Yesterday in my favorite class I had a few people tell me that they loved the way I wrote and I had a unique voice. Nothing like unsolicited compliments to give me enough of an ego boost to want to throw my thoughts and words out into the universe.
To break myself in I'm going to roughly regurgitate the piece of writing that has motivated me to return to the blogosphere:
I have a complicated relationship with food. Well not so complicated, I love food. I love eating, I love cooking, I love restaurants, I love grocery stores, I love food blogs, I love cook books, I love food. I surround myself with people who share this adoration for all things edible. Growing up in a vegetarian household I watched as my mother meticulously organized our daily nutrients, I suffered as she experimented with tofu, bulgar, and collards. I miserably swallowed undercooked kale, unsalted soup, and beans. So many beans. I listened as my brother violently resisted against the restrictions our diet forced upon him. I consoled my sister when she accidentally ate bacon in a soup and felt sick for hours. I laughed as my dad fantasized about steak and ribs. This was my relationship with food. I was a vegetarian before it was cool. I ate fake meat (don't ask) nayonaise, organic peanut butter so dry it took multiple glasses of water to unglue the mess from the top of my mouth, and drank rice milk. For years I never really minded, but suddenly, presented with financial independence for the first time when I was 14, this whole new world of food became available. Discovering Velveeta mac and cheese was like tasting the nector of the gods. Lucky charms: a cereal WITH MARSHMELLOWS! Fish, fruit rollups, Fanta, and Fruit Loops.
The other week, while watching an Oprah special on Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution, some misguided individual gushed about the wonders of eating healthy. "It's the little things. Like using real potatoes to make mashed potatoes instead of the Instant kind." I off-handedly joked to my roommate that I now felt better about myself. She stared at me and told me something that literally shocked me. "You are the healthiest eater I have ever known." WHAT?! Maybe I was so flabbergasted because I know about every muffin I savor, every baked Lays potato chip I munch on, and the boxes of mac and cheese I happily gobble (I've moved on from Velveeta-Annie's White Cheddar will change your life.) Sure I'm still a vegetarian, and yes I pay absurd amounts of money, which I do not have, on organic eggs, milk, and veggies. But healthy?! Me. Never.
I am a confident person. I've shed the shyness of my younger years, but I, along with my entire generation, agonize about my body image. I wouldn't say that I am obsessed, I do not have an eating or exercising disorder, but I think about it. OH boy do I think about it. Our culture as a whole seems possessed. Diet fads, exercise regimes, The Biggest Loser, Celebrity Weight Loss, The Big Life, count this, reduce that, tighten, tuck, shrink, sample size 0 to 2, plastic surgery, photo shop, and the worst offender...laxatives. Ew.
So what does all this means? It means that I have a vested interesting in figuring out my relationship with food, my conception of appetite, and the influence that society has upon my eating habits and body image. Let's figure that out. Okay? Okay.
