🍞 Hungry for Quiet

A learning story about wanting more than food

By noon, my stomach was loud enough to embarrass me in the break room. I stared into the fridge anyway, even though I already knew what was inside. Leftovers I didn't want. Snacks that never helped. Half a sandwich wrapped in guilt.

I wasn't really hungry for food.

I ate standing up, scrolling, barely tasting anything. Ten minutes later, the hunger was still there. Stronger, somehow.

So I went back to my desk and kept working.

That's when it hit me. The hunger showed up every day around the same time. Not for lunch. For space. For a pause. For five minutes without noise, notifications, or expectations tapping my shoulder.

I had been feeding the wrong thing.

That afternoon, instead of grabbing another snack, I stepped outside. No phone. No music. Just air and the sound of traffic moving without me. I sat on the curb and let my thoughts finish their sentences.

The hunger softened.

It didn't disappear, but it changed shape. It felt clearer. Honest. Like it had finally been heard.

When I went back inside, I ate again. Slowly this time. The food tasted better. It actually worked.

I learned something simple that day. Hunger isn't always about needing more. Sometimes it's about needing different.

And once you know what you're really hungry for, it stops yelling.

It just waits.