As something of an existential absurdist, the concept of infinity is fairly terrifying. It’s only less scary than the concept of nothing (but rest assured that nothing cannot be, so we’re fine as far as that’s concerned.) At the same time, infinity is fascinating, and it exists in the real world. I think that’s part of what drives peoples’ passions, infinity. Eternity. Our chance to feel what infinity is really like, and to be amazed at what it means to live in it. Because there is infinity in our reality, and the chance to experience that is a chance to, perhaps, really live.
And I had these reflections because of chocolate.
That’s not entirely true, I first had them because of wine, but wine and chocolate share the same kind of existential passion that so beautifully captures the possibilities, terrors, and passions of infinity. They also represent the sublime way that we as people can experience, almost create, infinity for ourselves. Our creativity makes infinity possible.
Have you ever tasted chocolate? Or wine? Or… coffee?
Like, we consume these things every day (maybe), but I mean sit down, stop, taste. Taste these things at the peak of their performance, from single sources, dedicated makers, handled and stored with care, aged or fermented or blended or created with an attention to detail where the only goal is to make it as true as it can be. Then taken the time to sit down, experience it properly, without distractions and without pretention and without expectation. It’s… kind of hard to do.
One of the reasons COVID has been so terrifying (there are a lot of reasons but this is a particularly personal one), is that in so many cases it begins with a loss of a sense of taste and smell (the two are intrinsically linked, try the whole apple-onion thing). Losing taste and losing smell would mean, not only that I couldn’t work, but that I would lose my window to the infinite. Not that it’s always there, but it would be heartbreaking.
It really is difficult to achieve, those kinds of unbiased experiences, even for someone trained in the art of, well, tasting. By the time you acquire the knowledge and the training to really get a feel for tasting and experiencing things, you acquire enough prejudice to know what “good” and “bad” mean not only in a more general, objective sense, but also in a personal way. It’s part of what makes selling people on food and wine difficult, because we all have those ingrained expectations given us by experience. One person doesn’t like spicy food, someone else hasn’t found a malbec they like yet, or maybe someone thinks milk chocolate is too sweet.
But there’s that moment, in wine it’s called the “Ah-ha Bottle,” when suddenly, someone’s obsession or passion about a certain thing make sense. It’s a wonderful thing to experience, and even better to help someone achieve. It’s not limited to wine, either.
It’s when someone hears or reads the first poem that makes them feel something.
That minute pause at the end of an impactful film.
That satisfied sigh after the first bite of really good food.
That speechless moment atop a mountain climbed for the very first time.
That melancholy emptiness at the end of a really good book.
That ache and thrill of a song that just… gets you.
It’s that stillness, that moment, when someone says, “I didn’t know ___ could be like that.”
Could taste like that.
Could make me feel like that.
Could look like that.
And you touch infinity, and you realize that it’s possible to experience it any time you like. It’s different for everyone, and that just adds another layer of infinity to it. The diversity of human passion and experience is part of what makes life as thrilling and terrifying as it is. Time’s a factor as anything else. Paraphrasing Sideways, but that experience, whatever it is, will be different every time you try it, another day, another minute, another hour. It’s amazing that in our limited time on this planet, in this experience, however you want to think about it, that there are infinite things to experience and it can be as simple (if these things can really be said to be simple) as a glass of wine, a taste of chocolate, or a couple-hundred words on a page.
And instead of looking at it and thinking about how you’ll never read all the new books that are published.
And that I’ll never be able to drink all the wine in the world (trying hard!)
Instead, now that suddenly I feel the urge to leap into the world of chocolate, if only for a little while, there’s comfort in knowing that while you’ll never be able to experience everything.
But that you can experience anything.
Infinity is something to be touched, not held.
Like the first taste of a piece of dark chocolate that makes you pause and go, “Huh,” before it melts.