There are many ways to rush through our days. And there are many choices for small yet substantial pauses. Spread throughout the day, purposeful pauses can shift our landscape. One of these places is mealtime. Food nourishes us and, in community, it nourishes connection. It's an important time to be fully present. Yet we seldom are.
While in academia, I ate at my desk facing the computer, barely chewing my food nor tasting the flavors. Everything seemed so important and pressing. If I made time to experience lunch, I wouldn't get everything done. Yet I was perpetuating my own busyness, removing my choices. And in that process, I lost connection with myself.
It's common to feel we're "on our way" to something else, even as we're in the here and now. Eating a meal can feel this way. But meals provide a gentle and needed space. Here's a counter-culture approach to food: close your eyes for 30 seconds, pay attention to your breath, be in your body; look at your food, take in the colors; smell your food, breathe in the aroma; taste and fully chew your food. I know this might sound radical. (I don't have time for this nonsense, there's more important things to do.). Here's a key ingredient: put down your silverware (or your food), let go, between bites; between every bite. This act, in itself, will slow your pace. Even if your mind races and you quickly anticipate the next bite, there's a bit of space. You can notice your reactions. If you're with other people, you can give them your full attention. Look them in the eye. (Or, if alone, look inward at yourself.)
Give yourself this gift: put down the silverware, release your grip. Make space to savor your meal--even if in small ways. It helps your digestion, but more importantly it helps you connect with others and reconnect with yourself. (I'm with you on this journey, still practicing and starting anew each day.)
Today is the first day of my new path. It's spring break at Lawrence, but my formal commitments are over. Now I get to enjoy--enjoy the end-of-year celebrations, gradually clear out my office, ponder new professions, and let my creative juices fly. So how did my first day of freedom begin? By sleeping until 8:45. The last few days, I've been able to linger in bed, catching up on needed rest. Perhaps it's the grayness or the time change or my general exhaustion, but it feels good to sleep in. (I joked with Mark that I'm re-entering my teenage years. My new life will be sleeping until noon, hanging with friends, and sneering at chores.)
In anticipation of an open day, I made leaven last night. This morning I mixed the bread ingredients and gradually kneaded the loaf over 3 hours. And during that 3 hours I lost time--what did I actually do? I think I did some email, commented on some Flickr photos, took photographs, drank tea, ate breakfast. Wow, 3 hours goes quickly. The rest of my day: dentist appointment, walk to the Y, workout, stop at Green Gecko for groceries (oh, the leisure of not knowing what I'll cook until that very day), shovel snow (mild crankiness), bake bread, do laundry, make vacation to-do list (woe is me), welcome Mark home, make yummy pizza, share stories with Mark, and talk with my nephew about his latest volleyball games.
In reflection, it was a lovely first day of something new. And I'm glad I took time to make bread. The bread-making process is nurturing and mindful and fulfilling. The story of me is still unfolding, but here's the story of my bread:
My niece Emma is part of my creative tribe. She's a wise 15-year-old with interesting ideas, creative talent, and a great eye. She reads my blog and enjoys when I write poetry. Yesterday she requested I write a poem that rhymes. I like a new creative challenge, so I agreed to work on a rhyming poem (she promised to write me a rhyme in response). I thought this might take days to simmer, but yesterday I made zucchini bread and was inspired to write a poem. For those interested, the recipe is from amazing cook Heidi Swanson. (I'm in love with this bread. It's one of my go-to recipes in the summer, and I include everything Heidi lists as "optional.")
A Poem That Rhymes
Zucchinis are in season,
but that's not the only reason
I make the delicious bread.
It gets me out of my head
and back to the here and now,
where all my senses say wow.
The ingredients so very tasty;
my movements never hasty.
Except my impulse to eat the batter.
Raw eggs? Doesn't matter.
This bread is wholesome and yummy,
and brings a smile to my tummy.
The recipe requires time and care,
yet I have an extra loaf to share.
Food made with love is a great gift,
and via the process my spirits lift.
Plus I have scrumptious bread to eat.
Thanks, Heidi, for concocting such a special treat.
