At a Café
At a Café
"It's all about balance," she says, the tray a horizontal scale in her hands held out flat. It does not shake even as she lowers the tray to the table. I thank her and reach for the alluring cappuccino. It will make a nice companion for my sweet roll with raisins.
I think: I shouldn't be eating this, and then almost immediately: Why shouldn't I?
Why should I deny myself a croissant or a cappuccino once in a while? In the scheme of things, what difference does it make? I will not live better or longer adding or subtracting one sweet.
It's all in the tray...how often do I fill it with "good stuff"? Do I often "cheat" or go astray?
And what does it mean to go astray, anyway?
I want to enjoy life. I desire it to be as rich as it can be–no holding back, unless holding back is actually a step toward somewhere I want to be. (Like meditating makes me take a time out so that I feel better for the rest of the day.)
It isn't until I put the cup back down that I notice what's written there: May you live in interesting times. It doesn't say "good" but "interesting" times. These two concepts may coincide but also may not. Within interesting there is the pull of the unknown, of the not necessarily beautiful but irresistible. And maybe it's irresistible because it's hard to reach...perhaps there's some hurdle to overcome before the satisfaction.
It's quite possibly not about the satisfaction at all. It's the journey to comprehend that fuels the times, that pulls you from inside out out and helps you to write, reflect, or live. It's that spark of "what's going to happen next" that keeps life alive.
I finish my roll and leave the café, the sweetness sitting in my stomach but the resolve to try some new dish settling there with it.
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