The Miso Resonance

I used to look at miso soup and think, “What is the point?” But today, the miso hit me with the weight of a blanket calming my nervous system. Salty broth with bland tofu? No. Comfort in a paper bowl.

I woke up this morning with a headache. Rain fell outside the window like gentle whispers begging me to do nothing. Take it easy. No email. No stress.

It was an invitation I didn’t ask for, but now that it was here, it felt inevitable.

I started with the day hydration. Maybe my brain was shriveled and dry. Maybe that was the dull ache haunting me. But it didn’t fade as water refilled my cells.

I tried coffee. I tried meds.

The pain persisted. But it was more than a headache, it was an existential ache for rest and meaning.

As the day progressed, I turned to art. I found a forgotten short story idea and started nursing it into a sketch, slow and contemplative. It was different from my usual pace of production. Not hurried. Not trying to be anything. Just a percolation.

When it came time for lunch, I didn’t want much. I wanted comfort without the heaviness of mac and cheese. I turned to the humble miso soup and veggie dumplings.

With the backdrop of rain, the soup began to sing. The warmth from the bowl channeled through my hands and into my body. The umami woke up sleeping senses. And the clouds of tofu became a delightful contrast to the salted seaweed.

The miso soup restored the electrolytes in my body and the fog started to lift. I was whole again. The once bland soup was now a sensory excursion, healing body and mind.

By Clara Petrichor. Meet our contributors.