I’m a book person. A smell-the-pages, underline-the-quotes, display-my-spirit-on-the-shelf kind of person. When I moved from the U.S. to Brazil with four suitcases between me and my husband, I had to limit the number of books I would take with me. All of which would travel in the carry-ons that we hoped no one would stop to weigh because they were hardly “carry-able.” I chose my journals, our wedding photo album, a novel I hadn’t finished yet, a helpful book on the cultural differences of Americans and Brazilians, and Bread and Wine by Shauna Niequist.
In this book, Shauna (it feels right to call her by her first name, you’ll know why if you read the book) says there are two kinds of people. The kind who wake up thinking about what they will have for dinner and the kind who don’t. She talks about how hard it was to celebrate or even admit that she was the first kind of person. The dinner daydreamer. How ashamed or afraid she used to always be to say how she was basically hungry all the time. That passage never fails to hit me with such a sense of being seen and known that I tear up. I think that’s why I selected that book for our move – it reminds me who I want to continue being. And that my delights and pleasures are valid, even sacred.
I wake up thinking about what I will eat on any given day. Not just for breakfast. But for lunch. Dinner. Snacks. Drinks. Food is one of my great joys in life. And, I believe it’s connected to all the other joys. And to all the longings. To even the fears. To God.
But while Shauna celebrates my constant thoughts of food, many people do not. Many people I know personally scoff at my delight in, or even need for, food. I’ve been laughed at for saying I need more than a smoothie for breakfast. Made fun of for starting to discuss lunch plans at 10:30am at the office. And stared at with concern when I finally bite into my food I’ve been waiting for since my last meal. Coworkers have often cringed at my expressions of delight towards food. Some have joked about my expressions sounding sexual. But I don’t think that’s why those people were uncomfortable. I think they were uncomfortable with pleasure. Such pleasure. Such delight. Right there in broad daylight. On a lunch break on Tuesday. At our desks. Can you believe it?
I guess it is a little weird to be so excited about something we have to do to survive. Unless the delight is exactly how we survive. If you wake up daydreaming about dinner like me, you’ll understand.