I can't say that I am experiencing a lot of improvement in my symptoms, but I am definitely making the best of this experience and enjoying the extra time I now have to devote to other projects (ahem, grad school applications) and to my home life.
Speaking of home life, finding a sense of home in Calgary has been a slow and at times difficult process. I have a great partner and a sense of home that I carry within me, but discovering what I love most about this place has had a lot to do with learning about the agrarian culture that is the bedrock of this province.
I don't speak much about my food ethics on this blog, but suffice it to say that my ideas about what constitutes "healthy" food have seen some fairly dramatic changes over the past few years. Where I used to eat only egg whites, I know value the worth of the whole egg. Where I used to use protein powder, I now find my nourishment in real foods and am much happier without artificial sweeteners in my life. Where I used to eat meat from the grocery store, I now consume far less and far better quality meat that I buy directly from the farmer. Where I used to read labels for nutrition information, I now trust in my inner nutrition guide to make decisions for me.
In short, Manski and I chose local foods as often as we can. For us, this higher cost of food does not represent strike one for local (and mostly but not always organic) food, but rather, strike one for the industrial food chain. All of those shortcuts that lead to inexpensive food mean that most often, the growers (and consumers) lose out.
Food, as it was meant to be is astonishing. The heirloom varieties of vegetables are spectacularly beautiful, the flavors of local produce are more vivid and unforgettable and the relationship you share with those who tend to and harvest your food is a sacred one. Being able to learn about the methods and philosophy of a farmer allows you to (cliche but true) cast a vote for the politics and economy that you believe in, each time you buy or eat food.
The natural consequence (for us) of eating this way is that we consume a lesser volume of food. Sure, we love to drink Perrier and eat Liberte Yogurt (that is essentially a bit sweet bowl of cream!) and do pick up some staples from the local store, but we have inadvertently begun to eat in a more ecologically sustainable way. Is it sustainable for local farmers to grow enough chicken (using natural and organic methods) for everyone to eat chicken every night? Probably not! However, if everyone ate just a little less chicken, I think we'd realize just how much the prevailing sense about how much animal protein a person requires has been perpetuated by "big food" and its influence on health and food legislation in North America. We aren't just being fed low-quality "food", but we are being fed the information on what and how much we should be eating; information that is connected to the profit margins and pockets of massive food conglomerates.
Having said this, I still have a complicated relationship with the commodification of the term "organic". I don't buy products in the store simply because they are organic. My participation in the organic food sector (as a consumer) is not without some trepidation, as I can definitely recognize that many brands cater to the upper-class appeal of organic branding. Organic branding is like sex-appeal for the privileged buyer! What can I say, I'm a healthy skeptic and I've read Marx in SIX courses across Political Science and Sociology!
The sad fact is that we actually need a discourse on food because it has ceased to be something natural in society. Food movements and food politics, in general, are evidence that we have landed in such a distant place from our food origins, that we actually require concerted efforts and advents such as "organic", where (what we now call) organic is simply the default method and condition of old school agriculture and is the norm in many developing countries.
For anyone who is interested in learning some more about these topics, here is a list of some great resources.
Films
Frankensteer
Food Inc
SuperSize Me
Seeds of Change
Life and Debt
Death on a Factory Farm
Books
What to Eat by Marion Nestle
Stuffed and Starved by Raj Patel
The Omnivore's Dilemma by Micheal Pollan
Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser
In Defense of Food by Micheal Pollan
Food Matters by Mark Bittman
Confessions of a Sneaky Organic Cook by Jane Kinderlehrer
Hungry Planet: What the World Eats by Peter Mentzel
Food Politics by Marion Nestle
The Yoga of Eating by Charles Eisenstein
Please feel free to ask if you are seeking academic material in these areas. I have a lonnnnnnnnnng list of great articles by scholars across the social sciences spectrum who write to the tune of some very hot debates happening right now. The books and films cited above are all very accessible and mostly written by academics, but very user-friendly.
So, if you ever feel far from home or wonder where you can find the real culture of your surroundings, look no further than your local farmer's market. You are sure to meet people whose families have inhabited the area for generations! Eating well is as much about the relationships between those who share the land, as those who share a table.
These are just some of my views, and while I can't resist the urge to toss a dollop of persuasion overtop the information, I certainly respect every perspective on this issue. There are endless ways to regard food and I would love to hear your views, as well. Have you visited your local market? What are your favorite things to buy locally?
14 comments:
You don't fool me at all 10/Ten. This wasn't a blog entry, it was a draft of part of your thesis.
Essentially, you're rehearsing. Carry on. Your blog entries are essentially multiple low rep sets and, as Pavel is wont to say, perfect practice makes perfect.
But enough for now. Aba is speaking and so I am listening.
Part II to come.
Part II...
Aba has a bandage on his finger - it is small, white and has cartoon butterflies. How something like got into the house is a story all its own. How it got on Aba's finger, is another.
Still, it's somehow fitting. About as fitting as a 72 yr old asking his son to help him create his first email account. I got no small amount of joy tutoring Aba on the finer points of gmail. He couldn't remember answers to the stock security questions. So I had him think up a few questions of his own. This he did - the answers were less certain. "Well, he was a good teacher but not my FAVOURITE one".
Aba is a henpeck typist. The tutorial and practice sessions, as a consequence, took a while. There was good natured bewilderment and loud, loving, laughter, Aba overcome by the former, his son, engaged in and enjoy the latter.
But this was about food, wasn't it?
We'll need a part III.
Oh Double A, I have miles worth of thesis ideas in my brain. You can't even imagine...well, you of all people probably could!
Yes, Part III please!
Wow I am so glad I found your blog! I am from Canada as well. I appreciate your respect toward your body with your injury and not restricting. I didn't exercise at all today and ate far too much alll this week and feel, well, gross and stuffed - for lack of better words...I really beat myself up over it...I can't seem to control myself...I hope this is just a phase (albeit a rather loooong phase going on for too long) and one day I'll seek balance. Take care.
Hi there! Isn't it great to find other Canadian bloggers on your think-train? Thanks for stopping by and for your lovely comments. I would love to follow along with your blog as well :)
As for kindness and the body, it does take a long time, and we all make impulse decisions with food. Don't worry, even if you had steak or cake for dinner (or breakfast), just keep being YOU and it will start to feel better. I can't say enough about the book "The Yoga of Eating" by Charles Eisenstein. I realllllly recommend it. You might feel like you are reading your own diary...it is that powerful! Thanks again.
Part III(a)
(aside: I recently acquired some glass tupperware and so, now I am committed to reducing my intake of chocolate, "Riceworks" rice chips and BPAs - not necessarily in that order).
" I don't know what to eat anymore".
I remember saying this to myself not so long ago. I had "reactions" to almost everything and yet a blood test revealed that I had food sensitivities to almost nothing. More analysis, more learning. The dots were already there, I just needed a bit more information, a bit more context to connect them.
Or not.
Lean chicken breast is one of the few things that I do have a sensitivity to. I gave it to myself. How? By eating too much. How did I find out that my body wasn't functioning optimally on it? By eating something else for a while. My body told me. Essentially, when I decided to listen, I figured out that it always had been trying to.
To labour so hard just to come to an understanding of something so simple. Foolish in my simplicity, aren't I?
Processed foods, locally grown/raised foods, organic foods. Each cater to a demand. Each, in its own way, is in response to to a certain way of being. All are external to me. The solution, as I am discovering is not learning more, but listening more. I'm no advocate of mindlessness or being uninformed but, I am discovering that being "informed", coupled with the not yet vanquished arrogance that still prompts me to think that I know better than my body, is causing me to get in the way of my own wellness.
My body knows and, to its credit, has been consistent in trying to tell me that it does and valiant in its efforts to combat and counteract my actions when I don't listen.
For me, as for everyone else, there is no wisdom as powerful, as deep, as intimate as that which is possessed by our own bodies.
So, these days, understanding my relationship with food finds me making my way back to instinct.
Listening is
Unlearning and learning
Not less.
Different.
Funny, isn't it, how all things eventually come back to where they started.
Part III(b)
" It will cost you 2000 rupees to get your work done".
" I don't have 2000 rupees".
"It will cost you 1000, at the very least".
"I don't have 1000".
"How much do you have"?
"I have 200 rupees and even that isn't cash - it's a bond".
"Well, bring it and sign the back and it can be used as cash".
"We'll see what we can do".
Two weeks had passed since the bond had been produced, signed and handed over. A passport was the right of every citizen and he had come from his village to the city to get one. He still didn't have one. There was a bribe to be paid at every step and the amounts that they demanded were so outrageous. Reflecting on the incident decades later, he would refer to these officials and "agents" as "criminals", who were "not even human".
Two weeks. Time to make his way to the passport office. He was concerned. 200 rupees wasn't 2000 and he had no illusions. People who don't pay the right bribe wait months, years for a passport. He didn't have the money, or years to wait. The official behind the counter took his information, making official sounding gestures and noises. Miraculously, a passport was produced. Perhaps the 200 rupee bond had made a difference.
He could leave this country, his home, now. In search of something better. Before he went anywhere, he had to go back to the village one more time.
The village was small and he knew everyone. He was here for two months. Everyone knew when he left, that it would probably be for good. His mother was glad to see him, but upset, understood why he needed to go, but still hurt. Nothing was easy. Everything was necessary. It would end up being that way for years to come.
Part III(c)
Two months passed. His mother walked with him to the railway station. She wept bitterly. This old woman that he loved and was being forced to leave. "Don't you go and forget us" she said as she wept. Decades later, he would recall and retell the story and, in the space of a moment, time and distance compressed. The life he had made, the journey towards it, the sacrifices along the way all suddenly joined, so fresh and clearly visible in a small smile and eyes that, after so many years, still shone with tears.
He was back in the city, waiting in line at the airport, once again, at the mercy of inhumane criminals. He had purchased a ticket but there was another "fee". One that had to be paid so that a ticket holder could advance to the pre-boarding passenger waiting area. As he waited to be called, he thought of the mother and village that he had left. He had no money and nothing more to sacrifice.
His name was called. The official had been informed in advance that no "safarish" had been paid. So, a thorough check was made of his papers, to find a reason to raise an objection and deny him passage.
"You're a government employee".
"Yes, I am".
"Well, we need a non-objection letter from the government stating that they have no objection to you leaving the country".
"Here it is".
"That's not the right one. Come back when you have it".
A day wasted. For nothing. He would return tomorrow. He already had everything. They had no reason or right to stop him. But, what would be different?
The next day found him standing in line at the airport again. His name was called and, as if by some miracle, his passport stamped. He rushed through, waving a hasty good-bye to his city relatives as he went. The "agent" had pointed to a person who had paid a bribe - the person behind him. The official got it wrong and he got a free pass.
From his home country it was on to England for a few years. Then to Canada - Winnipeg, briefly, then, finally, Toronto. Home. Half a world away.
The journey for him had been one where so many decisions had been made on the basis of instinct - learning to listen to one's inner self and then doing what felt right.
Kind of like I'm trying to do with food (provided that I can unlearn enough and listen deeply enough to get there).
There are not many things.
There is one thing that manifests itself variously.
He recounts, decades later, that the day in the airport where he got his accidental "free pass" is etched in his memory forever: June 21, 1962. He's sure, but he goes to check anyway.
Of course he's right - it was such a monumental moment for him. How could he ever forget?
His memory has not faded and neither has the stamp on the passport. There is a photo and it's black and white.
Forty seven years younger, Aba looks a lot like me.
I think you are a very wise young woman.
Hi Jaya
I just notice your blog and wanted to say this: I have not exercised at all for the last 11 months and I have a terribly long journey ahead. I use to run and stuff. My body is going through stuff and I am underweight, but getting it up. I feel guilty because all I do each day is walk about 30 minutes slow....and then I see commenters like people that commented here above that they feel bad for not exercising for one day :( That just...sucks. So your situation could be much worse :)
Hi there,
Thanks so much for your comment. I'm sorry to hear about your injury, but you do have a great perspective. My injury (albeit much less chronic-sounding than yours) has been an amazing gateway to all kinds of new things, including dreams that I hadn't chased until now since sports just didn't allow for much time to do much else. Your post is such a valuable reminder that the worth of self/worth of a day has almost nothing to do with exercise and everything to do with how we can make the day meaningful. That being said, when I can start going for walks, you can bet that I will do (a very low-impact) version of the happy dance! Thanks for this gentle reminder. Really, thank you.
Good Morning J! As always your blog inspires me and leaves me somewhat said that I live in the middle of the US. Right here in the most agricultural area of the country and good, honest food can be so difficult to find. Especially in the winter. Our Whole Foods Market does a decent job but nothing like those beautiful farmers markets you have access too. Ours are open from June to October then its back to Whole Foods!
Gorgeous pictures and wonderful insight. Happy to call you friend.
Thanks for the movie suggestions ;) ... I've seen a few of those and I'm always looking out for more because they're so interesting to me.
Hi Angela! It's so hard to believe that we've become so systematically isolated from (pardon the pun) the fruits of local labour! Good luck with finding a great market. I can't take too much credit for these pics...we have a KILLA lens! 18-200m focal length!
Hi Leslie. It's my pleasure to share these videos and resources. I'm just paying it forward! Thanks for stopping by :)
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