“When you realize there is nothing lacking, the whole world belongs to you.”

—Lao Tzu (6th century BCE; ancient Chinese philosopher and founder of Taoism. His teachings emphasize harmony with the natural flow of life.)

Ta-TUM. Ta-TUM. Ta-TUM.

With rhythmic precision, it keeps pounding just like my heart.

But it’s not my heart.

It’s my mind, beating to the same rhythm, chanting.

I want. I want. I want.

In my most recent chant, I wanted Francesco Mattano’s famed Peposo, a traditional Tuscan Red Wine Beef Stew. It’s so simple with just a few ingredients: garlic, beef, salt, coarsely ground black pepper, a bouquet garni, and red wine. Simmered for several hours and served up in a well of buttered polenta, it’s the recipe’s clean simplicity that makes it so sinfully delicious.

Altroché! That’s just what I wanted–an entree promising good-to-the-last-bite deliciousness. At the same time, I was well aware that I had leftover pork tenderloin as well as chicken salad.

Once upon a time, I would have rushed off to the grocery store, bought the provisions for Peposo, and celebrated another culinary triumph.

These days, however, even though my wants are as rhythmic as my heart, I am pulling back as I try to reconcile what I want with what I have.

With food, for example, I wanted Francesco’s stew, but I had pork tenderloin and chicken salad already prepared. The craving was there, but so was a perfectly good meal.

Take books, for example. I’ve dedicated decades of my life to Mary E. Wilkins Freeman, and I’ve amassed a significant collection. But I want to chase after one more obscure letter or document that will make my already rich archive even richer.

What about dating? I want romance—not out of need, but out of hope. My life is full and meaningful, yet I’d love to share it with someone who brings his own fullness—a shared life made richer by both of us.

Even in garden centers, new specimen evergreens whisper, “Take me. Plant me.” But I already have a beautiful Zen-like landscape.

I’m also trying to reconcile what I want with what I need.

I might want dessert, but what I need is a meal that aligns with my health goals. I’m cutting out sweets but keeping nightly Bunnahabhain—for balance!

When it comes to fitness, I might want quick results, but I need consistency not as much in biking as in weight training.  At my age–no, at any age–real strength comes from steady, intentional effort.

What about my writing?  I want more time to write, but I need to manage my other commitments more wisely so that I have the time I need.

Even in relationships, I want certainty, but I need to let connections unfold naturally—his rhythm, my rhythm, coming into step together.

The more I realize that I don’t need everything I want and that, in reality, I already have what I need, the more I’m discovering new dimensions of freedom.

What had been a constant search for more, whether material things, achievements, or validation, has given way to peace.

What had been a scarcity mindset has become a focus on embracing abundance—not in excess, but in sufficiency.

What had been a notion that having more means being more has yielded to the realization that I’m already enough.

What had been impulse is now intentional as I make choices that nourish me rather than just satisfy my fleeting cravings.

I’m shifting from grasping to gratitude,
from craving to contentment.

I’m no longer mistaking wants for purpose.
I’m recognizing that growth, connection, and presence matter more.

I’m starting to trust the rhythm of life,
just like I trust the rhythm of my own heart.

My heart beats on, steady and sure—
not demanding, just existing.

It thumps a lesson that I’m learning:
I don’t have to chase every want.
What I need is already here—or on its way, arriving in the fullness of time.

And that, in itself, is everything.