At the diner, i close my eyes to bring mindfulness to my food and I find that I am thinking, instead, about the man at the next table. He is facing me, staring either at me, or over my shoulder.I wonder if he is watching me, judging me or the way that I eat, or whether he is judging the food items I've selected.I catch myself now, judging him! (For how could HE, a man in a shirt like THAT, be judging me?) But of course, the poor man is just sitting there, not looking at me, not judging me, eating his sandwich and fries!I am relieved that he is having fries - as I am having fries, too (And here, concerned that YOU will judge me for this unhealthy choice, I must explain that I ordered them only after the waitress informed me that they no longer had any oatmeal, my first choice, or baked potato, my second.)I see that I am judging even my food. I see that this has taken from me the simple pleasure of eating these fries.With dismay, I see that judging and being judged permeates my every thought. I seem to have judged every person in the room, and sorted them into categories - wealthy or working class, sophisticated or simple, educated or slower-witted. I see that these categories - which no longer reflect who I am or what i believe is important - are inside of me, ancient architecture built into my psyche during my early life as an aspiring princess in a Long Island suburb.Oh, and then, did you see it? Did you notice how, as I realized I was judging them I began to judge myself for doing so?Judging. Catching myself judging. Feeling badly about judging. It's insidious. It takes me out of my life - and it certainly removes all hope of mindfulness.I will try again...Here is this pen, this paper place mat where I have been recording these thoughts as I slowly  - and unconsciously - eat my two poached eggs, my fries.Though the food is almost gone, I have not until this moment experienced the creamy yellow yolks of these eggs. I have missed the savory salt crunch of these fried potatoes. My tea has gone cold and too strong, the tea bag left soaking in the cup too long.Realizing this, I stop writing and attempt to be fully present with this food, this body and the diner in which I sit.This doesn't last long. My thoughts drift...

• To this blog post and how to finesse it
• To the waitress, attempting to refill my cup with coffee even though (she should remember!) she served me this tea
• To the man at the other table in his green button down shirt, either judging or not judging me.
• To YOU, reading this, judging, not judging.

I push my plate away. I see, in this moment, that all of this matters and does not matter to me. I see how this diner, festooned with red paper hearts and huge red plastic lips - in honor of Valentine's Day - has become an ashram. That man at the next table a guru. These French fries, a gift.