Gravy And Virginity

     A friend has given me a special gift: A breakfast of biscuits, pork sausage and white country gravy. He knows my background among yeomen of small towns and countryside.  And so he knows that this breakfast was a meal of memories.
    Life for me now has become citified and gentrified, a far cry from times when breakfast gravy could be a staple. In this universe, people can make  a much wider variety of  lifestyle  choices.  They are vegetarians, paleo-dieters, yoga buffs, joggers. They eat at restaurants whose menus carry heart-healthy and gluten-free symbols. They go faithfully to the gym. They are wary of processed food.
      The outer me conforms. When in Rome. If social conversation turns to the latest advice from diet gurus, I want to be appropriately attentive. If someone mentions Downward Dog, I don't want to ask about pet training.
     But with it all my inner contrarian remains restless. And though he can be a grouch,  he does make a point from time to time.
     He reminds me that even in the realm of hard science, today's revealed truth may become tomorrow's revised theory.  At the mundane juncture where nutrition science meets daily life, he favors the example of the long-maligned egg, which has now returned to the better graces of the experts.
     As I listen to a friend declaiming upon a new exercise routine, my contrarian may whisper to me of Jim Fixx, the fitness pioneer of the '70s.
     Who died young.
     Of  a heart attack.
     While jogging.
     My contrarian sees elements of trend-mongering in these matters -- a certain desire to be among those In The Know, and a certain attitude toward those who aren't. He clucks over gluten-free regimens touted by people who don't really need them. And he dares me to enthuse widely over my gravy breakfast. He says I'd soon be admonished in the tones used by parents on children who didn't finish their spinach.
     He can safely afford to be a lifestyle Luddite. The outer me cannot, however.  In the real world, non-conformity -- like virginity -- is admired more in the abstract.  I prefer to get along. Which is to say, about the gravy breakfast, he's probably right. Anyhow, I don't mention it.
    I've learned to pronounce quinoa; to smile through Fitbit reports; to agree that I really should get around to trying yoga; to get along by going along. And for those times when my inner contrarian simply will not be ignored, I have a fallback resource. My friend knows a great place to get country ham biscuits.