Hunger

 

July 19, 2021

 Greetings from the insatiable,

 I rarely wake up simply because I am done sleeping.  Usually there is something that prompts me, often some stray thought that has marinated during the night, finally ready for me to pay full attention to.  Sometimes it is mourning doves, or my pillow is too hot. This week I noticed that I woke up because I was hungry.

 I don’t go to bed hungry, so I’m not sure what happens during the night that creates this appetite.  Perhaps I am a lot more active in my dreams than I know.  That aside, yesterday I woke just before five, and idled in semi-sleep a while looking out the window, and felt hunger.  And it was excellent.

 I enjoy being hungry.  I don’t mean I torture myself with it, or intentionally fast to feel it.  I am simply noticing the natural ache that my body creates that signals this need.

 With some exceptions, I eat to fuel my body’s work.  I am not analyzing calories and content closely as I should, but I am aware of the needs of the machine, and I tend to that.  It is one of life’s perfect delights; to create the need for food and then experience the pleasure of satisfying an appetite.

 I’ve come to think of hunger as a companion of sorts.  I like feeling its presence, in the same way I relish the ache of muscles I have worked.  To me, hunger is not the absence of something, but the presence of something.

 I enjoy eating.  I have some favorite foods, and I love being with people I care about to share a meal.  I’ll admit some food I simply shovel in until I get tired and hope it’s the right amount.  But most things I eat I enjoy, because of the flavors, but also because of the partnership it plays with hunger.

 I have been lucky to have sampled all kinds of food from all over the world.  But I am satisfied with the simplest fare because I feel this connection between my body and the food it asks for.  Some of the strongest images I have is from when I travelled around the country on my bicycle, often patching together unusual meals, trying to keep up with the outrageous calories I burned each day.  Peanut butter and honey sandwiches, oatmeal, Grape Nuts, an occasional egg.

 I remember stirring instant macaroni and cheese on my little grasshopper stove, scraping in a can of tuna to add some flavor and protein.  It was not gourmet, but it was still some of the best eating I can recall.  It was one of those intimate moments where I felt this visceral connection between the uncomplicated food and the sharp hunger that seared me.

Hunger is a reminder of our life, of being alive.  It has shades and intensities, it can affect our attitude, our choices, how we spend time.  But without digging into any of that, I simply feel it for what it is: a signal as primal as breathing, one that I have in common with every human that has ever existed.  Even at its strongest, I love how it feels in me.

 I recognize that as I send these words out there are still people who are not getting all the food they need each day. They are truly hungry, and they don’t have the choice to change it.  I mean no disrespect to them, or to any of the people who seek to solve that nearly impossible challenge.

 I’m also very aware of people in my life, now and in the past, who have lost their appetite.  Such easy words to write, and yet for people who are ill, or just worn down, and can’t enjoy this simple act, it is a tragic collection of letters.  For them food is a burden, even as they know they need it to nourish them. 

 I know others who have lost their interest in other appetites in their life.  I’ve had my own chapters of this, so I can sense it when I meet someone who has lost their desire for beauty or friendship or love or adventure.  Even as I write this, I am aware of how I have dulled my own pangs, and I am learning better.

 I’m grateful to feel hunger, to know my body is acting as it should.  I enjoy that edge, that ache, that tells me that I am still alive, that I am running the machine the way it was intended.  I also realize that I am privileged to be in a place where whatever I choose to satisfy my hunger is as close as my next thought.

 It's so easy to take any of this for granted.  So, I said to the man in the mirror: Slow down enough to feel the hunger, to choose to ease it intentionally, enjoy the food and be grateful for the magic.

 

Hope this finds you asking for seconds,

 

David

 

 

 

Copyright © 2021 David Smith