Pizza as Metaphor

Lately I've gotten back into the habit of eating pizza with my hands, which makes me quite happy. For too long I've been using a fork and knife, and -- while I will certainly do this again, many times -- it's starting to feel way too dainty and clean for me overall. I'm really loving getting my fingers and nails filthy with sauce and grease and cheese, and even that burning when you grab a slice and it's way too hot, right out of the oven.

I was thinking about this while at Mississippi Pizza for lunch today. And it's a perfect metaphor for how I'm feeling about Life in general: forks and knives have their place, certainly, but we can't really get to the (artichoke) heart of the matter without beautiful messes sometimes.