I found myself adrift in a sea of Chinese conversations, seated in a van with locals whose words flowed over me like a foreign tide. My rudimentary grasp of Chinese allowed me to catch snippets, but the effort of piecing together the meaning soon became exhausting. As I disengaged from the chatter around me, my mind wandered into the comforting realm of food.
My love affair with Chinese cuisine, especially the bold flavors of Sichuan, was in full bloom. Those first few days in Sichuan were a culinary binge, a glorious indulgence in heaping plates of mouth – watering dishes. And then, out of the blue, a thought sparked a two – hour mental odyssey: “What if my body could utilize every bit of the food I ate?” But almost immediately, a counter – thought emerged: “If that were true, I’d just keep overeating.”
I’ve always been on the slender side. Growing up, I was a picky eater, and while I could put away a fair amount at times, my calorie intake was never excessive. In college, my friend Terry and I, both skinny as rails, had a light – hearted competition to see who could pack on the most pounds in our first year. I managed to gain seven pounds, mainly by indulging in ice – cream sundaes for breakfast. Back then, eating a lot was a novelty, a game that didn’t seem to have any consequences for my body.
Even now, I’ve never tipped the scales into the overweight category. During the pandemic, when travel was off the table, I settled at around 150 pounds, perhaps a bit light for my height. I’ve never exceeded 170 pounds, and while that’s supposed to be a healthy weight for someone my size, I can feel myself softening when I get close, prompting me to tighten my belt, figuratively speaking.
As my mind churned, I began to wonder: If I could adjust to eating more, why couldn’t I adjust to eating less? What made the amount I was currently consuming so sacrosanct? And then, the real revelation hit me like a bolt of lightning. The first bite of every meal was pure bliss, both a treat for my taste buds and nourishment for my body. But the last bite? It was the least enjoyable and, I suspected, doing more harm than good. Why, then, was I subjecting myself to those final, unneeded bites?
I realized that by cutting out the last 20% of my meals, I could still savor around 95% of the pleasure while sparing my body from unnecessary strain. Maybe, just maybe, I could adapt to this reduced intake and find it just as satisfying. And as I delved deeper, I questioned the very idea that eating large quantities was fun. Looking back on my favorite meals, it was always the quality of the food, not the quantity, that made them memorable. Even that time on a cruise when I devoured 16 lobster tails, the last few were more of a chore than a delight.
I made a decision then and there. I would limit my food intake to 80% of what I would normally eat and stick with it until Christmas. I wanted to give this new approach enough time to work its magic, but also leave myself an out if I found it unbearable. I started planning ahead, thinking about the meals I’d have in Japan, where I knew I’d be tempted by a plethora of delicious dishes.
In Japan, I made simple adjustments. Instead of the massive Tonkatsu I usually ordered at Katsukura Shinjuku, I opted for a smaller portion. With sushi and gyoza, I simply ate fewer pieces. I cut back on my beloved Japanese convenience – store ice creams, limiting myself to one a day, or skipping them altogether on some days. At Savoy, I settled for a single small pizza instead of one and a half.
Another realization dawned on me. With over 80% of Americans struggling with weight issues, and restaurants serving standardized portion sizes, why was I accepting these amounts as the norm? I decided that from then on, I’d leave behind extra food when necessary, rather than mindlessly consuming it all to avoid the stigma of “wasting” food. I also confronted the notion that eating a lot was somehow “cool.” I realized that this idea was a relic from my childhood, when my ability to eat without gaining weight was a novelty. In reality, there was nothing cool about overeating; it was, in fact, a rather sad habit.
When the first dinner after my epiphany rolled around, I ate significantly less. In the communal setting of Chinese dining, I erred on the side of caution, not wanting to draw too much attention to my new eating habits. Everyone noticed and tried to pile more food on my plate, but I politely declined, insisting I was full. Despite the slight hunger pangs, I felt a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction.
With each passing meal, it became easier. I adapted to my reduced intake much faster than I’d anticipated, though I remained wary, wondering if it was just wishful thinking. I even surprised myself when I let an ice cream melt rather than eating it, something I’d never done before.
In Hong Kong, during a layover between China and Japan, I faced a test of my resolve at Shake Shack. Instead of my usual order of a double cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake, I decided to skip the milkshake and throw away 20% of the fries. But as I ate, I found myself setting aside even more fries than I’d planned. In Japan, I continued to make small but significant changes, and when I finally returned home and stepped on the scale, I was amazed. In just under three weeks, I’d shed eight pounds and reduced my body fat percentage. The most astonishing part? I didn’t feel deprived at all. The meals I’d enjoyed during the second half of my China trip and in Japan were just as memorable as ever.
Now, back home, I’ve continued to adjust my eating habits. I find that I can’t even finish the same amount of my usual “warm and brown” (a staple in my diet) and have reduced my intake of nuts as well. I was hesitant to share this story, fearing it might seem like a trivial experiment. But the truth is, a simple shift in perspective has had a profound impact on my life. I may need to fine – tune my intake and increase it slightly, but I’m certain I’ll never go back to my old, excessive eating habits.
This experience has taught me that lasting change often stems from a new way of looking at things. Sometimes, it comes from the wisdom of a book, as I’ve discovered with titles like “Live Long Enough to Live Forever,” “Difficult Conversations,” and “Die With Zero.” But other times, that change can emerge from within, when we take the time to challenge our assumptions and seek a more accurate perspective on the world around us and, most importantly, on ourselves.
