Indeed, there’s a special kind of freedom that belongs only to the very young. A few weeks ago, I was at the barbershop. In the empty chair next to me was a four-year-old boy. He was doing exactly what a child that age does: flipping upside down, twisting sideways, treating the barber chair like a jungle gym and testing the limits of gravity with constant, restless acrobatics. There he was — bouncing around with the kind of carefree energy only a child that age can have.
His uncle, my barber, told him to settle down and get his iPad. He went to grab his iPad… and a can of Pringles.
A snack without a strategy
A moment later he came back, climbed into the chair and got comfortable. In one hand was the iPad. In the other was a can of Pringles.
There he sat, without a care in the world. He was tucked into the chair, scrolling through whatever children scroll through, mindlessly reaching into the can and crunching away. He wasn’t thinking about the serving size. He wasn’t thinking about the next hour or the next day. He was just eating. No hesitation. No analysis. No internal negotiation. Just a kid enjoying his snack while watching his screen.
I watched him with a deep, unexpected sense of envy. 😂
I wished, for just a moment, that I could be four years old again — not for the youth, but for the simplicity of the pleasure.
The Decision Tree
If I were to reach for that same can of Pringles, it wouldn’t be simple at all. I’d be forced into a high-stakes internal negotiation. Before a single chip touched my tongue, a cascade of decisions and questions would flood my mind:
First: Should I even eat this?
Then the nutritional interrogation would begin.
And the questions would keep going.
- Do these contain inflammatory seed oils?
- Surely, they contain too much sodium. Right?
- What additives are in it?
The audit
- What did I eat yesterday?
- What have I already eaten today?
- Does this count as a cheat?
- Am I even allowing cheats right now?
- Was I planning on cheating tomorrow?
- Should I ever allow cheats?
- You get cheats sometimes… don’t you? You gotta live. Don’t be silly.
- Are cheats restricted right now, because I’m watching my weight, but okay later once I reach my magic weight number?
The math
- How many calories are in a serving?
- How many servings are in a can?
- How many calories will I allow?
- Precisely, how many chips can I have?
- Isn’t it silly to just have 3? Why bother?
Analysis of the consequences
- If I eat this now, what does that mean for the rest of the day?
- Do I adjust dinner?
- Do I skip something later?
- Does that mean I adjust my dinner plans tomorrow?
Then comes the emotional side of the decision…
- Do I just eat it and feel guilty afterward?
- Do I eat it and try to ignore the guilt?
- Do I treat it like a harmless treat – accept it and move on?
- Do I decide it’s not worth it and put the can back?
A simple snack suddenly turns into a complicated decision tree. LOL
This inner turmoil dialog, while sensible, really conveys the absurdity of the whole thought process.
That little boy had none of those thoughts. He wasn’t analyzing ingredients or debating dietary strategy. He wasn’t calculating calories or wondering what it meant for the rest of his day. He opened the can and ate the chips.
The weight of a chip
The choice is never just “to eat or not to eat.” It’s a choice between two types of burden. I could eat them and carry the weight of the guilt, or I could eat them and try—unsuccessfully—to ignore every health metric I’ve spent years learning. Or I could decide not to eat them at all and carry the weight of the restriction.
Watching him, I realized how complicated eating becomes as we get older. Years of health advice, diet rules, nutrition knowledge and personal goals turn something simple into something heavily analyzed.
That little boy was eating in peace. I was sitting there realizing (sadly, LOL) that for me, the idea of simply enjoying a snack is a relic of the past. For most of us adults, a chip is never just a chip; it’s a series of choices that never truly end.
For that moment in the barbershop, I found myself wishing I were four again — just long enough to eat a few chips the way he did.
Without the debate. Without the calculations.
I longed for the blissful ignorance of childhood and an escape from the hyper-analytical, almost exhausting vigilance of adult weight and health management.
I was dreaming of just enjoying the moment the way a four-year-old can.
Despite it all, I’m reminded of what adulthood really is. It’s having agency. It’s making deliberate choices instead of acting on impulse. Children eat whatever’s in front of them. Adults decide whether they should. So no, I didn’t have the Pringles. I love potato chips, and they’re still one of my favorite snacks. When I do have them, I have potato chips, not Pringles. Sadly, though, now potato chips are a rare treat. 😭😔😂
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