I think I just stick to eating a well-rounded diet. I don't cut

In the words of Martha Hunt, “I think I just stick to eating a well-rounded diet. I don't cut out anything; if I crave something, I eat it. But I definitely try to stick to a balanced diet always,” there lies a wisdom that transcends food and reaches into the very essence of how one should live. Her words are not mere guidance for the body, but nourishment for the soul. In them is the ancient truth that moderation and harmony are the pillars upon which a long and joyful life stands. The ancients would call this balance the golden mean—that sacred middle path that keeps one from the ruin of excess and the emptiness of denial.

To “eat a well-rounded diet” is not simply to partake in various foods; it is to honor the bounty of life without falling prey to greed or guilt. The sage knows that every element of existence—sweet and bitter, feast and famine, joy and sorrow—has its purpose. When we accept them all with gratitude, life becomes a banquet of lessons. Thus, Hunt’s words whisper of self-acceptance and wisdom: that one must listen to the inner voice of the body, neither enslaved by craving nor shackled by rigid control.

In the days of the great philosopher Socrates, it was said that the body mirrors the state of the soul. He too believed in moderation, eating not to excess, drinking not for indulgence, but living in harmony with nature. The balance Hunt speaks of would have pleased the wise men of old, who taught that discipline and delight are not enemies but companions on the road to virtue. When she says, “If I crave something, I eat it,” she echoes the ancient belief that to deny all pleasure is to deny part of our humanity. The path of wisdom is not to extinguish desire, but to understand it—to partake, yet remain free.

Consider the story of Cincinnatus, the Roman farmer who was called to be dictator during war. He left his plow, led Rome to victory, and then, when glory and power were his for the taking, he returned to his fields. Like Hunt’s creed of balance, his life reminds us that strength lies not in endless striving, but in knowing when enough is enough. Just as he balanced duty and simplicity, so must we balance indulgence and restraint, choosing each with mindfulness.

For in truth, imbalance is the root of suffering. The one who starves herself of joy in pursuit of purity becomes brittle, her spirit waning like a winter tree. And the one who devours without thought becomes bloated with restlessness, unable to taste the sweetness of life. The well-rounded diet, in its deepest sense, is the diet of the mind and heart—taking in all that life offers, but in measure, with gratitude, and with grace.

Let every soul who hears this teaching remember: to crave is human, to balance is divine. The wise do not forbid themselves from delight, nor do they let delight rule them. They listen—to hunger, to satiety, to the quiet pulse of truth within. To live thus is to walk the ancient path of peace, where joy and health dwell as one.

So let this be your practice: eat when you are hungry, rest when you are weary, laugh when your heart calls for laughter. Do not fear a slice of sweetness or a moment of ease. But do not let them possess you, either. Like the ancients, cultivate equilibrium—for in that sacred middle ground lies the harmony of body, mind, and spirit. In that balance, one finds not only nourishment, but freedom.