When you really get down to it, almost everything in life is temporary. Your car, your clothes, your schedule, your location, your age, your experiences, the conversation you’ll have on the phone tonight, the meal you’ll eat for dinner, the way you’ll put your gym shoes on and take them off again. These moments keep coming, quickly, passing through our fingers like shifting sand, and then are gone, replaced by something else, something which will also end.
Mentally, I know this. I know this. So I hate when I catch myself pushing, striving, demanding whatever temporary something seems very important in its moment, sacrificing faith, hope and love for the getting and grasping of that something Right Now. I hate that. Because while of course we need temporary places to live and temporary things to eat and temporary activities to pursue—that is not all we need. That is not most what we need. That is not what should govern my Everything Else. And I need to be reminded of this.
So that’s a good thing about food, you know? Food is extremely, necessarily temporal. The meals I made when I started this blog almost two years ago? Gone. The cookies I have posted (and posted! and posted! and am posting again today!)? Gone. The panini I made Saturday, the mango smoothie I blended Monday, the giant salad I thought I’d never finish at my work desk the other day? Every bit of it all: eaten and used and, gone.
Even today’s chocolate spelt cookies, riddled with chopped dark chocolate and topped by drizzled icing: all but three of them, already gone.
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