My daily piece of chocolate

I knew a girl in college who found something special every day. Margaret didn’t stumble upon 4-leafed clovers, or diamond rings inadvertently dropped in the grass, or anything like that. Her special things weren’t particularly serendipitous. She made them. And I don’t mean arts-and-crafts, either.

She had a personal goal to do something, taste something, see something, each and every day, to make that day special. I don’t actually remember too many of her tricks (once she hiked over to the registrar’s office and demanded to see her “permanent file”) but the memory of her intent – her grand plan to make the world a special place – has always made me smile. I think it’s a wonderful way to approach life.

This, then, is my tribute to her special world: my daily piece of chocolate.

I started this little ritual about a year ago, when a friend sent a small box of Godiva chocolates to my office as a thank you for writing a letter of recommendation for his application to medical school. Unnecessary, but very sweet, I thought. Then I tucked the box into a drawer and tried to forget about it. Why, you ask? Why would anyone try to forget about Godiva chocolates? I dunno, I was probably trying to diet or some such craziness.

But I was not able to forget about it. Every morning as I unlocked the door to my office, my eyes darted to that little credenza across from my desk where I had stashed the goods. Every morning, I would quickly zip past the credenza and settle myself behind my desk. From here, I could not reach the chocolates. I could see their hiding place, of course, which became a special kind of torment, but I couldn’t reach them. In order to touch the chocolate, I would have to stand up, climb around my u-shaped desk, scramble over a pile of papers stacked on the floor, move some boxes off the chair next to the credenza that blocked the drawer, open the drawer, rearrange the files burying the pretty gold box, then pry off the ribbon keeping said box tightly sealed. (My office, as you might have guessed, is not conducive to quick moves.) Waaay too much trouble for a little piece of chocolate. That was my hope.

But then, I reconsidered. What was I trying to avoid, besides big(ger) hips? Gluttony? Decadence? Self-indulgence? What?

Burying that chocolate was symptomatic of a misguided approach to life. I was trying to eliminate indulgences that could make me soft and undisciplined. No playing when there is work to be done. No resting without a work-out first. No relaxing in the sun when there is a garden to be weeded. No dessert before the vegetables. I was trying to impose a kind of nose-to-the-grindstone, no-nonsense work ethic that would make me more productive, thinner, richer, prettier, stronger.

The problem was, I couldn’t stop thinking about that chocolate. Finally, after fighting the impulse for several weeks, I caved. I climbed across the mountain of barricades between me and Godiva, dug the box out of the drawer, reverently lifted the lid, and delicately selected a single confection. Then I reburied the box, made my way back to my desk, settled into the chair, closed my eyes, and ate the sweet dark caramely chocolate beauty.

It was a very good decision. It made my day special. And it reminded me of Margaret and her quest to make every day a special day. There’s not much nutritiously good or useful about chocolate, but civilizations have gone to war over it because it is so delicious. Not good for you, but good. Chocolate makes people smile. It makes them sigh with pleasure. It makes them happy. And isn’t that good for you?

I hope you find a small piece of chocolate in your life everyday.