(Originally written Thursday, April 20 at 3:00 in the morning)
It has been a long time since I have invited anyone over for dinner. The year has been rough, the kitchen at my temporary homes - uninviting, and my creativity - stymied. I have sought to find my inner strength in other places first. No guests at my table means it has been a while since I have had wonderful conversation over wonderful food. Or since I have had much conversation over food. There is always an occasional (and often tasty) exception, but the norm is either quiet, un-garnished and on my own or somewhat decent conversation over lackluster food while out with friends. These past few days have seen a greater deviation; conversations of worry and hurt inside myself that have left me quite unable to stomach most of my food. It started with what I thought was nausea induced by sugar, but my body has actually rejected most everything, and I am very keenly aware that this is because my emotions have gone to battle with my stomach. I have been able to manage, but my strength is down and heart a bit heavy.
Tuesday night I spent a night at my childhood friend’s house. In the morning, my friend fed me fresh, organic fruits and berries, creamy yogurt and a perfect egg after my short run through the nearby nature preserve. The conversation was about the food itself. Then about organics and feeding her family and how preciously right her marriage felt to her and hearing the word ‘mommy’ first uttered by her sons – the departure point being essential sustenance. Or maybe it was not all that, but that is what I registered. After several weeks of feeling an acute disconnect between food and self, it was soothing to take in breakfast and her words in the blissful manner I did. When I write ‘register,’ I mean it in the most holistic sense possible: a recording on the mind, body and heart. After days of barely holding down any type of food (and sometimes not even this), I finally (and soothingly) absorbed a small meal the way my mind, body and heart were meant to. The sensation, however, was short-lived. As soon as I grew preoccupied near the time I was to head to the airport, my body went awry once again. I am unable to keep food in me while I feel so far from my center and self.
As I sit on the plane now, I am thinking about the Boston Marathon (which I went to Monday to cheer on the runners) and about the elite runner who soiled herself to make a qualifying finishing time. It shocked me, but it ultimately made me want to understand more about why this public display of utter humiliation occasionally happens to elite marathoners. The short of it: her body just hit its limit and forced her to expel a build-up of toxicity so she could continue on her path. I cannot stop thinking about how gut reaction is literally the rawest register of our inner truth.
It is strange to write this post about food and conversation that are un-sustaining, about the rather taboo subject of eliminating food, and about how – depending on the moment – my body is rejecting or recoiling or very quiet in the face of what I once loved. Yet, I intrinsically understand my gut is doing the same thing as an elite marathoner, just in a more protracted (and far less embarrassing) manner. My body is going through a very drawn out process of expunging what has somehow entered me as toxic feelings, toxic conversation and toxic food. It is a very strange post indeed, but probably more reverent to the critical role of ingestion than any other post thus far and certainly deferential to the miraculous intelligence of the body.
Tuesday night I spent a night at my childhood friend’s house. In the morning, my friend fed me fresh, organic fruits and berries, creamy yogurt and a perfect egg after my short run through the nearby nature preserve. The conversation was about the food itself. Then about organics and feeding her family and how preciously right her marriage felt to her and hearing the word ‘mommy’ first uttered by her sons – the departure point being essential sustenance. Or maybe it was not all that, but that is what I registered. After several weeks of feeling an acute disconnect between food and self, it was soothing to take in breakfast and her words in the blissful manner I did. When I write ‘register,’ I mean it in the most holistic sense possible: a recording on the mind, body and heart. After days of barely holding down any type of food (and sometimes not even this), I finally (and soothingly) absorbed a small meal the way my mind, body and heart were meant to. The sensation, however, was short-lived. As soon as I grew preoccupied near the time I was to head to the airport, my body went awry once again. I am unable to keep food in me while I feel so far from my center and self.
As I sit on the plane now, I am thinking about the Boston Marathon (which I went to Monday to cheer on the runners) and about the elite runner who soiled herself to make a qualifying finishing time. It shocked me, but it ultimately made me want to understand more about why this public display of utter humiliation occasionally happens to elite marathoners. The short of it: her body just hit its limit and forced her to expel a build-up of toxicity so she could continue on her path. I cannot stop thinking about how gut reaction is literally the rawest register of our inner truth.
It is strange to write this post about food and conversation that are un-sustaining, about the rather taboo subject of eliminating food, and about how – depending on the moment – my body is rejecting or recoiling or very quiet in the face of what I once loved. Yet, I intrinsically understand my gut is doing the same thing as an elite marathoner, just in a more protracted (and far less embarrassing) manner. My body is going through a very drawn out process of expunging what has somehow entered me as toxic feelings, toxic conversation and toxic food. It is a very strange post indeed, but probably more reverent to the critical role of ingestion than any other post thus far and certainly deferential to the miraculous intelligence of the body.
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