Eat, Pray, Love: My Way, My Plate, My People

By Leslie Kate Thornton | Sassy Frass with Class

I didn’t have to hop on a plane to “find myself.”No passport stamps. No Italian villas. No Instagram-worthy spa

Teens on a couch taking a selfie surrounded by snacks and pizza

retreats. My version of Eat Pray Love happens right here, in the slow, ordinary, messy, and beautiful rhythm of my own life.

It started at the table.

To be honest, it almost never happens, but on those rare nights, it’s crystal glasses catching the light, a waiter leaning in to share the specials like he’s letting me in on a secret, and flavors so layered they feel like quiet magic. Those are the nights I close my eyes for just a second after the first bite because it’s not just dinner, it’s a moment I know I’ll remember.

Other nights, it’s been a chipped plate piled high in a place where the bread basket never runs empty, the tea is poured without asking, and the air smells like something that’s been loved over a slow flame all day. Where dessert is “whatever Grandma made” and somehow tastes better because you didn’t have to choose.

And every now and then, I make myself a little charcuterie board, nothing fancy, just whatever cheeses, crackers, fruit, and maybe a little chocolate I have on hand. It’s my way of turning an ordinary night into something worth savoring.

I’m also a big pizza connoisseur, from a wood-fired margherita at a trendy spot to a good old-fashioned delivery with extra cheese. If there’s a slice involved, I’m happy.

And then there are the nights, more than I’d like to admit, when dinner has been a bag of microwave popcorn, eaten on the couch with a blanket and a favorite show, because life happens, dishes are overrated, and sometimes “chef’s special” just means extra butter.

rustic chic semi formal outdoor cafe

Somewhere between those elegant dinners, cozy corners, charcuterie nights, and popcorn evenings, I start to realize something. Food, at its best, isn’t just about taste. It’s about presence. The way conversation lingers between bites. The way a taste can take you straight back to a memory you thought you’d forgotten.

That same presence carries into my prayers.

I’ve prayed curled up in bed before the day even starts, talking to God before I’ve even touched my phone. I’ve prayed late at night when the world feels still enough to believe it’s just me and Him in the whole universe that He Himself created. I’ve prayed, watching the light change through the window, letting my thoughts spill out without worrying if they sound “spiritual enough.”

I’ve brought Him my heartbreak, the kind that makes you stare at the ceiling, replaying every conversation, every choice. I’ve handed Him my worry when the unknown feels like too much to hold alone.

Sometimes my prayers are a soft thank you for a day I don’t want to end. Other times, they’re a desperate, “Help me, I can’t do this without You.”

Prayer has been my anchor in heartbreak, my calm in worry, and my joy in celebration. It’s the way I let go of what I can’t carry and keep my head above water when life tries to pull me under. It’s rarely polished. Sometimes it’s messy. But God’s never asked for perfect, just honest.

A young woman praying outside during sunrise

And then there’s love, the thread that runs through all of it.

Not just romance. Love is in the way we treat others and the way we treat ourselves.

It’s the friend who checks in “just because.”It’s speaking life into someone who’s forgotten their own worth. It’s taking care of yourself like you actually believe you matter.

It’s in the shared laughter over nothing at all, the quiet “I see you” moments, and the choice to stay soft even when the world tries to harden you. It’s choosing people who choose you, and being someone worth choosing.

Like it says in 1 John 4:19 (ERV): “We love because God first loved us.”And when you believe that, it changes how you love everyone, including yourself.

Sometimes love shows up in big ways. Other times, it’s simply staying soft in a world that tries to make you hard.