Try not to completely change your diet just because you read it

Host: The morning sun was a gentle blaze, spilling across the terrace café like a golden spill of honey. The city had not yet woken fully — its sounds muffled, its air calm, the breeze scented faintly with roasted coffee and fresh bread.

Jack sat at a small table, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his grey eyes scanning the morning paper, though his attention seemed to be elsewhere — on the passing people, the quiet rhythm of life, and the steam curling from his espresso.

Across from him, Jeeny arrived with a plate, her smile soft, her hair slightly tousled from the wind. On the plate sat two cupcakes, frosted, glittering with sugar crystals that caught the light like tiny constellations.

Jeeny: “Listen to this one, Jack.” (She reads from her phone, her voice warm, earnest.) “Try not to completely change your diet just because you read it somewhere or someone tells you it works for them. Do what is best for your body and don't think that just because everyone else is doing it that it will work for you. Know what fuels your body to be at its best, and enjoy the little things! Indulge! Cupcakes and cookies.” — Ali Krieger.”

Host: Jack’s eyes flicked up, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth — that rare, crooked kind that always teetered between mockery and admiration.

Jack: “Cupcakes and cookies, huh? Sounds like a philosophy I could almost get behind.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Almost?”

Jack: “Well, you know me. I don’t trust advice that ends with frosting.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s because you’ve forgotten how to taste life.”

Host: He set down his cup, leaned back, his eyes half-closed against the sunlight. His voice, when it came, was measured, thoughtful, but tinged with the usual skepticism.

Jack: “What she’s saying sounds sweet — literally — but it’s dangerous too. This world worships indulgence and calls it self-love. There’s a thin line between ‘enjoying life’ and ‘numbing yourself to it.’”

Jeeny: “And there’s an even thinner line between ‘discipline’ and ‘denial.’ You always walk the wrong one.”

Host: A silence fell, the kind that didn’t sting, but invited reflection. The wind lifted the napkins slightly, fluttering them like wings.

Jack: “You think cupcakes can fix existential despair?”

Jeeny: “No. But they can remind you it’s not all despair.”

Host: She broke off a piece of her cupcake, held it up, and grinned — a simple gesture, but it carried warmth, like sunlight finding its way into a cold room.

Jack: “You’re quoting Krieger like she’s a prophet.”

Jeeny: “Maybe she is, in her own way. You see, what she’s really saying isn’t about diet — it’s about balance. About knowing your own rhythm instead of dancing to everyone else’s tune.”

Jack: “Balance. That overused word. Everyone wants it, no one defines it.”

Jeeny: “That’s because balance isn’t a definition, Jack. It’s a decision. Every day, you wake up and decide what’s too much, what’s too little, and what’s just right — for you.”

Host: Her words hung in the warm air, glinting like light through glass. Jack watched her for a moment, his eyes softening, then he shook his head, the shadow of a smirk returning.

Jack: “And what if people don’t know what’s right for them? What if what feels good kills them slowly?”

Jeeny: “Then they’ll learn. Life’s a process of misjudging the recipe until you get the flavor right.”

Host: A laugh escaped him, low and unpolished, but real.

Jack: “You make it sound poetic. You always do. Like every failure just needs a metaphor to make it edible.”

Jeeny: “Because it does. Life is only bitter if you forget the sugar.”

Host: The sunlight shifted, sliding through the leaves, painting dappled patterns on the table. A small child at a nearby table laughed, the sound pure, unfiltered. Jeeny smiled, watching, as if that laughter itself were proof of her point.

Jack: “You really think it’s that simple? That people should just indulge and call it self-awareness?”

Jeeny: “No. I think people should stop punishing themselves in the name of improvement. That’s what she means. You can’t build a good life out of guilt. Whether it’s food or dreams or love — moderation doesn’t mean restriction. It means kindness with boundaries.”

Jack: “You think kindness can fix self-destruction?”

Jeeny: “It’s the only thing that ever has.”

Host: Jack looked away, his jaw tightening, the humor fading for a moment, replaced by something deeper — regret, maybe, or memory.

Jack: “You sound like someone who’s never been addicted to control.”

Jeeny: “Oh, I have. I just learned to share it with joy.”

Host: That made him pause — the words cutting not like a knife, but like a mirror.

Jack: “And how do you know when to share it?”

Jeeny: “When you start losing yourself trying to be perfect.”

Host: The street had grown louder now — the city stirring, the sounds of life returning. But their table still felt like an island, a bubble of calm floating above the noise.

Jack: “So, cupcakes and cookies are metaphors for enlightenment now?”

Jeeny: “Of course. They’re the sweet proof that life doesn’t have to be earned — it can just be enjoyed.”

Jack: “You’d make a terrible philosopher. Too much frosting, not enough fire.”

Jeeny: “And you’d make a terrible human being if you keep forgetting that both are necessary.”

Host: The banter softened, the words now slower, like waves after a storm.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe indulgence is just another way to honor existence — to say ‘I’m here,’ even if it’s messy.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. We spend too much time apologizing for being alive. Sometimes, the most spiritual thing you can do is eat dessert without guilt.”

Jack: “You’re poetic even about cupcakes.”

Jeeny: “That’s because they’re small miracles, Jack. Each one says: life doesn’t have to be grand to be good.”

Host: A bird landed on the railing, shook its feathers, and watched them with calm curiosity, as if it, too, were part of the conversation.

Jack picked up his fork, broke off a piece of her cupcake, and tasted it. He chewed slowly, his expression thoughtful, almost philosophical.

Jack: “Alright, fine. Maybe she’s right. Maybe a cupcake’s not a bad metaphor for living — sweet, small, temporary, and completely unnecessary — which is exactly why it matters.”

Jeeny: “See? You’re learning.”

Host: He smiled, the kind of smile that came from acceptance, not agreement.

Jack: “You know what’s funny? We spend our lives trying to find the right diet for the body — but we forget the soul needs feeding too.”

Jeeny: “And the soul doesn’t care about calories.”

Host: The sunlight caught her eyes, warm brown turning to gold, and for a moment, there was no debate, no difference — just understanding.

Host: The morning breeze shifted, carrying laughter, horns, and the smell of baking bread from somewhere nearby.

They sat in contented silence, two people who had spent years trying to outthink happiness, now letting it sit quietly with them — simple, sweet, and human.

Host: Perhaps Ali Krieger had meant more than she said.
Perhaps the diet she spoke of was never just about food, but about the balance of being alive —
to know yourself, to listen inward, and to celebrate imperfection with a touch of sugar.

And as Jack and Jeeny finished their cupcakes, the world around them finally woke fully,
but for a moment, time lingered, savoring — like the last bite of something too good to rush.

Because sometimes, the greatest discipline is to simply indulge in the joy of being.