Groceries, Labels, and Other Luxuries
by Richard Valdez | Life, Real Estate & Four Dogs
I was standing in the aisles of Trader Joe’s, basket in hand. A wedge of cheese, a few bottles of sparkling water, and more bags of dog treats than any one man should need. And that’s when I noticed something.
I had begun to do something I never did when I was young. I was reading the labels. Not the ones stitched into suits or stamped on shoes. No, these were the small, printed labels most of us ignore. The ones that tell you exactly what’s inside.
At 61, I’ve learned to read the fine print. I ask myself: is this caution, or curiosity? Maybe it’s both. But I know this much—being able to choose what I put into my body, what I bring into my home, what I allow into my life—that is a kind of luxury.
And it’s a luxury that didn’t just appear. My generation fought for it. And so did the generations before us. The freedom to choose was something they carved out of struggle, protest, and sacrifice. They knew what it meant to live without it, and they pushed until the world began to shift.
The choice to marry who you love. The choice for women to decide whether or not to bring a life into the world. The choice to stand as yourself, even when the world wanted you hidden. None of those freedoms came easy. They were earned—piece by piece—by people who refused to accept a life without choice.
And now, here we are again. Watching a new generation face their own aisle of history. Deciding what they’ll protect, and what they’ll allow to change.
I stood there, holding a jar of marinara, reading every ingredient. I thought about labels—on food, and on people. Gay. Married. Realtor. Dog-dad. Some fit me. Some don’t. But I’ve learned to pay attention. To read carefully. Because the fine print always matters.
And as I left the store that evening, the fog rolling in over Twin Peaks, my four dogs waiting at home, I thought to myself:
Maybe life is nothing more than a long grocery aisle. And maybe the measure of it is in the choices we make along the way. What we put back. What we hold on to. And what we finally decide is good enough to bring home.
