The Rich Vegetarian

An Examined Life

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Category: This and That (page 1 of 423)

Eat in Quiet Silence

I eat lunch alone at work.

I eat around noon, perched on a stool along a long table, facing a full length window looking out at the Downtown Atlanta skyline. It is a lovely view. I take my time, chewing as slowly as I am able to (I am not the most patient eater), occasionally peeping into my phone, but mostly eating and looking out, quiet.

It is the way I like it, really. I have come to realize that it is important, especially for me, to eat slow. When I am able to do that, I come away from lunch feeling sated, plus I don’t feel any kind of stuffed-discomfort-bloat. However, I have experienced the opposite a few times too, and that makes me think  … I need to eat in slow silence.

I enjoy meeting friends, sharing food and laughter and talk and fun. However, it isn’t always the best for me, food-wise. I tend to eat in an unmindful manner, chewing be damned. I am not 100% aware of what I consume. It isn’t generally a problem of eating too much (I am rather conservative in that aspect), but more about swallowing without chewing well, ingesting a lot of air with food, and ending up feeling that I might just need to skip the next meal. And then I am left sipping warm herbal tea through the day, waiting for the bloated feeling to go away.

This never happens during my workday lunches.

The trick now lies in being able to combine my calm-n-silent weekday lunch mode with company.

What does this body feel like?

It feels like a silken quilt, the kind that you can throw over yourself in early spring, that provides the perfect amount of warmth and softness. It feels tender, especially near the nape, neck, top of the chest, clavicle, and inner arms. It feels like a little pillow of mounded flesh, soft and rounded. It is satin-smooth in places, hard and bony in others. It is lean, sometimes dry and anxious. There are cuts in tender places, scars and birthmarks, remnants of an incision from an appendectomy, vaccination and chickenpox memories. It has stretch marks that don’t owe themselves to childbirth. It has dark-light patches and vacant spaces, hollowed out. There are small curves, stable enough to rest the palms. There are lines on smooth surfaces. There is roughness, abrasions, abrasiveness, and a silhouette that hides easily.

This body feels like a good friend.