- Your body runs cold.
- You learn why we call it sustenance.
- You understand how food affects — how it creates — mood and other mental states.
- Day trips and "lunch" with friends are less memorable.
- You grok the incredible gift of food security.
- Coffee shops become cheaper and healthier. I have not once overthought a pastry purchase.
- You acquire new olfactory powers. Previously my faculties extended as far as “pizza” or even "garlicky pizza". But when you can't actually eat the pizza, you start to notice the component scents, even where none predominates — here the tomato, there the oregano, etc.
- You swear that when you can eat again, you'll be so much healthier than before.
Then you dream of the worst, greasiest, most lavishly gut-busting foods.
- Mostly you notice the cravings. Once the hunger stops, the compulsions are entirely mental. The distance between desire and necessity has never been clearer. And as typically happens in these moments of mindfulness, the act of seeing the craving slackens its grip.
And that’s new. I was raised a chicken-fried-chicken Baptist in a church that preached against everything but gluttony.
Learning how to hear necessity will take time.