The Last Spoonful

In one of the opening scenes of Frankie and Johnny, Frankie stands leaning against the counter in her small, dark, dank, colorless kitchen apartment, alone, eating her dinner from a bowl she holds in one hand and a fork in the other, still wearing the waitress uniform she’d worn to work that day. Then she chokes and has to give herself the Heimlich maneuver.

All this to say, she is a lonely, mild to moderately depressed young woman.

So when I stand in my kitchen holding a bowl of dinner in one hand and a utensil in the other (it may be cereal and a spoon), I think of that scene, but I don’t see myself as Frankie.

At all.

That movie came out in 1991. For many years afterward, I believed that sad movie scene. I would never have dreamed of standing while eating, unless maybe if I was in a hurry . Not as a lonely, depressed woman, but as a busy, important one with purpose and a life.

Now, in my sixties, as I stand in my kitchen eating my meal, I think of myself as liberated. I have earned the badge of being in my sixties, which allows me to eat wherever I want. I do want to point out here that you do not have to wait that long, if you don’t already know that.

However, as I bask in my liberation, I’m aware that it is hard for me to sit myself down and eat a meal alone in my house without my phone, laptop, or book.

In my more dedicated yoga years, this was a practice. To sit quietly and chew. Mindfully eat. Mindfully eat the meal I mindfully prepared and will mindfully clean up after I have chewed each bite thirty times.

It’s the same amount of hesitation it takes to get on my yoga mat. The hesitation can last hours. Days. Months. Maybe even a year between rolling out my mat.

No matter how much one practices being disciplined at something, that hesitation never goes away.

It’s just like yoga to step into my thoughts just as I’m feeling liberated to eat my meal standing up.

I had been practicing a particular pose and finally realized a slight adjustment made all the difference in the quality of the pose, which made me understand the reason for the pose.

It felt like arriving at twelve on a clock after revolving all the way from one, reaching the top. Nirvana. Having all the answers.

Only to realize you’re at one again.

The beginning.

You’re never king of the diving board for very long.

You’re never all-knowing forever.

There is always more to learn.

So, while I am not that lonely, depressed woman because I stand in my kitchen while I eat, I can still be better. Kinder to myself. I could choose to mindfully nourish my body, appreciate the food I give it, and be mindful of where it came from.

Instead, I walk to my desk, set my bowl down, and write about it on my laptop, taking a spoonful here and there of my cereal.

When I’m done writing, I pick up my bowl and notice it’s empty, and I’m mild to moderately surprised I have no recollection of the last spoonful.