Is it simply an accident that the “taste” we have in clothes, art, people, or ideas has the same name as the “taste” we sense with our tongues? Is it by a stroke of genius that so many languages use the same word to reference flavor and our preferences? Maybe not. Life as we know it—where, with whom, and how we live—is all shaped by TASTE. 

Food, love, security. These are our primal survival needs. They’re so intricately intertwined that it would be impossible to consider one without the other two. Yet how we crave them, hunger for them, and feel satiated by them is what distinguishes us from all other animals.

As humans, we at least try to do the right thing, right? Well not when it comes to our cravings. Not with our need to feel satisfied. Here, we’re impulsive, we cheat, we make excuses, and we go on craving, insatiably.

Instinct is out of the question. Even when we’re “satisfied” by something—whether a meal, a new purchase, an affair or a Netflix-binge session—is it ever enough just then? Instinctively, it should be.

Food, of course, is the easiest, most obvious example of craving. So let’s start with what we have on the plate. When it comes to food, we eat for texture, appearance, color, and mood. We don’t eat raw slabs of meat or fish or freshly cut grass as animals do. No, we plan and prepare and present our food. Properly. And when it’s not properly prepared, no matter how hungry we are–or how much we eat of it regardless–we’re left unsatiated. That’s because we are creatures that crave. And our cravings are an actual and continued NEED for something.

But what?

We can give many names for it. “Patterns,” “compulsions,” “complexes,” or that weighty word—“addictions.” Whatever word we decide to use, might I suggest “we’re pretty much all addicts.”

I borrowed these last words from Dr. Anna Lembke. In her book, Dopamine Nation: Finding Balance in the Age of Indulgence, she insightfully explores how modern life–saturated with instant gratification and endless stimulation–has pushed our brains into a state of imbalance. To counter this, she offers a compelling case for intentionally embracing discomfort and restraint as a way to restore neurological equilibrium, resilience, and genuine pleasure.

Carl Jung used the term “complex” to mean a cluster of patterned thoughts and emotions fueled by strong feelings that take on a life of their own. He didn’t consider complexes inherently bad, since they begin as adaptive strategies. But, as Jung warned, when a complex takes over, it no longer just “accompanies” us but drives us and blinds us to make other not-so-helpful, not-so-healthful choices. A complex will pull us into a familiar and comforting–though dangerous and compulsive–loop.

Addiction is a heavy word. But I believe it takes root in something so simple as TASTE.

And so I ask, can we discard those tastes we’ve left to not question–those rituals repeated past their real use? And can we find contentment and satiation with what satisfies as much as it enriches?

We all carry emotional foods and rituals for our emotional baggage. We may reach for a cocktail instead of rest, or settle into cynicism and irritation instead of inquiry. When we’re tired, overwhelmed, or frustrated, we may grab the pint of ice cream or go for a smoke, no matter how unhealthy we know it may be.

But the moment we begin to see through it–and realize the pattern–that, my sweetums, is the start of The Good Life.