I have one peanut M&M. It’s blue. I ignore the world around me and eat it slowly. I pop it into my mouth, but don’t bite down. I savor the sweet outer shell with the slight bitter taste of food coloring. When the shell is as thin as new ice on a lake, I squeeze with my tongue and collapse the shell into the soft, warm chocolate below, all of it melting in my mouth, slowly washing away to the crunchy peanut in the center, releasing just a hint of salt. I finally chomp down on that peanut and begin to chew, letting the peanut flavor mix with the last traces of chocolate. My M&M is finally gone, and I really miss it.
I have a bag of peanut M&Ms. I eat them one after another, crunching and chewing them while I watch a movie, never noticing which color is which; rarely finishing one before I pop another into my mouth. Even after the sweet and the chocolate become almost too much, I keep going until the bag is gone. I absently stuff the empty bag in my pocket and finish watching my movie, with just a fading memory of cloying sweetness and way too much chocolate.
I want to live every day like it is the one blue M&M, savoring every moment, never wishing it away in anticipation of the next day. Can I live one day at a time, though, rejoicing with each awakening, relishing every meal, enjoying the burn of working my muscles and my mind, fully experiencing all the pleasure I take, exulting in all the pleasure I give, working through the pain I encounter and then remembering the best moments fondly as I finally lay my head down to sleep?
I’ll start next year.