are bound by the same breath.

The lesson, therefore, is clear: pursue balance, not perfection. Seek health not through endless restriction, but through reverent awareness. Let food be your ally, not your adversary. Eat to nourish, not to punish. When you sit to dine, let gratitude be your seasoning and moderation your guide. Do not seek salvation in fleeting diets or rigid plans; seek it in a way of living that you can sustain with peace. For the body thrives on consistency, and the spirit thrives on joy—and when these two are joined, health becomes not a struggle, but a state of grace.

So let the words of Mike Huckabee endure as a quiet anthem for all who battle with discipline and desire: do not live like a rabbit, nibbling fearfully at life’s offerings. Live like one who honors both hunger and wholeness. Let your choices be rooted in care, not compulsion; in balance, not bondage. For the truest diet, as the ancients would say, is not about what you remove—it is about how you live. In that harmony lies not only health, but freedom.