April 2014. My sister proposed yet another bet. The winner of our past bets had bragging rights for weeks. They were serious. She bet me the one thing I was sure to lose—to see who could not eat meat the longest. Whoever won would get a dollar for every day she lasted longer than the other. Until then, my favorite food was steak. Better put, the only food I was willing to eat was strips of cow flesh, burnt to the consistency of tough leather. That was my diet, chosen with great pride, and I had no intention of changing it. Given my dedication to steak as my main life-sustaining nutrient, Chloe's challenge was quite jarring. It was like asking me to avoid all things Justin Bieber, an unthinkable hurdle to my twelve-year-old self. We twisted pinkies, and I set out to win. 

I struggled to stay strong. To inhibit my cravings, I searched for cute videos of cows. Instead, I was met with horrific images of cattle being slaughtered. I read about the horrors of industrial animal farms, the conditions of livestock jammed so close they could not move, inhumane feeding, and slaughter practices. The next morning, I watched Chloe eat a ham and cheese omelet. I won the bet, but rather than joining her, I was flooded with mental images of the story behind her meal and the process that brought it into our home. When I tried to eat a bite of steak, I hesitated and stopped. The meat oozed blood. It was filled with tendons I had never noticed. My delight turned to disgust, and the meat between the bread reeked of inhumanity, sadness, and cruelty. I knew I was never going to eat meat again.

Vegetarianism became a way of life. I studied what vitamins I needed to maintain health and what foods could help me achieve optimal levels. However, not only did my food change, I changed. I credit this shift in mind and body to what I learned by taking that fateful bet. The experience strengthened my ability to take on challenges in other areas in my life. In high school, I was hit with crippling migraines several days a week. With little warning, I would get a sharp pain behind my eyes, a mind-bending headache, and extreme nausea. At first, it felt impossible to overcome. I had to figure out ways to tackle my assignments with quality even when I couldn't get out of bed. I recognized that no matter the challenge, I was strong-willed and capable of pushing through to a solution. I stopped complaining and started doing it. The techniques I developed to address the migraines worked. 

In another way as well, the small bet I took so many years ago planted a seed that bloomed years later. This seed was my social conscience, a notion that grew from talk to action, from vague ethical standards to principles that became core parts of my identity. Decisions I may not have made when younger became natural, such as insisting on minimal plastic in the packaging of my products on my website, doing the work to ensure they are cruelty-free, and donating a portion of profits to a cause that aligns with my beliefs. While creating these ethical standards and strong values, I have learned to find passion for things without condemning others who do not agree with me. Doing research allows me to teach people and make even small differences in the face of established “normal” practices. For example, while I am adamantly opposed to industrial farming and can argue why to the end of time, I am not judging those who choose to eat meat. In my family, my two older brothers are big meat eaters. I try to urge them to buy meat that has been responsibly raised with humane and environmentally responsible practices. Being vegetarian has taught me how to be confident in my positions without swaying to the winds of outside pressures. I can be aware and respectful of differing opinions without adopting them. Even on a dare. 

October 2020. Chloe approached with that mischievous gleam in her eye. This time, I stepped in. "Chloe," I said, "Before you suggest another bet, by my calculations, you have a pending balance of $2,370. So far." I haven't heard a bet from Chloe since.