The Lost Art of Appetite

I think we've lost our appetite.

Not for food. If anything, we're surrounded by more food than ever. Not for success either. We still chase promotions, goals, achievements, and endless to-do lists. What I mean is something deeper. I think many of us have lost our appetite for life itself.

Somewhere along the way, we became cautious. Practical. Responsible. We learned how to make good decisions, pay our bills, raise our children, answer emails, and keep everything running. We learned how to be adults. What we didn't learn was how to stay hungry.

As children, we were naturally hungry for life. We wanted to climb the tree just to see what was at the top. We wanted to swim farther, run faster, stay outside longer. We were curious about everything. We wanted to taste, touch, explore, and experience the world. We didn't need a reason.

Then adulthood arrived with its rules and responsibilities. Little by little, many of us traded wonder for efficiency. We stopped asking ourselves what we desired and started asking what was realistic. We stopped pursuing what delighted us and focused on what was productive. We became so busy managing our lives that we forgot how to enjoy them.

I notice this most when I talk to people about what they want. Not what they need. What they want.

The question often catches them off guard.

When was the last time you wanted something simply because it sounded wonderful?

Not because it would advance your career.

Not because it was practical.

Not because it was good for you.

Just because it made you feel alive.

A dance class.

A trip.

A kiss.

A long lunch with a friend.

A red dress.

A motorcycle.

A pottery wheel.

A surfboard.

A garden.

A love affair.

A different life.

Many of us have become so skilled at denying our desires that we've stopped listening to them altogether.

But desire is not frivolous. It is information.

It tells us what lights us up. It points us toward growth, joy, connection, creativity, and meaning. It reminds us that we are still awake and engaged with the world around us.

The older I get, the more I believe that a good life is built around appetite.

An appetite for beauty.

An appetite for learning.

An appetite for adventure.

An appetite for intimacy.

An appetite for good food, deep conversations, ocean swims, belly laughs, and unexpected detours.

The people I know who seem most alive aren't necessarily the wealthiest or the most successful. They're the people who remain curious. They still have things they want to see, places they want to go, books they want to read, and people they want to love. They haven't allowed life to convince them that wanting is childish.

They understand something important: appetite is what keeps us engaged.

Without it, life becomes a series of obligations. With it, life becomes an experience.

Lately, I've been paying more attention to my own appetites. Not just the obvious ones, but the quieter ones. The desire to spend more time near the ocean. The desire to write. The desire to have conversations that matter. The desire to laugh more, rush less, and fill my days with things that leave me feeling nourished instead of depleted.

I've spent enough years doing what I thought I should do. These days, I'm becoming more interested in what makes me feel alive.

Maybe that's what growing older is really about. Not becoming less hungry, but becoming honest about what you're hungry for.

Because the truth is, life is far too short to lose your appetite.

For food.

For love.

For adventure.

For wonder.

For all the beautiful things that remind you you're still here.

And if we're lucky, we get to spend our lives learning how to take a bigger bite.