Hungry Heart

 A very long time ago, when I was a small boy, I was sent to bed without supper. Well, that makes a better story than I was sent to bed without much supper because I was being a recalcitrant child who insisted that he have a hamburger for dinner and nothing else would do. Much later that night, I woke up in tears, and when my parents rushed in to see what the fuss was about, I told them that I had dreamed that my pillow was a hamburger. The punchline here would be that the pillow was missing, but it wasn't. It was just a pillow and not a giant hamburger which doubled down on my disappointment. 

This moment was reinforced by another memory of being a very young lad in Disneyland who fell asleep on his enormous hamburger after a day of the happiest place on earth. That warm bun so soft and inviting. I have heard that there are pictures of this event, but so far none of my searches through my family's photo albums have been able to uncover it. Which is fine for me, since I can close my eyes today and see it. 

All of which is to say: I have not missed that many meals in my life. Until recently. This fad of intermittent fasting has latched on to me as a way to help control my middle age spread. Making a conscious decision to go without something is a trick that I have learned to reproduce over and over again. The most recent one was swearing off Peanut M&Ms. And most breakfasts. I have become a healthier human as a result, but the challenge I still face is the moments leading up to my eventual meal. The anticipation of those has become a much larger event in my life. I catch myself some mornings playing over the night's dinner plan in absurd detail. A bit of a preoccupation, but an amusing way to wile away the hours until the next feeding.

This past week I had to fast before my procedure. This meant that I wasn't having any solid food for nearly forty-eight hours. This was a different game. My rhythms were impacted greatly, and since I was at home on vacation, I was intensely aware of the moments that I was not getting up from my computer to grab some peanuts. I watched intently as my wife ate an apple in front of me. I became acutely aware of the food I was not eating. Just a few feet away was the kitchen, where all those tasty bits sat waiting for me to come to my senses and give in.

There was even some hamburger and buns. 

Somewhere in there I had a Grich-type revelation. Here I was, pining for meals that I might be missing when there were thousands of people right here in my own city who were going without. They weren't testing themselves or prepping for a medical procedure. They are going hungry. They were falling asleep on the sidewalk, not on their toasted bun. I wanted to go back in time and teach my little self a lesson in privilege. It took me a good long while, but I learned it. 

I'm still hungry. Just a lot more realistic about it.