A Palimpsest of Soul and Skin

I've been reading (in fits and starts) Carl Honoré's In Praise of Slow (when I get the chance, and, er, yes, I know how ironic that is). I'm still quite early in the book, but it's quite readable and it's stoking a fire in my belly. The chapter I'm in right now is about the Slow Food Movement , and how timely it is. I've struggled for years with eating for convenience or compulsion, and increasingly I've realized (when I have lucid moments) how little I'm actually enjoying food. How little thought I put into what I'm snarfing. How terribly rushed it all is. Since moving to Montréal almost three years ago, I've been exposed to a somewhat different approach to gastronomy than I ever experienced in Toronto or anywhere I lived in British Columbia. There's a definite sense of discernment and a pride in the quality of good food and wine—which is absolutely necessary in a city that has such an abundance of restaurants. Happily, we live wit...

I've been having an especially hard time with anxiety over the last number of months. With the impending glorious entry into my Forties (6 weeks from now? Already?) I'm determined not let that demon creep into what I consider to be power years and hang around like a bad smell (I'm not talking about normal fears and worries that all of us deal with. I'm talking about debilitating anxiety that interferes with work, school, relationships and health). (Fear is the mind-killer... ) The things that scare me the most (illness, loss, kids coming to harm, planet implosion, the evil that humans do, etc.) simply will not be staved off with a glib statement of "oh, that probably won't happen me/someone I love". Maybe it will, or maybe it won't. Maybe whether or not it happens is besides the point. Either way, there's something really counterproductive about thinking obsessively on the Maybe. Daily. Repetitively. Intrusively. The only worthwhile answer I ca...