When Life Hands You Potatoes

Today was a horrendous day to have an 8am class. As I finally drug myself out of bed, I noticed the incessant tapping of rain against my windowpanes and the deep booming of a thunderstorm.

I stared longingly at my bed and found myself envying my 54lb butt-sniffing, obnoxiously snoring, awful financial decision, uhm…. I mean my furry best friend (What category he falls into depends on his widely varying behavior from day to day).

I so badly wanted to be a dog in that moment, care-free and able to slumber peacefully while my human went out to study in the hopes of one day being able to tell her mother that adopting me wasn’t an awful financial decision because she had a job that wasn’t with a non-profit and she could actually afford my endless requests for toys and treats.

Anyways, I rallied myself and got in the car to head to class. The entire way to History, I had to fight not to turn around and go home, so I could return to my nice, warm bed.

I wish I could say that I got to class and the professor had an amazing lesson plan, making me thankful that I chose to battle the torrential downpour and make it into class today, but, unfortunately she ended up going off on a tangent about potatoes.

As we discussed the introduction of one of the world’s finest starches into medieval society, inspiration took over my brain.

You see, the potato, often unappreciated as it is, can grow almost anywhere. It is known to withstand just about any climate, weather almost any storm, and though they may not always be beautiful, they always end up turning out to be delicious.

Some potatoes achieve their full potential by being roasted with garlic and rosemary, others find glory being skewered on the grill, and still more find redemption in the fryer. Even mashed potatoes, after surviving one hell of a beating, are almost always a guaranteed treat.

But even to get to their glorified destiny, potatoes are brought to hell and back: chopped, mashed, sliced, diced, fried, skewered, and skinned alive.

If you have a mind like mine, you might understand how I found all this talk about potatoes inspirational. In my 21 years I have weathered many storms and adapted to many “climates.” When I finally got myself up out of the dirt I found myself to be rather ugly–lumpy and bumpy and covered in scars. I have endured trial after trial, hoping to one day reach my full potential. And even today, I find my redemption in all of the different ways I can present myself: the girl in recovery, the advocate, the youth counselor, the mentor, the coach, the hot mess, and (my favorite) Simply Victoria.

Life has treated me quite like the world treats a potato, but now I find myself fresh out of the fryer–beautiful and golden and ready to bring joy to those who encounter me.

So to recap: I started my day jealous of my dog, and by afternoon found myself identifying with a potato. One can only wonder what the evening will bring….


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