It's Christmas Eve and officially the last day of my first G.U.L.P. project. Wanting today to be memorable in a different sort of way, my mom and I invested the day volunteering at SAME Cafe (So All May Eat). The cafe is one of a kind in Denver. It was founded and is operated by Brad and Libby Birky who create daily selections of savory pizzas, soups, and salads. The ingredients are bright, fresh, and all homemade using primarily organic ingredients. The Birky's pay special attention to recycling everything that can be re-purposed, and to composting all uneaten morsels. But what sets this cafe apart is that there are no set prices for the creative cuisine. No cash register to be found, patrons pay what they think their meal is worth and drop their money in a donation box. For those who are penniless, they're encouraged to commit an hour of work sweeping, wiping tables, or cleaning dishes, but no one is turned away. Others pay it forward and add a few additional dollars to the box.
There were nine of us working over lunch today, cooking, cleaning, and serving hot, nutritious meals to nearly 45 people. When I wasn't rolling pizza dough or washing dishes I would take notice of the people coming into the cafe. It appeared that most had made the trek on foot and likely had no place to call their own; they had backpacks and bags strapped around there shoulders and were briskly rubbing there hands together, encouraging the warmth to return. Many customers came in alone. Brad greeted all of them and served each one with a genuine kindness that affirmed their individual worth.
When the doors closed at 2pm the nine of us, now new friends, began to clean. It was another successful day relieving hunger and offering comfort at SAME Cafe. As we scrubbed and mopped, we all, I suspect, felt real satisfaction and a peace that comes from switching off the auto-pilot and tuning in to the needs of others. We were in a position to offer something, and we each knew, that for today, we didn't face the same stark hardships of many of the people we served.
As we put away the dishes and wiped down the refrigerators, the door opened and a man stepped in extending his hand. With a great, toothless smile, he held out a dollar. He said that while he had never eaten at SAME, many of his buddies do and that he wants to give back when he can. He didn't ask for anything in return. He simply encouraged the Birky's to keep up their important work. His gesture was overwhelming. My belief in Santa faded decades ago, but I'm certain he was on Colfax Avenue this afternoon.
With Christmas and my project's end only a few hours away, it's not visions of sugarplums dancing in my head but smoked salmon, grilled asparagus, wild rice, caramel bread pudding, and Merlot. The obvious. But far more consequential than my taste buds coming out of hibernation, is the profound sense of gratitude I'm identifying, a personal bar that's been raised, and a distinct awareness that this is just the beginning.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Day 26: Christmas Came Early
Calendared tonight was dinner with dear friends. It was an invitation I accepted some time ago. I was eager to see them, to catch-up, share recent experiences, and laugh, but I was skeptical about the dinner part. Susan said that she wanted to cook and promised not to deviate from my selections. Twice I offered to bring my own food. She would have none of it. I was grateful for her enthusiasm in embracing my odd decision to walk this brief path - but I was less than optimistic. Having had potatoes nearly three times a day for the past twenty-six days, I've become potato-particular. Even when I've had so little to fuss about relative to food, I've found a way to do it – just one of the many interesting discoveries in this project.
When I arrived at their home, we immediately picked up where our last conversation ended. Not overly hungry when I got there, the warmth and delicious aromas greeting me triggered my need to eat. The table was set with ice water as Susan served course one. It was a colorful dish. Symmetrically stacked on a mound of creamy, grated carrots and cabbage was what looked like chocolate cookies with an icing swirl. The "cookies" were lightly fried black bean cakes drizzled with plain yogurt. A dash of course salt topped the dish. Not only was it beautifully presented, it tasted great. I was tapped out on cabbage, but ate two additional bean cakes. Course two was the scent that enveloped my senses when I walked through the door, a curried potato, carrot stew with a dollop of yogurt. Amazing! I had three servings and lit up when they offered to send left-overs home. It will be tomorrow's lunch. I had another glass of water as they sipped beer. Not a beer drinker myself, there was no longing.
Our conversation continued as dessert was baking. I often mix honey with yogurt to satisfy my need for sweet but couldn't imagine what a baked dessert would include. Susan disappeared to the kitchen and emerged with what looked like flan. It was impressive. I ran the limited options through my head: yogurt, eggs, honey. Really? As we cut into the perfectly textured dessert I noticed a speck of black. Beans came to mind. Eewww. But a bean it was: vanilla bean. A bean, of course. Vanilla beans qualified. Susan researched it. The recipe called for vanilla extract, but Suze concluded that extract didn't meet the criteria and so she didn't include it. Rather, she scraped the vanilla bean into the dish. It was all about authenticity. Wow! The three of us took a bite. We agreed it looked sensational, but we laughed as we tried to swallow the impeccably-presented dessert. The taste was, well, different. The deep golden, carmel-colored top was honey. The recipe called for a dusting of sugar, but sugar's not included in my five condiments. The flan was exceedingly sweet. We scraped off the top and ate the middle portion. My sweet-tooth was happy.
I was uncertain going into this evening's dinner. Yet, as I sit here at my computer writing one of my last blogs for my G.U.L.P. project, it's both clear and prophetic that this evening's dinner was far-and- away the best dinner I've had since beginning this journey. The attention, thought, and time Susan and Jess put into creating this experience was such a humbling honor. While I can't eat “normally” until December 25th, this evening was as beautiful as Christmas gets.
When I arrived at their home, we immediately picked up where our last conversation ended. Not overly hungry when I got there, the warmth and delicious aromas greeting me triggered my need to eat. The table was set with ice water as Susan served course one. It was a colorful dish. Symmetrically stacked on a mound of creamy, grated carrots and cabbage was what looked like chocolate cookies with an icing swirl. The "cookies" were lightly fried black bean cakes drizzled with plain yogurt. A dash of course salt topped the dish. Not only was it beautifully presented, it tasted great. I was tapped out on cabbage, but ate two additional bean cakes. Course two was the scent that enveloped my senses when I walked through the door, a curried potato, carrot stew with a dollop of yogurt. Amazing! I had three servings and lit up when they offered to send left-overs home. It will be tomorrow's lunch. I had another glass of water as they sipped beer. Not a beer drinker myself, there was no longing.
Our conversation continued as dessert was baking. I often mix honey with yogurt to satisfy my need for sweet but couldn't imagine what a baked dessert would include. Susan disappeared to the kitchen and emerged with what looked like flan. It was impressive. I ran the limited options through my head: yogurt, eggs, honey. Really? As we cut into the perfectly textured dessert I noticed a speck of black. Beans came to mind. Eewww. But a bean it was: vanilla bean. A bean, of course. Vanilla beans qualified. Susan researched it. The recipe called for vanilla extract, but Suze concluded that extract didn't meet the criteria and so she didn't include it. Rather, she scraped the vanilla bean into the dish. It was all about authenticity. Wow! The three of us took a bite. We agreed it looked sensational, but we laughed as we tried to swallow the impeccably-presented dessert. The taste was, well, different. The deep golden, carmel-colored top was honey. The recipe called for a dusting of sugar, but sugar's not included in my five condiments. The flan was exceedingly sweet. We scraped off the top and ate the middle portion. My sweet-tooth was happy.
I was uncertain going into this evening's dinner. Yet, as I sit here at my computer writing one of my last blogs for my G.U.L.P. project, it's both clear and prophetic that this evening's dinner was far-and- away the best dinner I've had since beginning this journey. The attention, thought, and time Susan and Jess put into creating this experience was such a humbling honor. While I can't eat “normally” until December 25th, this evening was as beautiful as Christmas gets.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Day 25: Conventional Comforts
This past weekend I attended a second holiday party. The invitation was from one of my favorite colleagues, Mark, and his beautiful wife, Vicki. Each party invitation is appreciated – and tempting. Tis' the season. I enjoy all of the things that gathering with friends offers. Given my restrictions, I've declined some invitations; this one I choose to attend. It was scheduled to start at 8pm. I had dinner early – a small baked potato and reheated, sauteed cabbage - no big surprise there – at about 5pm. I left the house close to 8pm. Given that I ate dinner earlier than I typically do, I suspected that hunger would set in as the hours passed. Just before stepping out the door I thought to shell a few hard-boiled eggs and gobble them down. But I was already running late.
Should I take something with me? I had a bottle of Malbec in hand, smartly adorned with “bottle bling,” but no plans to take along food – and I knew I wouldn't be enjoying a glass of wine. But maybe I could bring nuts? Cashews are good. Maybe almonds would be more appropriate. Everyone likes pistachios. Definitely not peanuts. I couldn't bring carrots without dip. My mind began to spin. The invitation was decidedly not a potluck.
What is appropriate party etiquette? I generally bring a bottle of wine, good cheer, and high energy. I've never given it much thought. I know not to double-dip the shrimp, the pita chips, or anything dipp-able; my natural tendency is to ask questions, I reserve real self-revelation for those I trust; and, God forbid, should I spill red wine on the sofa I'd offer (insist) to pay for the cleaning. Is that sufficient? Never in my life have I asked, “What would Martha do?” Just not my thing. And is Martha the party authority? Stop, Ann, just head to the party and enjoy.
I arrived virtually at the same time as one of my dearest friends, Chris. I enjoyed connecting with my colleagues, good conversation, and water was readily available. I ate three carrots. A few people offered me a glass of wine. Slightly odd looks were given when I declined. If I could read minds, one might say “Is she recovering.” Well, maybe. Maybe I'm recovering from the conventional, from that which is expected, or ordinary, or from that which I would otherwise accept without any real thought.
As this project comes to a close, I'm rethinking all that is the established practice, especially as it relates to consumption, and especially during this time of year. As I look forward to Christmas, I'm clear that my greatest gift will be food.
Should I take something with me? I had a bottle of Malbec in hand, smartly adorned with “bottle bling,” but no plans to take along food – and I knew I wouldn't be enjoying a glass of wine. But maybe I could bring nuts? Cashews are good. Maybe almonds would be more appropriate. Everyone likes pistachios. Definitely not peanuts. I couldn't bring carrots without dip. My mind began to spin. The invitation was decidedly not a potluck.
What is appropriate party etiquette? I generally bring a bottle of wine, good cheer, and high energy. I've never given it much thought. I know not to double-dip the shrimp, the pita chips, or anything dipp-able; my natural tendency is to ask questions, I reserve real self-revelation for those I trust; and, God forbid, should I spill red wine on the sofa I'd offer (insist) to pay for the cleaning. Is that sufficient? Never in my life have I asked, “What would Martha do?” Just not my thing. And is Martha the party authority? Stop, Ann, just head to the party and enjoy.
I arrived virtually at the same time as one of my dearest friends, Chris. I enjoyed connecting with my colleagues, good conversation, and water was readily available. I ate three carrots. A few people offered me a glass of wine. Slightly odd looks were given when I declined. If I could read minds, one might say “Is she recovering.” Well, maybe. Maybe I'm recovering from the conventional, from that which is expected, or ordinary, or from that which I would otherwise accept without any real thought.
As this project comes to a close, I'm rethinking all that is the established practice, especially as it relates to consumption, and especially during this time of year. As I look forward to Christmas, I'm clear that my greatest gift will be food.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Day 24: Addiction Takes Many Forms
Today I went to the grocery store for two things: water and salt. Too busy to make the trip this past week, I've been rationing both items and it's kept me strangely preoccupied. Yes, I do have running water, but I am a bit of a water snob and not proud to admit it. A few years back I bought a water cooler at Target. Truly, it tops my list of best investments (Suze Orman I am not). I buy filtered water for .49 cents a gallon, and my two, three gallon containers are never empty for more than a day. I'm lucky in that water, over all else, is my drink of choice. Heavily-creamed coffee and good vino run a close second, but water is my liquid nirvana. Included in my morning ritual is drinking a large glass of water, and for the balance of the day rarely an hour passes when I'm not sipping it. In fact, one of the greatest perks of my job (even as I write this it sounds lame - but it's true) is having unfettered access to filtered water. I love my water.
A deep affinity for water is understandable, maybe even admirable. But salt? Anyone who knows me knows my love for the age-old preservative. I salt virtually everything: pizza, bagels, salmon, pasta, salad, bread. Everything but drinks and foods that are naturally sweet gets a dose of the stuff. And I won't just shake the sodium chloride at the beginning of the meal. I salt between bites. While growing up, one of my favorite meals - and I feel the need to add a disclaimer for those with weak stomachs - was buttermilk and pickled pigs feet. And I salted both.
When I sat down with my dietician before stepping into my G.U.L.P. project, she certainly didn't recommend that I keep salt as one of my five condiments, rather it was the one condiment I thought about most. I knew that I could, for a prescribed period of time, so long as I wasn't hungry, give up nearly anything. It was salt that tripped me up. I vacillated for weeks before settling on keeping it. Okay, that alone should have been an indicator of my, ah, enthusiasm. It's easy to toss salt into the cart when it's brimming with real food. But planning a trip to the market for salt, one of two "necessary" items - that's eye-opening. It's like making a midnight trip, with a full tank of petro, to the gas station for cigarettes. Problem.
The good news, I have normal blood pressure and have never had an issue with water retention, two distinct consequences of too much sodium in one's system. I like to think that my copious water consumption offsets my extensive salt intake. It's all about balance, right? Or, it's finding a rationalization for my extreme, let's call it, fervor.
Something more to think about...
A deep affinity for water is understandable, maybe even admirable. But salt? Anyone who knows me knows my love for the age-old preservative. I salt virtually everything: pizza, bagels, salmon, pasta, salad, bread. Everything but drinks and foods that are naturally sweet gets a dose of the stuff. And I won't just shake the sodium chloride at the beginning of the meal. I salt between bites. While growing up, one of my favorite meals - and I feel the need to add a disclaimer for those with weak stomachs - was buttermilk and pickled pigs feet. And I salted both.
When I sat down with my dietician before stepping into my G.U.L.P. project, she certainly didn't recommend that I keep salt as one of my five condiments, rather it was the one condiment I thought about most. I knew that I could, for a prescribed period of time, so long as I wasn't hungry, give up nearly anything. It was salt that tripped me up. I vacillated for weeks before settling on keeping it. Okay, that alone should have been an indicator of my, ah, enthusiasm. It's easy to toss salt into the cart when it's brimming with real food. But planning a trip to the market for salt, one of two "necessary" items - that's eye-opening. It's like making a midnight trip, with a full tank of petro, to the gas station for cigarettes. Problem.
The good news, I have normal blood pressure and have never had an issue with water retention, two distinct consequences of too much sodium in one's system. I like to think that my copious water consumption offsets my extensive salt intake. It's all about balance, right? Or, it's finding a rationalization for my extreme, let's call it, fervor.
Something more to think about...
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Day 22/23: A System Failure
Last night when I attempted to log on to my blog, my computer didn't cooperate. I couldn't access the internet. Mild panic turned to frustration, and then to anger. My computer is new and by all accounts ranks among the best. Yep, my Comcast payments are current. There was no reason I shouldn't have had access to the global information highway. My aggravation grew. What to do? I thought to text each of my computer-savvy friends. It was too late. I thought to read the directions. Really. But I didn't even know what answer I was looking for. Being the computer neophyte I am, I was completely stumped. And trying to address an unidentified problem is like trying to cook a meal without a heat source. Aaaahhhhh! I sulked. I tried to read. I tried to log on again. I shut the whole thing down. I turned on Anderson Cooper. I laid on the floor and wrestled with my dogs. I nearly cried. And I laughed. I took a few deep breaths and let it go. It would all be okay.
Posting daily blogs is part of the commitment I made to this project. It's important for me to adhere to each of the rules that I've set. Blogging is the public side of this personal journey, and I need to remain dedicated to both. It all really matters. Well, yes, and no. Commitment absolutely matters, but in the height of my frustration I realized how a well-intentioned endeavor can become polluted when I allow my ego's indulgences to eclipse the core purpose. The seduction of my own sense of self-importance was apparent. Not posting my blog would in no way change how the world spins. My goals are noteworthy, but no more relevant than anyone else's; my project is meaningful, but in no way superior to any other act of generosity.
Now, with a clearer head, a lighter heart, potatoes sizzling in the skillet, and a working internet (a phone call to Comcast solved it all), I am back on track. And maybe a bit more evolved than I was yesterday.
Posting daily blogs is part of the commitment I made to this project. It's important for me to adhere to each of the rules that I've set. Blogging is the public side of this personal journey, and I need to remain dedicated to both. It all really matters. Well, yes, and no. Commitment absolutely matters, but in the height of my frustration I realized how a well-intentioned endeavor can become polluted when I allow my ego's indulgences to eclipse the core purpose. The seduction of my own sense of self-importance was apparent. Not posting my blog would in no way change how the world spins. My goals are noteworthy, but no more relevant than anyone else's; my project is meaningful, but in no way superior to any other act of generosity.
Now, with a clearer head, a lighter heart, potatoes sizzling in the skillet, and a working internet (a phone call to Comcast solved it all), I am back on track. And maybe a bit more evolved than I was yesterday.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Day 21: An Inspiring Child
My "little sister" Farhija called me late on Tuesday night. She asked if I could pick up both her and her mom Wednesday morning and take them to an open house at the school Farjiha will be attending next year (the school she currently attends is closing). They needed help with the enrollment procedures. I was not prepared for the question or the timing but, knowing her families circumstances, I agreed. I arrived at her school at 9am and signed her out. We then drove to her house and picked up her mom. An aunt was there looking after the three kiddos not yet school age so that mom could make the appointment.
Farhija's family are Somali refugees. The seven siblings are receiving an American education and have become adept in negotiating the contradictory messages of a Western, Christian culture. When visiting their home you'll hear only Swahili, inhale the aromas of far-off lands, and at once recognize the difficulties this family encounters living in urban Denver, Colorado, USA.
We drove to the location of a school - but not the school. I asked Farhija if she was certain that this was the correct address. She wasn't sure. Meanwhile, Farhija and her mom were talking incessantly. Her mom does not speak English and rarely leaves the safety of their neighborhood; Farhija was translating her disappointment. I understood nothing they said to one another (I don't speak Swahili. Shocking, I know) but knew that their frustration was peaking. So was mine. I was now over an hour late to work and thinking of all the phone calls I needed to make, all the emails that needed a response.
Having zero luck finding the school, I ended up taking Farjiha's mom back to their home and then walked Farjiha back into school. I left her with a hug and an assurance that I would talk with our program counselor to determine a game plan so that we would be well prepared to transition her into a new school. As I drove away, annoyed and preoccupied with all my waiting responsibilities, it hit me like a bolt of lightening. The waiting tasks diverting my attention and contributing to my crankiness are the same tasks that pay my bills and allow me to enjoy a certain lifestyle. "Suffering" through 28 days of potatoes and peanuts is a negligible sacrifice, giving up caffeine and wine, really no hardship at all.
Few of us can imagine what it's like, at age 13, to navigate all the complexities of a strange culture, to move between languages in order to fit into two worlds, or to have the responsibility of guiding one's own parents in order to secure direction. I am awed by my little sister's steadfast determination, and again I'm reminded of the myriad challenges people face each day.
Farhija's family are Somali refugees. The seven siblings are receiving an American education and have become adept in negotiating the contradictory messages of a Western, Christian culture. When visiting their home you'll hear only Swahili, inhale the aromas of far-off lands, and at once recognize the difficulties this family encounters living in urban Denver, Colorado, USA.
We drove to the location of a school - but not the school. I asked Farhija if she was certain that this was the correct address. She wasn't sure. Meanwhile, Farhija and her mom were talking incessantly. Her mom does not speak English and rarely leaves the safety of their neighborhood; Farhija was translating her disappointment. I understood nothing they said to one another (I don't speak Swahili. Shocking, I know) but knew that their frustration was peaking. So was mine. I was now over an hour late to work and thinking of all the phone calls I needed to make, all the emails that needed a response.
Having zero luck finding the school, I ended up taking Farjiha's mom back to their home and then walked Farjiha back into school. I left her with a hug and an assurance that I would talk with our program counselor to determine a game plan so that we would be well prepared to transition her into a new school. As I drove away, annoyed and preoccupied with all my waiting responsibilities, it hit me like a bolt of lightening. The waiting tasks diverting my attention and contributing to my crankiness are the same tasks that pay my bills and allow me to enjoy a certain lifestyle. "Suffering" through 28 days of potatoes and peanuts is a negligible sacrifice, giving up caffeine and wine, really no hardship at all.
Few of us can imagine what it's like, at age 13, to navigate all the complexities of a strange culture, to move between languages in order to fit into two worlds, or to have the responsibility of guiding one's own parents in order to secure direction. I am awed by my little sister's steadfast determination, and again I'm reminded of the myriad challenges people face each day.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Day 19: Splat!
When I first conceived this idea of giving up something "essential" so that I may give something essential, I outlined the steps I needed to take and did the requisite research. I met with Mary, the dietician; after identifying the non-profits I would support, I met with each executive director to discuss my idea; and I educated myself on creating and working a blog (had never been on one before), and setting up a Facebook page. I took the necessary, practical steps required in launching a new project. And, of course, I gave significant thought to what it would be like to restrict my food choices. Whoa!
We've all had the experience of projecting our thoughts, of imagining what a process, a path, or a result will feel or look like. We do it with our relationships, with our work, and with our personal goals. With G.U.L.P. I envisioned what it would be like to step into a space of dramatically limiting an everyday fulfillment. But the disparity between anticipating a project and experiencing it can be dramatic. It's somewhat akin to the differences between theoretical study and practical application. I believe that the defining element, that which allows us to successfully merge our projected idea with actually walking the walk, is perseverance. Perseverance: To continue in a course of action even in the face of little or no prospect of success.
Each and everyone of us can point to a time in our life when we persevered. And because of it we are better for it. The parable of the guru and the impatient man I have read many times. With every read it cracks me up - and brings home the truth.
"A man meets a guru in the road. The man asks the guru, "Which way to success?"
The berobed, bearded sage speaks not but points to a place off in the distance.
The man, thrilled by the prospect of quick and easy success, rushes off in the appropriate direction. Suddenly, there comes a loud "Splat!!!"
Eventually, the man limps back, tattered and stunned, assuming he must have misinterpreted the message. He repeats his question to the guru, who again points silently in the same direction.
The man obediently walks off once more. This time the splat is deafening, and when the man crawls back, he is bloody, broken, tattered, and irate. "I asked you which way is success," he screams at the guru. "I followed the direction you indicated. And all I got was splatted. No more of this pointing! Talk!"
Only then does the guru speak, and what he says is this: "Success is that way. Just a little after the splat."
We've all had the experience of projecting our thoughts, of imagining what a process, a path, or a result will feel or look like. We do it with our relationships, with our work, and with our personal goals. With G.U.L.P. I envisioned what it would be like to step into a space of dramatically limiting an everyday fulfillment. But the disparity between anticipating a project and experiencing it can be dramatic. It's somewhat akin to the differences between theoretical study and practical application. I believe that the defining element, that which allows us to successfully merge our projected idea with actually walking the walk, is perseverance. Perseverance: To continue in a course of action even in the face of little or no prospect of success.
Each and everyone of us can point to a time in our life when we persevered. And because of it we are better for it. The parable of the guru and the impatient man I have read many times. With every read it cracks me up - and brings home the truth.
"A man meets a guru in the road. The man asks the guru, "Which way to success?"
The berobed, bearded sage speaks not but points to a place off in the distance.
The man, thrilled by the prospect of quick and easy success, rushes off in the appropriate direction. Suddenly, there comes a loud "Splat!!!"
Eventually, the man limps back, tattered and stunned, assuming he must have misinterpreted the message. He repeats his question to the guru, who again points silently in the same direction.
The man obediently walks off once more. This time the splat is deafening, and when the man crawls back, he is bloody, broken, tattered, and irate. "I asked you which way is success," he screams at the guru. "I followed the direction you indicated. And all I got was splatted. No more of this pointing! Talk!"
Only then does the guru speak, and what he says is this: "Success is that way. Just a little after the splat."
Day 18: Nourishment Matters
We are nourished in many ways. Food is the most obvious; wanting for it, day in and day out, or conversely, having complete access to it's abundance can dramatically shape our world perspective. No less important in the potential to thrive as human beings is the nourishment we receive from one another: the relationships we cultivate and nurture, the friendships that grace us and gently demand for us to expose our most brilliant selves, the sisterhoods and brotherhoods that offer us respite from the inherent challenges of life, and sometimes from ourselves.
A soul-sister who has been steeped in her own battles, knowing that I'm feeling a bit fragile at the moment, sent me a note yesterday. Her note included a powerful passage. It moved me from a place of relative self-pity to a place of knowing that this too shall pass, not without angst - but neither without imparting a potent opportunity for personal growth.
"Salvation often comes in the form of tragedy. There have been times in my life when I have fallen headlong into suffering that scraped the flesh from my bones only to find that my decent into pain and darkness was my delivery. I have learned not to judge what appears at my feet or knocks at my door. What appears initially as misfortune is often the gift I have prayed most devoutly for."
It's the variation in seasons that allows us to fully appreciate a particular one, right? Life really is beautiful.
A soul-sister who has been steeped in her own battles, knowing that I'm feeling a bit fragile at the moment, sent me a note yesterday. Her note included a powerful passage. It moved me from a place of relative self-pity to a place of knowing that this too shall pass, not without angst - but neither without imparting a potent opportunity for personal growth.
"Salvation often comes in the form of tragedy. There have been times in my life when I have fallen headlong into suffering that scraped the flesh from my bones only to find that my decent into pain and darkness was my delivery. I have learned not to judge what appears at my feet or knocks at my door. What appears initially as misfortune is often the gift I have prayed most devoutly for."
It's the variation in seasons that allows us to fully appreciate a particular one, right? Life really is beautiful.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Day 17: Just Heavy
If I had a crystal ball I never would have taken on this project during such a difficult time. Next to the death of my dad and, many years later, my mom's revelation that cancer had come to visit (she has now been cancer-free for three years. Yes!), this has been the most challenging time of my life. I wanted to engage in my G.U.L.P. project when my days would otherwise be largely hurdle-free. Right. That's the point, isn't it? This is life. Raw, unpredictable, frightening. I'm reminded of a clever one-liner I heard years ago, "If you want to tell God a joke, tell him your plans." The simple quip illustrates the certainty of life's unforeseeable turns.
The restrictions of my project are manufactured realism. For me, an elected reality for 28 days. But what is it like when extraordinary limitations are one's reality and then, as it often does, life inserts another hurdle? The pain can be unbearable, especially when one feels the struggle is her's alone.
As I now traverse my own cloudy path I'm aware - in part because of my G.U.L.P. journey - that my hurt is not unique. Struggle takes many forms, and as solitary as struggle feels - whatever that struggle may be for whomever experiences it -- it is not exclusive. What if, for a moment, in the depths of our most private pain we could step outside of ourselves and offer something to others? We may discover that our own suffering is eased. It's a strange paradox.
A part of me is wishing I wasn't in the midst of G.U.L.P. right now. But I'm too far along, too determined, and, frankly, too stubborn to not follow through. And maybe, just maybe, the lessons learned through sacrifice will offer some salvation.
The restrictions of my project are manufactured realism. For me, an elected reality for 28 days. But what is it like when extraordinary limitations are one's reality and then, as it often does, life inserts another hurdle? The pain can be unbearable, especially when one feels the struggle is her's alone.
As I now traverse my own cloudy path I'm aware - in part because of my G.U.L.P. journey - that my hurt is not unique. Struggle takes many forms, and as solitary as struggle feels - whatever that struggle may be for whomever experiences it -- it is not exclusive. What if, for a moment, in the depths of our most private pain we could step outside of ourselves and offer something to others? We may discover that our own suffering is eased. It's a strange paradox.
A part of me is wishing I wasn't in the midst of G.U.L.P. right now. But I'm too far along, too determined, and, frankly, too stubborn to not follow through. And maybe, just maybe, the lessons learned through sacrifice will offer some salvation.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Day16: "What the Hell is Water?"
During a meeting earlier this week I was sipping hot, honey-infused water (decidedly not coffee but a decent substitute) when a colleague asked, face scrunched, "So how long do you have left with this thing?" Given how she delivered the question, there was much implied. Her question isn't new, a handful of people have looked at me like I have three heads when learning of my project, but it is interesting. With our country's abundance greeting us at every turn, why in the world would someone who has access to plenty restrict herself to little?
From birth we're steeped in the idea of our own greatness, reinforced by our families, our peers, and the vast marketing machine. We wear our sense of entitlement as easily as our Tag Heuer, or our Uggs. Enough just isn't. More is desired, and less is offensive. It seems that for those of us in a certain socio-economic strata the privileges of living in the land of milk and honey has become mundane.
A good friend of mine has been following my journey and was reminded of a commencement address given by renowned author David Foster Wallace in 2005. The profound speech is a bare-bones assessment of life's daily grind, a wholehearted encouragement to think critically, and a cautionary tale about our collective propensity to move through our days in "default" mode and utterly miss the beauty around us: Life. Wallace opens his speech with a simple parable: "There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says, "Morning boys. How's the water?" And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes "What the hell is water?"
The tale was a summation of where I hope this journey brings me and a poignant reminder of why I'm doing "this thing."
If you have a moment, it's well worth the read: http://web.archive.org/web/20080213082423/http:/www.marginalia.org/dfw_kenyon_commencement.html
From birth we're steeped in the idea of our own greatness, reinforced by our families, our peers, and the vast marketing machine. We wear our sense of entitlement as easily as our Tag Heuer, or our Uggs. Enough just isn't. More is desired, and less is offensive. It seems that for those of us in a certain socio-economic strata the privileges of living in the land of milk and honey has become mundane.
A good friend of mine has been following my journey and was reminded of a commencement address given by renowned author David Foster Wallace in 2005. The profound speech is a bare-bones assessment of life's daily grind, a wholehearted encouragement to think critically, and a cautionary tale about our collective propensity to move through our days in "default" mode and utterly miss the beauty around us: Life. Wallace opens his speech with a simple parable: "There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says, "Morning boys. How's the water?" And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes "What the hell is water?"
The tale was a summation of where I hope this journey brings me and a poignant reminder of why I'm doing "this thing."
If you have a moment, it's well worth the read: http://web.archive.org/web/20080213082423/http:/www.marginalia.org/dfw_kenyon_commencement.html
Friday, December 11, 2009
Day 15: Tomorrow's a New Day
It's been a long, tough week -- and for reasons that have nothing to do with food. Ah, life. I look forward to tomorrow.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Day 14: Scaled a Hurdle and Feeling Good
I just made dinner after returning from volunteering at an event with collegues and friends. And tonight I felt like I somewhat redeemed myself from the Taco Bell lapse, like I successfully strengthened my will. As the event came to a close and people were filing out, free drinks were offered to the volunteers. A nice gesture. Linda, a dear, witty friend sipped a glass of red wine. Another friend, Kyle, offered to bring me back a glass but catching himself, presented water instead. Linda saw the longing written all over my face. Like any good friend would do, she expressed empathy and clever rationalizations should I choose to enjoy a glass myself. She explained that I wasn't buying the wine so technically it didn't violate my rules. True. But it wasn't convincing enough. Accepting the provisions of others would breach the spirit of my project. Seeing that I wasn't budging, but clearly craving a glass of the luscious liquid, she went on to say that wine was a different kind of alcohol, it's really water, it's just that Jesus converted it. I laughed until tears came to my eyes.
Full and liquor-less, I'm now about to have playtime with my dogs. Poor pooches have not been on a walk in days because of the bitter cold. This weekend it's predicted to warm, and I predict that not giving in to tonight's temptation will help to carry me through the next 14 days.
Full and liquor-less, I'm now about to have playtime with my dogs. Poor pooches have not been on a walk in days because of the bitter cold. This weekend it's predicted to warm, and I predict that not giving in to tonight's temptation will help to carry me through the next 14 days.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Day 13: I Ate Beans But It Was All Wrong
I ate Taco Bell today. I feel terrible about it.
It was a particularly intense day for several reasons. I had planned to go home for lunch, as I now regularly do, but the lunch hour came and went. Minute by minute, the hunger pains and distraction that accompanies them continued to grow. I was able to head home at about 2:15pm - and then the reminder on my Blackberry flashed: conference call at 2:45pm. What to do? I knew I had some almonds back at work, but one more nut today was likely to send me over the edge. I should have toughed it out. I had already declined a going-away lunch invitation for a favorite, stellar colleague whose leaving our office and headed to do great things at a community college. Knowing I needed to be in the office for the call, I turned my car around. And there they were: The line-up of fast food options dotted across any-landscape USA. I made a flash decision to pull into Taco Bell. The lesser of four evils. They serve lots of bean, one of my project staples. "Two bean burritos, that's all, ah, and salt please." Guilt was all I felt as I salivated. I wolfed down the burritos and shelved, for a moment, the guilt. I just wanted the ache in my belly to go away. It wasn't about savoring the feast (12 days without "normal" food, Taco Bell seemed feast-like), but filling a basic need.
I had planned poorly, physically felt the consequence of it, and made a lame decision. Writing about this now, feeling satiated after having had a hearty dinner of potatoes, eggs, and cabbage, it's a bit alarming. Not what I did - though I feel no pride in it and am fully committed to doing things differently as I crawl, shamefully, back on the wagon - but feeling, for a few moments, the anguish of having access to so little.
How do people cope when a job is lost and there are virtually no prospects on the horizon? Or when a home is forclosed on? Do people engage in behavior, sometimes criminal, that under better circumstances would never be considered? The question has been debated for years. Some researchers maintain that there is not correlation between a downturn in the economy and a rise in crime. According to David Kennedy, director of the Center for Crime Reduction at John Jay College of Criminal Studies, the Great Depression saw no rise in crime while there was a high crime rate during the "Roaring Twenties" when prosperity reined and indulgence was the order of the day. But other variable must be considered in such a study. For instance, prohibition and the introduction of organized crime during the 1920's arguably contributed to these outcomes.
According to the Congressional Research Service, "Studies analyzing the relationship between unemployment and crime rates tend to find small statistically significant correlations between unemployment and the property crime rate but not between unemployment and the violent crime rate." Corroborating this is Severin Sorensen, author of Economic Misery and Crime Waves. He asserts that certain crimes do track dire economic downfalls, including alcohol-related crimes, domestic violence, child and elder abuse."
All the same, it seems natural for misery to beget misery. These are unimaginably challenging times for so many of us. The degree of strain varies, but when experienced can be transforming, if only for a short time, for better or for worse. If ever there was a time to reach out and offer what we can to one another, now seems to be that time.
Usually disciplined, purposed, and true to my pledge, today I fell short. More than ever I am mindful of those who truly are suffering, and more than ever dedicated to staying the course.
The next time beans beckon, they'll be in the form of homemade hummus.
It was a particularly intense day for several reasons. I had planned to go home for lunch, as I now regularly do, but the lunch hour came and went. Minute by minute, the hunger pains and distraction that accompanies them continued to grow. I was able to head home at about 2:15pm - and then the reminder on my Blackberry flashed: conference call at 2:45pm. What to do? I knew I had some almonds back at work, but one more nut today was likely to send me over the edge. I should have toughed it out. I had already declined a going-away lunch invitation for a favorite, stellar colleague whose leaving our office and headed to do great things at a community college. Knowing I needed to be in the office for the call, I turned my car around. And there they were: The line-up of fast food options dotted across any-landscape USA. I made a flash decision to pull into Taco Bell. The lesser of four evils. They serve lots of bean, one of my project staples. "Two bean burritos, that's all, ah, and salt please." Guilt was all I felt as I salivated. I wolfed down the burritos and shelved, for a moment, the guilt. I just wanted the ache in my belly to go away. It wasn't about savoring the feast (12 days without "normal" food, Taco Bell seemed feast-like), but filling a basic need.
I had planned poorly, physically felt the consequence of it, and made a lame decision. Writing about this now, feeling satiated after having had a hearty dinner of potatoes, eggs, and cabbage, it's a bit alarming. Not what I did - though I feel no pride in it and am fully committed to doing things differently as I crawl, shamefully, back on the wagon - but feeling, for a few moments, the anguish of having access to so little.
How do people cope when a job is lost and there are virtually no prospects on the horizon? Or when a home is forclosed on? Do people engage in behavior, sometimes criminal, that under better circumstances would never be considered? The question has been debated for years. Some researchers maintain that there is not correlation between a downturn in the economy and a rise in crime. According to David Kennedy, director of the Center for Crime Reduction at John Jay College of Criminal Studies, the Great Depression saw no rise in crime while there was a high crime rate during the "Roaring Twenties" when prosperity reined and indulgence was the order of the day. But other variable must be considered in such a study. For instance, prohibition and the introduction of organized crime during the 1920's arguably contributed to these outcomes.
According to the Congressional Research Service, "Studies analyzing the relationship between unemployment and crime rates tend to find small statistically significant correlations between unemployment and the property crime rate but not between unemployment and the violent crime rate." Corroborating this is Severin Sorensen, author of Economic Misery and Crime Waves. He asserts that certain crimes do track dire economic downfalls, including alcohol-related crimes, domestic violence, child and elder abuse."
All the same, it seems natural for misery to beget misery. These are unimaginably challenging times for so many of us. The degree of strain varies, but when experienced can be transforming, if only for a short time, for better or for worse. If ever there was a time to reach out and offer what we can to one another, now seems to be that time.
Usually disciplined, purposed, and true to my pledge, today I fell short. More than ever I am mindful of those who truly are suffering, and more than ever dedicated to staying the course.
The next time beans beckon, they'll be in the form of homemade hummus.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Day 12: The Season is Upon Us
Today is the 12th day of my G.U.L.P. project, nearly half way to completion. At times - and there are many of them - it feels like it might as well be twelve months. Not for a moment have I regretted taking this on. I had little idea of what to expect with this 28 day project, experiment really. I was excited to see it evolve, and to hopefully recognize the personal evolution. I did know that my project would result in writing three checks to three exceptional non-profit agencies. I knew that I would have food cravings, though I was relatively confident that they wouldn't be overwhelming (in what seems like a lifetime ago I was a competitive bodybuilder and needed to restrict my diet prior to competition). But never, ever have I imposed such tight limitations on anything in my life. It's been a tough go and at times I've craved some ethereal support.
Though I was raised Catholic (in fact, my wonderful Mom was a nun), I'm not particularly religious. Today, being my 12th day, the age-old song, The Twelve Days of Christmas, came to mind. Tis' the season, after all. Today isn't the beginning of the Twelve Days of Christmas; the actual origin and counting of the twelve days is complicated. Nonetheless, I found myself silently humming the tune. I couldn't get it out of my head, so I began to substitute my own words. While day for day there aren't parallels, hmmm, there may be a hint of commonality. At least believing it to be so helped me power through the day.
On the first day of Christmas my true love (refers to God) gave to me...come on, sing along...
1 significant challenge (Partidge in a pear tree)
2 blog postings (Turtle Doves - Old and New Testament)
3 important non-profits (French Hens - Faith, Hope, Charity, Theological Values)
4 new recipes (Calling Birds - 4 Gospels or Evangelists)
5 bouts of boredom (Golden Rings - 5 books of the Old Testament)
6 encouraging emails (Geese-A-Laying - 6 days of creation)
7 people teasing (Swans-a-Swimming - 7 gifts of the Holy Spirit, seven sacraments)
8 compassionate acts (Maids-A-Milking - 8 beatitudes)
9 thoughts of doubt (Ladies Dancing - 9 fruits of the Holy Spirit)
10 renewed reasons (Lords-A-Leaping - 10 commandments)
11 displays of gratitude (Pipers Piping - 11 faithful aspostles)
12 reasons for introspection (Drummers Drumming - twelve points of doctrine in the Apostle Creed)
Though I was raised Catholic (in fact, my wonderful Mom was a nun), I'm not particularly religious. Today, being my 12th day, the age-old song, The Twelve Days of Christmas, came to mind. Tis' the season, after all. Today isn't the beginning of the Twelve Days of Christmas; the actual origin and counting of the twelve days is complicated. Nonetheless, I found myself silently humming the tune. I couldn't get it out of my head, so I began to substitute my own words. While day for day there aren't parallels, hmmm, there may be a hint of commonality. At least believing it to be so helped me power through the day.
On the first day of Christmas my true love (refers to God) gave to me...come on, sing along...
1 significant challenge (Partidge in a pear tree)
2 blog postings (Turtle Doves - Old and New Testament)
3 important non-profits (French Hens - Faith, Hope, Charity, Theological Values)
4 new recipes (Calling Birds - 4 Gospels or Evangelists)
5 bouts of boredom (Golden Rings - 5 books of the Old Testament)
6 encouraging emails (Geese-A-Laying - 6 days of creation)
7 people teasing (Swans-a-Swimming - 7 gifts of the Holy Spirit, seven sacraments)
8 compassionate acts (Maids-A-Milking - 8 beatitudes)
9 thoughts of doubt (Ladies Dancing - 9 fruits of the Holy Spirit)
10 renewed reasons (Lords-A-Leaping - 10 commandments)
11 displays of gratitude (Pipers Piping - 11 faithful aspostles)
12 reasons for introspection (Drummers Drumming - twelve points of doctrine in the Apostle Creed)
Monday, December 7, 2009
Day 11: The non-blog
Today's blog is more of a non-blog blog. These past three days have been intense, and I've been unsuccessful at squashing a low-grade headache, so heading to bed early. Grateful, however, that I'm not going to bed hungry. Much more tomorrow.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Day 10: Is there power in choice?
This evening was the first time I've gone to the grocery store since starting my G.U.L.P. project. Having a short list saves lots of time. As people perused the aisles for the perfect lettuce or the ideal coffee, I felt a degree of liberation. Choosing cabbage was simple. There were a few more choices with potatoes, but not many, and I breezed through the store. Choice: Ostensibly the ability to create and control our lives and thus identify happiness. Maybe. Sticking with the grocery store theme, doesn't it seem like more people are cranky when the 1% milk is out of stock even if there's plenty of 2%, or when the spicy beer mustard is on back order for a week and the six other options just won't satisfy?
Barry Schwartz, professor of Social Theory and Social Action at Swarthmore College and author of The Paradox of Choice, contends that the "official dogma" we subscribe to dictates that our affluent, industrial culture makes a direct link between freedom and choice; the collective belief our society holds asserts that maximizing our options leads to individual freedom and thus maximizes our personal welfare. Schwartz maintains that having endless choices creates paralysis rather than liberation, and that adhering to this embedded belief will invariably foster feelings of angst, guilt, and depression. Maybe. I know that my experience grocery shopping today was, well, calm. Taking less time than a traditional grocery store trip allowed more time for other priorities. But there have been countless occasions when I had a laundry list with no restrictions, and frequently I felt a comparable sense of calm. I hear Schwartz's point, but I believe that there are several variables that contribute to an experience being positive or negative when choice comes into play.
Author Malcomb Galdwell approaches choice from a different perspective. Essentially, he argues that as humans we don't really know what we want, and when we do we can't always explain it. Gladwell sites Howard Mascowitz, the man responsible for the surplus of pasta sauces and virtually single-handedly raising the profile of Ragu, who locked on to the importance in marketing of horizontal segmentation and embracing the diversity of human experience. Moscowitz holds that choice, attainability notwithstanding, gives people something to aspire to and therefore contributes to, rather than detracts from, happiness.
What I know is that tonight and for the coming week I'm happy for my cabbage, eggs, and potatoes. While having my choices restricted is superficial, the feeling of contentment that these provisions offer is not.
Barry Schwartz, professor of Social Theory and Social Action at Swarthmore College and author of The Paradox of Choice, contends that the "official dogma" we subscribe to dictates that our affluent, industrial culture makes a direct link between freedom and choice; the collective belief our society holds asserts that maximizing our options leads to individual freedom and thus maximizes our personal welfare. Schwartz maintains that having endless choices creates paralysis rather than liberation, and that adhering to this embedded belief will invariably foster feelings of angst, guilt, and depression. Maybe. I know that my experience grocery shopping today was, well, calm. Taking less time than a traditional grocery store trip allowed more time for other priorities. But there have been countless occasions when I had a laundry list with no restrictions, and frequently I felt a comparable sense of calm. I hear Schwartz's point, but I believe that there are several variables that contribute to an experience being positive or negative when choice comes into play.
Author Malcomb Galdwell approaches choice from a different perspective. Essentially, he argues that as humans we don't really know what we want, and when we do we can't always explain it. Gladwell sites Howard Mascowitz, the man responsible for the surplus of pasta sauces and virtually single-handedly raising the profile of Ragu, who locked on to the importance in marketing of horizontal segmentation and embracing the diversity of human experience. Moscowitz holds that choice, attainability notwithstanding, gives people something to aspire to and therefore contributes to, rather than detracts from, happiness.
What I know is that tonight and for the coming week I'm happy for my cabbage, eggs, and potatoes. While having my choices restricted is superficial, the feeling of contentment that these provisions offer is not.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Day 9: No Popcorn and The Perfect Martini
My day was non-stop. I'm happy to report that the popcorn at the movies was no match for me. Really, I didn't even miss it - especially at the insanely marked-up 13,000 percent cost (nope, no exaggeration). I just returned from Joe's 5th Annual Parade of Lights Party. Incomparable host that he is, he rimmed the beautiful Martini glass with ice and stirred in water on the rocks, hold the lemon. Perfect. I had five. I didn't hesitate to attend his party. We don't have mutual friend, but knowing Joe, I suspected the attendees would be a great group. And they were. The downside, I also suspected that the offerings would be second-to-none. And they were. It helped that Joe (the creative genius behind the YouTube video) knows my project inside and out and has been a terrific support. It is all about personal accountability, but peer pressure helps. It was a great day. I'm just finishing my second baked sweet potato and off to bed.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Day 8: The gift of old friends
I recently talked with one of my dearest friends from high school, Joni. She's wonderful. Sassy, surly, sarcastic, and wonderful. Since the age of 16 we've been together through thick and thin. She was there for me during my darkest hours following my dad's death, and we love each other unconditionally. I shared with her my project, offering the 30 second elevator explanation. She may or may not ever log on (so her), but she did ask what the 7 foods were, and I ticked them off. "Hmm," she said, "Chop up the cabbage, toss with shaved almonds, lots of salt and pepper, and fry them up in olive oil. It's off the hook." We then moved on to other topics. Joni's suggestion sounded enticing enough, a unique twist on a moderately inspiring selection. Her suggestion was tonight's dinner. The only things missing were the paper lanterns and jasmine tea. It was a great meal.
When I was considering what foods to settle on I did some basic research. Cabbage, a vegetable I like well enough but never thought to include in my homemade meals, topped the list. It's inexpensive, has the crunch factor, and is a nutrient powerhouse. (In fact, in the middle ages cabbage was referred to as the "drug of the poor.") According to Dr. Janice Stuff, assistant professor at the Baylor College of Medicine and nutrition scientist, "Vegetables in the cabbage family...contain protective phytochemicals called glucosinolates that help the body eliminate carcinogens." Listen up men. Stuff goes on to say, " Research suggests that consuming just two servings a day...could cut the risk of certain types of cancer, including prostate and esophageal cancers, by nearly 50 percent."
Today was a great day. Notwithstanding the fact that my office-mate filled a large candy bowl with m&ms, I didn't feel as distracted today. I'm still craving Chipotle, fish and chips, and coffee, but I'm doing well. Tomorrow I'm taking my mentee, Farhiya, and her sister, Howa, to a movie...I think I already smell the popcorn.
When I was considering what foods to settle on I did some basic research. Cabbage, a vegetable I like well enough but never thought to include in my homemade meals, topped the list. It's inexpensive, has the crunch factor, and is a nutrient powerhouse. (In fact, in the middle ages cabbage was referred to as the "drug of the poor.") According to Dr. Janice Stuff, assistant professor at the Baylor College of Medicine and nutrition scientist, "Vegetables in the cabbage family...contain protective phytochemicals called glucosinolates that help the body eliminate carcinogens." Listen up men. Stuff goes on to say, " Research suggests that consuming just two servings a day...could cut the risk of certain types of cancer, including prostate and esophageal cancers, by nearly 50 percent."
Today was a great day. Notwithstanding the fact that my office-mate filled a large candy bowl with m&ms, I didn't feel as distracted today. I'm still craving Chipotle, fish and chips, and coffee, but I'm doing well. Tomorrow I'm taking my mentee, Farhiya, and her sister, Howa, to a movie...I think I already smell the popcorn.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Day 7: Longing and struggle
I just finished watching a perennial favorite, Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer. I've seen it virtually every year since childhood and love this time-honored animation. This year I noticed that none of the characters eat. While each character is imbued - even the toys - with human traits, emotions, and abilities, food plays no role. It is referenced when Cornielius say, "[It's] thick as peanut butter," and Hermy, brainy boy that he is, retorts with, "I think you mean pea soup," as they move through the fog and plow headlong into the ice glacier island. But nobody eats. They don't even share a toast as they dance and sing Holly Jolly Christmas. What's wrong with these characters?
Frankly, I was hopeful that I'd be beyond focusing on food at this point, like the "sweet spot" cyclists and runners hit as they transcend the discomfort and move into a space of euphoria. I'm not there. I eat plenty and do not feel particularly hungry. My portion size is not limited, only my selections. But I don't feel quite satisfied. It's a strange longing.
Struggling with this today, but tomorrow is a new day.
Frankly, I was hopeful that I'd be beyond focusing on food at this point, like the "sweet spot" cyclists and runners hit as they transcend the discomfort and move into a space of euphoria. I'm not there. I eat plenty and do not feel particularly hungry. My portion size is not limited, only my selections. But I don't feel quite satisfied. It's a strange longing.
Struggling with this today, but tomorrow is a new day.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Day 6: Still Learning
My junior high school BFF, Kate, suggested a modified green bean recipe with with toasted almonds. I made it for dinner tonight: raw cabbage, shredded carrots, and Kate's suggestion, sliced almonds toasted in olive oil. The dressing was simple, plain yogurt, curry, and salt. The curry is a little too apparent, but the toasted almonds made this "salad" sing. Thank you, Kate! I needed this.
I had plans tonight to attend a function at Strings benefiting the Cunningham Foundation. I was looking forward to it, though mindful that I would be surrounded by sensational food and every beverage known to man. Around 5:30 this evening I decided not to go. I was feeling weak. Not physically weak, in fact I feel healthy and energetic. I just didn't know if I could be in an atmosphere of countless culinary choices and not partake. It's become clear to me that in our culture food is more than just a source of survival. Central, or at least peripheral, to virtually any social activity is food and drink - especially during this time of year when parties are plentiful.
I really enjoy eating, but I also thoroughly relish the culture that supports the choices I have around food selection, preparation, location, and consumption. Other than a relaxed Lenten undertaking, I've never given up anything so germane to my everyday existence for an extended period of time. (Maybe I should have thought about a Marti Gras-like celebration prior to this project.) But I'm committed to not allowing my restrictions - and the weakness that can accompany this - to adversely influence other enjoyments in my life. Doable, right? It demands a real mental shift. Tonight was one small but important lesson in this journey.
I had plans tonight to attend a function at Strings benefiting the Cunningham Foundation. I was looking forward to it, though mindful that I would be surrounded by sensational food and every beverage known to man. Around 5:30 this evening I decided not to go. I was feeling weak. Not physically weak, in fact I feel healthy and energetic. I just didn't know if I could be in an atmosphere of countless culinary choices and not partake. It's become clear to me that in our culture food is more than just a source of survival. Central, or at least peripheral, to virtually any social activity is food and drink - especially during this time of year when parties are plentiful.
I really enjoy eating, but I also thoroughly relish the culture that supports the choices I have around food selection, preparation, location, and consumption. Other than a relaxed Lenten undertaking, I've never given up anything so germane to my everyday existence for an extended period of time. (Maybe I should have thought about a Marti Gras-like celebration prior to this project.) But I'm committed to not allowing my restrictions - and the weakness that can accompany this - to adversely influence other enjoyments in my life. Doable, right? It demands a real mental shift. Tonight was one small but important lesson in this journey.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Day 5: The power of distraction
Today was my first day back at work since beginning my project. I did not fully prepare for my return and dietary restrictions, bringing only a few hard-boiled eggs and nuts. I had planned to go home for lunch, but that didn't happen, too much catch-up work to be done. Donuts and coffee, fruit, cookies, and brownies everywhere; aromas of reheated pasta primavera and chicken florentine surrounded me. I was distracted.
Have we - have I - ever been this distracted by something so essential, yet so out of reach? Granted, my choice is just that, a choice. Even in the short period of time, 5 days into the G.U.L.P. project, I'm getting it. The distraction I'm feeling forces me to think about those who cannot access basic essentials, be it food, housing, clothing, or even connection with another, regardless of the reason. I imagine that losing, not having, or having limited options, for a protracted period of time, in meeting these basic needs can fundamentally change how one thinks and processes information, how one invests her energy and time, how one plans or envisions her future course.
So many, here in our own country, live on the margins. Sadly, those ranks continue to grow as job and housing loss remain high. The ripple effect impacts each one of us. How can this not give me pause? More importantly: How can this time of pause translate into a long-term dedication to making a significant difference? Somehow, though I don't yet know what that looks like, it will.
I'm lucky, I'm going to bed - a soft one with a warm comforter and lofty pillows - with a full stomach, albeit another meal of eggs and potatoes. Counting my blessings as I drift to sleep.
Have we - have I - ever been this distracted by something so essential, yet so out of reach? Granted, my choice is just that, a choice. Even in the short period of time, 5 days into the G.U.L.P. project, I'm getting it. The distraction I'm feeling forces me to think about those who cannot access basic essentials, be it food, housing, clothing, or even connection with another, regardless of the reason. I imagine that losing, not having, or having limited options, for a protracted period of time, in meeting these basic needs can fundamentally change how one thinks and processes information, how one invests her energy and time, how one plans or envisions her future course.
So many, here in our own country, live on the margins. Sadly, those ranks continue to grow as job and housing loss remain high. The ripple effect impacts each one of us. How can this not give me pause? More importantly: How can this time of pause translate into a long-term dedication to making a significant difference? Somehow, though I don't yet know what that looks like, it will.
I'm lucky, I'm going to bed - a soft one with a warm comforter and lofty pillows - with a full stomach, albeit another meal of eggs and potatoes. Counting my blessings as I drift to sleep.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Day 4: Check the whining
My personal mission with this project was simple. I wanted the 28 day G.U.L.P. to inspire real personal growth, I wanted to support three amazing, non-profit organizations that align with my values, and wanted this project to call attention to the fact that countless non-profit agencies doing incredible work in providing aid to the most vulnerable among us are struggling, no different than so many individuals, with these challenging economic times.
I took today off and spent the morning with my mom. As usual, we had great fun. Yet, I was bummed that we couldn't go to Dixon's for brunch and enjoy eggs benedict with avocado, and an extra hot, no-foam latte. I feel the void of deprivation. I feel. I know that in 25 days, should I choose, I can enjoy these indulgences again, but today I feel the absence. Boy, do I feel it.
Here's a sobering fact: According to the Center on Hunger & Poverty, there are approximately 38 million people that do not have access to enough food to meet their basic needs. Roughly one in ten -one in ten! - U.S. households, more that 36 million people, live in poverty. Yes, here in the United States. So, get over yourself, Ann. This project is good for me. It moves me, if only a little, to a place of greater gratitude.
I took today off and spent the morning with my mom. As usual, we had great fun. Yet, I was bummed that we couldn't go to Dixon's for brunch and enjoy eggs benedict with avocado, and an extra hot, no-foam latte. I feel the void of deprivation. I feel. I know that in 25 days, should I choose, I can enjoy these indulgences again, but today I feel the absence. Boy, do I feel it.
Here's a sobering fact: According to the Center on Hunger & Poverty, there are approximately 38 million people that do not have access to enough food to meet their basic needs. Roughly one in ten -one in ten! - U.S. households, more that 36 million people, live in poverty. Yes, here in the United States. So, get over yourself, Ann. This project is good for me. It moves me, if only a little, to a place of greater gratitude.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Who knew coffee has the ability to stalk?
I'm convinced that coffee is stalking me. My dear friend, Adrienne, and I went shopping for paint, a wall clock, and a bench yesterday (she's redecorating her living room). Nearly every shopper held in his hand a red, paper cup embossed with that familiar green circle. And each one seemed to be hovering near the aisle I was in, or at least the aroma of the cappuccino was. It was painful. Reading some of the paint names was no help: creamy latte, rich cocoa, vanilla bean. Only three days into my project and it's clear that a relatively benign indulgence wields an inordinate amount of power. I've substituted hot water with honey for this sublime pleasure. It's really no substitute at all. Much to think about. Off to make a late lunch of heavily peppered, shredded potatoes and scrambled eggs.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Day 2 is going to be good.
Yesterday, my mom, being the creative, generous woman she is, helped me prepare foods for the next week or so. We started with a quiche or sorts: Shredded potatoes comprised the crust, eggs, black beans, and lots of salt and pepper made up the filling. A bit bland but a packs a protein punch. We then made a strange concoction of scrambled eggs and potatoes (conventional at this point) which we scooped and wrapped in soaked cabbage leaves, covered them in black beans, and baked the beautiful purple right out of the cabbage. I haven't tried them yet. They look about as appealing as saw dust. But I'll eat 'em. Finally, we made hummus. Wow! So simple and so delicious: garbanzo beans, garlic-infused olive oil, and salt and pepper whipped in a blender until smooth. I'm certain I'll make this hummus well after my project. I say that now. I had a baked, sweet potato and a hard-boiled egg for dinner and went to bed early.
This morning I'm off to help a girlfriend paint her living room. Hummus, carrots, almonds, and a few hard-boiled eggs in tow. She lives just blocks away from Meade St. Station (one of my favorite pubs ever!). But we won't be eating there. Preparing to undertake this project is one thing, living it is quite another...
This morning I'm off to help a girlfriend paint her living room. Hummus, carrots, almonds, and a few hard-boiled eggs in tow. She lives just blocks away from Meade St. Station (one of my favorite pubs ever!). But we won't be eating there. Preparing to undertake this project is one thing, living it is quite another...
Friday, November 27, 2009
...and the journey begins
We had an incredible Thanksgiving with family and friends: delicious food, great conversation, games, a precious new pup, Henry, and lots of laughter. Having barely swallowed some of my favorite foods last night, I found myself craving them again. (Nope, didn't do such a good job of being in the present.) I'm feeling both anxious and excited about stepping into these next four weeks of self-imposed, food-choice forfeiture. I had seconds of stuffing, enjoyed an extra glass of wine, and coffee with lots of cream (rarely do I drink coffee in late afternoon). I think the gratitude I felt seemed more poignant than years past. In part, because I knew what I was about to be “losing.”
A few months ago I sat down with an incredible KP dietitian, Mary Englick, and explained my project. My food selection criteria was fairly simple. I wanted foods that were relatively inexpensive, generally within this growing season, nutritionally balanced, offered some variety, and would ensure my caloric intake wouldn't vary much from my usual diet. We agreed on the following choices, and I'll be eating these exclusively for the next 28 days: nuts, eggs, yogurt, beans, cabbage, potatoes, and carrots; five condiments, olive oil, curry powder, salt, pepper, and honey; and one beverage, water. I can combine these foods in any way and eat the various varieties within each group, cashews and almonds, sweet and red potatoes for example.
At this moment, though, I would really love a steaming cup of joe. Not going to happen.
A few months ago I sat down with an incredible KP dietitian, Mary Englick, and explained my project. My food selection criteria was fairly simple. I wanted foods that were relatively inexpensive, generally within this growing season, nutritionally balanced, offered some variety, and would ensure my caloric intake wouldn't vary much from my usual diet. We agreed on the following choices, and I'll be eating these exclusively for the next 28 days: nuts, eggs, yogurt, beans, cabbage, potatoes, and carrots; five condiments, olive oil, curry powder, salt, pepper, and honey; and one beverage, water. I can combine these foods in any way and eat the various varieties within each group, cashews and almonds, sweet and red potatoes for example.
At this moment, though, I would really love a steaming cup of joe. Not going to happen.
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