Macro-Bliss Bowl

I work near a macrobiotic restaurant where a quiet Japanese chef prepares a lovely array of balanced food. Typically, I go there with my 70 year old nurse friend. She introduced me to this way of cooking and eating. She looks like she's in her forties. She learned about macrobiotics while living in Vermont. When we have too many difficult shifts at the psychiatric hospital and burnout is creeping into our bodies, we have a soothing ladies lunch at the little macro-eatery. We leave feeling satisfied, stress-free and energetic.
  

I return to macrobiotics when I feel unbalanced. It nourishes and calms me. After a long night in the hospital's crisis center, I wake up the next morning and forgo my usual black tea for Japanese green tea. For breakfast, I have a dark barley miso soup, deepened with toasted sesame oil, and a side of whole grain toast with sliced avocado. I prepare a macro-lunch and eat it in my PJ's. I get dressed in comfy clothes and take a long walk on the beach with my husband and dog.

We pray, giving thanks to God for good food and simple pleasures. Winter is the off season here. It's wonderful. We walk in silence, listening to the sounds of the ocean. Our hearts are directed far from the hubbub of humans and the frenzied activity of the world. Our frivolous worries get carried out to sea. God's quiet presence is felt. God never competes with the noise of the world. He speaks in whispers. You find Him in solitude. When our minds are frazzled and our cells are buzzing with stress, this peaceful path refreshes and restores our souls.

Soup And Solitude

Throughout the New England winter, I return to this soup time and time again. I wash away the world and rush back to sweet solitude. A cold walk on a clear beach and a hot bowl of soup restores my peace. Maybe it's because I work part-time in a crisis center or because I'm an introvert or because I was a bit of a wild-child in my youth; whatever the reason, I need to be alone for long stretches of time. My mom used to call it my hibernation-mode.

Solitude is not something you hope for in the future, rather it's a deepening of the present. Unless you look for solitude in the present, you'll never find it. ~ Thomas Merton.

In my twenties, I worked at a hospital with a stable and sweet psychiatric nurse who gave me a birthday card that read, "Happiness is one way of being wise." She sensed I needed to know that. Years later, I read that the true revenge of our enemies, and our darkest demons, is to be deeply happy. As a twenty-something, I lived in Philadelphia. I would go out clubbing all night. Do people even do that anymore? I loved to dance. But it wasn't a particularly happy or mellow time. I was restless and roaming. I was searching for something more meaningful. I'm grateful for those early experiences and the many mistakes I made. I still love cities and urban music. But my life has evolved into something less chaotic and more fulfilling. I used to seek happiness in people, in possessions and in the wrong places. Now I know better. Now those old messages about happiness make sense to me.