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I didn’t expect a gelato outing to become a lesson in mindfulness, frustration, and self-awareness.
But, as it turns out, dessert has a lot to say about our inner lives.
It was Easter Sunday, and I’d been studying all afternoon while my family chilled out and played video games. I was feeling grumpy. “Poor me,” I thought, sulking internally. I’d floated the idea of a weekend outing the day before, but no one had taken me up on it.
Out of the blue, my husband asked, “Do you want to go get gelato?”
“Oh yes!” I could practically taste the rich chocolate gelato from Angelo’s Pizza.
I even called to confirm we could grab our scoops and sit on the Riverwalk. But when we got there? No chocolate.
Disappointment lodged in the back of my throat like a broken promise. I kept talking about it as we waited behind a dad and three kids choosing their flavors. I’m not proud, but seriously—chocolate is an Easter essential, dudes. That’s just a fact.
Angelo’s had all the flavors I usually love: lemon, mango, and raspberry. But no chocolate. Blueberry and peanut butter were wildcards. Cheesecake? Pass. I landed on red velvet. And it tasted…chemical. I was bummed. Then I tasted my husband Mat’s peanut butter scoop.
It was divine.
I had chosen wrong. And I was feeling it.
But I let it go. Eventually.
We laughed, asked the staff how their day had been, and walked together in the sun along the Riverwalk. I scooped a little extra peanut butter from Mat’s cup. (He didn’t mind.)
Later that week, I was working on a graduate assignment for my emotional intelligence class: “Recount an event, then reflect from three inner perspectives—your harsh inner critic, your kind inner voice, and a balanced view.”
I resisted. Hard. I even asked on Zoom, “This might be a stupid question, but is the inner critic supposed to comment on me or other people?”
“All of the above,” came the reply.
So, I cracked the door open.
Harsh Inner Critic:
To my husband:
“How dare you ignore my suggestion for a date? If you really loved me, you’d see I need a break.”
To the gelato shop:
“How the hell do you not have chocolate? You said red velvet was like chocolate. It is so not. What planet are your taste buds from?”
To myself:
“Seriously? You’re ruining a date over ice cream? Grow up.”
To the red velvet:
“This is disgusting. Why do gelato makers keep trying to imitate cake?”
Kind Inner Voice:
You were disappointed — that’s okay.
Sure, you could have asked about the chocolate when you called, but you didn’t know. You’re human. You felt let down, and that’s part of life.
But you didn’t stay in a bad mood. You chatted with the staff, made your husband laugh, and enjoyed the waterfall and the sun. Mat was delighted with his red velvet, probably unaware that you were quietly hustling spoonfuls of peanut butter like a gelato bandit. You bounced back.
The Takeaway:
I loved writing the first version of this story. It was fun, honest, and dynamic. But sitting with the inner critic? Ugh. That voice is sharp, judgmental, and, honestly, exhausting.
I used to live in that space—being critical of myself and others—but over time, I’ve learned to shift. Falling in love helped, as did years of spiritual practice. When disappointment shows up now (even in small ways, like dessert betrayal), I try to pause and choose: Where do I place my attention?
Because attention is power.
The voice we feed becomes the voice we live by.
Criticism—of ourselves or others—can tear at the soul. It’s easy to find flaws. Finding someone’s strengths, deeper desires, or hidden genius is harder but much more beautiful. To really see them.
Being discerning and offering critiques with compassion are important. But when I listen closely, the voices that shape me most are rooted in love and commitment.
We’re all fixers in our own way—like trying to help others, sometimes to feel good about ourselves. But change, real change, is an inside job. And often the only “fix” we need is to allow life to be what it is.
I’m reminded of the story of Milarepa, the Tibetan yogi who suffered deeply, sought redemption, and spent years meditating in solitude. He reminds me that transformation takes time, that discomfort is a teacher, and that surrender often precedes peace.
Yes, I longed for chocolate and got red velvet instead. Yes, it stung.
But beyond that, craving was awareness. And awareness lets me choose: Am I the woman who didn’t get the gelato she wanted, or the one who laughed in the sun with someone she loves?
Maybe I’m both.
And maybe that’s enough.
~
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