It Was Me All Along

walked away from that mahogany table with a fullness of mind. As we left the restaurant, I turned to Melissa as she sighed, wishing every meal could be that good. I didn’t say it then, but what I thought was, Maybe every meal could, if I let it. Maybe the difference between a standard meal and a great meal has as much to do with its taste as it does my perception, my energy in devouring it. And that was the difference in me. The change I’d undergone—from someone who ate to capacity to distract her mind, into someone who purposely tasted every morsel—was not unconscious. It was a transformation that had taken deliberate effort before and after that meal. I put my fork down between bites instead of making like a shovel and digging in. I let a forkful of food sit on my tongue in order to observe its flavor, to savor it. I paused often during the meal to check in with my hunger and fullness.

And now, I said to myself, it’s over. Remember it. Another plate wouldn’t have brought me any greater satisfaction, because contentment doesn’t double by the serving.