I was a vegetarian until I started leaning toward the sunlight.

Host: The café sat on the corner of a quiet street, bathed in late-afternoon sunlight that filtered through the window in soft golden waves. Dust particles drifted lazily in the glow, suspended like thoughts that hadn’t yet decided whether to settle or rise. The hum of quiet conversation, the smell of coffee, and the faint sound of an old jazz record formed the gentle pulse of the room.

Host: Jack sat at the table by the window, his shirt sleeves rolled up, the sunlight catching the silver in his eyes. Across from him, Jeeny stirred her tea, her smile half-curved, her expression caught between irony and wonder. Between them lay a folded napkin, on which Jeeny had written something in quick, looping script.

Host: He unfolded it and read aloud:

“I was a vegetarian until I started leaning toward the sunlight.”
— Rita Rudner

Jack: chuckling softly “Trust Rita Rudner to turn existential crisis into botany.”

Jeeny: “You don’t think she’s joking, though?”

Jack: “Oh, she’s joking. But that’s the thing about humor — it always hides something sincere. She’s talking about transformation.”

Jeeny: “Or photosynthesis.”

Jack: “Same thing. Growth.”

Host: The light shifted, falling more directly on Jeeny’s face, turning her eyes into small mirrors of gold. She blinked, laughed, and leaned slightly out of the glare.

Jeeny: “You know, I love this quote because it’s absurd — but quietly profound. It’s about change disguised as comedy. Like she’s saying, ‘I stopped being what I thought I was when the light hit me differently.’”

Jack: “Yeah. That’s Rudner’s genius. She can say something completely ridiculous and make it sound like a confession.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s because humor’s the only way people can talk about evolution without sounding self-important.”

Jack: “Or insane.”

Jeeny: grinning “Or both.”

Host: The jazz record crackled softly, the trumpet fading into something wistful. The sunlight stretched further across the floor, inching toward their table like a living thing.

Jack: “You ever have one of those moments?”

Jeeny: “What kind?”

Jack: “Where you realize you’ve outgrown a belief, but you’re too polite to tell your past self?”

Jeeny: “Every time I look in the mirror.”

Jack: “Yeah. Me too.”

Jeeny: “That’s what she’s really talking about — not food or sunlight, but identity. She’s saying, ‘I used to believe one thing about myself, and then I changed — not because I planned to, but because I couldn’t help it.’ Like plants turning toward light. Instinctive. Inevitable.”

Jack: “And funny.”

Jeeny: “Always funny. Because change’s first language is irony.”

Host: Jack leaned back, his shadow cutting across the table. The sunlight caught the rim of his coffee cup, throwing a sharp line of light that shimmered like a heartbeat between them.

Jack: “You know, it’s weird — people love to talk about change like it’s heroic. But sometimes it’s just… photosynthetic. You don’t decide it. You just tilt a little toward what feels warm.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. You grow in the direction that doesn’t hurt.”

Jack: “And sometimes that direction surprises you.”

Jeeny: “Like realizing you’ve become someone who loves steak.”

Jack: “Or faith.”

Jeeny: raising an eyebrow “Or people.”

Jack: smiling “That one’s the hardest.”

Host: The light deepened, richer now, more amber than gold. It spilled across Jeeny’s hand as she lifted her teacup, the surface of the liquid shimmering like melted brass.

Jeeny: “You ever notice how humor lets us confess things we’d never admit seriously?”

Jack: “That’s because laughter feels safe. It’s a disguise for vulnerability. You laugh at something before you realize it’s true.”

Jeeny: “So you think Rudner knew she was saying something spiritual?”

Jack: “Comedians always know. They just hide revelation inside absurdity. It’s how they tell the truth without getting stoned for it.”

Jeeny: “Like modern-day prophets with better timing.”

Jack: “Exactly.”

Host: Outside, a gust of wind stirred the trees, sending a ripple of light and shadow across the café wall — the world’s own moving painting.

Jeeny: “So if you had to rewrite her line for yourself,” she asked, “what would it be?”

Jack: “Hmm…” He thought for a long moment. “I was a cynic until I started leaning toward silence.”

Jeeny: “That’s beautiful.”

Jack: “And you?”

Jeeny: smiling softly “I was afraid until I started leaning toward laughter.”

Host: The light hit them both then, warm and full — the kind of light that feels less like weather and more like grace. It pooled across the table, connecting them in quiet amber.

Jack: “You know what’s funny?” he said. “I think Rudner’s joke is really about surrender. The moment you stop trying to define yourself and just turn toward whatever feeds you — that’s enlightenment.”

Jeeny: “Enlightenment disguised as appetite.”

Jack: “Exactly. Philosophy with a punchline.”

Host: The waiter passed by, smiling absently, refilling their glasses with water that caught the last of the sunset’s reflection.

Jeeny: “It’s strange, isn’t it? How every joke about change carries both fear and freedom.”

Jack: “Because we all laugh when we recognize ourselves — even if it hurts.”

Jeeny: “Especially if it hurts.”

Host: The record stopped playing. Silence settled over the café, soft and weighty. Outside, the sun had nearly disappeared, leaving behind only a warm residue — light lingering like an afterthought.

Host: And in that quiet, Rita Rudner’s words seemed to glow brighter than before — part whimsy, part revelation:

“I was a vegetarian until I started leaning toward the sunlight.”

Host: Because humor, at its core,
isn’t about laughter —
it’s about awakening disguised as absurdity.

Host: We grow not because we choose to,
but because the light insists.

Host: And sometimes,
the funniest thing about transformation
is how naturally it happens —
how our souls, like plants,
bend toward what feeds them,
and laugh at what they used to be.

Host: The sunlight faded,
but their smiles lingered —
two quiet witnesses to the truth
that even comedy,
when it’s honest enough,
can photosynthesize the heart.