Jackson Free Press

"Eat that apple." It's a new catchphrase, coined during what started out as an evening catching up with friends over wine at Parlor Market (115 W. Capitol St., 601-360-0090), but turned into adoption of a new life philosophy. The friends in question wish to remain nameless, so I'll refer to them as B, who is my Only Child Soul Sister, and Mom o' Mia (Mia is a fluffy white dog, not a child).

B and Mom o' Mia are dear friends with whom I share a special friendship, the sort that includes absolute acceptance and the ability to be completely honest.

That's particularly true on topics that sometimes result in judgment from others who don't understand our point of view because they made choices different from our own—topics like kids, marriage and renting an apartment instead of buying a home.

It started innocently enough, with Mom o' Mia mentioning a friend who recently broke up with her boyfriend of six years. That's bad enough on its own, but she added that the friend is knocking on the door of the big 4-0. That turned things a little somber and reflective, as we tried to consider how she must feel after investing those years in a relationship that she thought would last forever and then it ending unexpectedly. (For the record, we ourselves are not nearing the big 4-0, not that that's old.)

Things turned to the subject of the lives we make for ourselves, including talk of other friends who, over the past few years, married and had children, and how that affects their identity. It all comes down to the issue of choice, we decided. As children, we're taught that we can be anything we want to be when we grow up. So why, as adults, do we sometimes feel that we have to defend the choices we've made, or judge others for theirs? Or, perhaps worse, question our own choices?

Which brings us back to the apple. I think it was B who mentioned her theory about Eve. Namely, that she gets a bad rap for—you know—that whole downfall of mankind thing. And so, we decided to reclaim the apple. Because, not to get all theological, but eating the apple wasn't just something that happened to her; it was a conscious decision that came to define her.

We all make choices—where we live, what we do with our lives, with whom we live them—that come to define our identity, and we need to own them. It's definitely something that B, Mom o' Mia and I think about a lot. I'm sure married people, moms and men think about it, too. But when you're a single gal in the South, particularly, and not at all defined by your relationship to anyone else (a spouse, a child), it can be hard to fully accept and own the control you have over who you are and what you do.

As Steven poured us our last glasses of wine, we made an oath and formalized it on a cocktail napkin with our signatures. The agreement was simple: Eat that apple. We hope it's a philosophy that spreads: Own your identity; take charge of the choices you make; live life fully; and if you don't like something, change it. It's a choice. B even started a daily list of ways to embrace the philosophy.

I started embracing it before we even departed—by getting a PM burger to go (I like to be alone with my red meat). Because a burger is a choice that I never second-guess.