It's Not About the Cookie
Hold onto the light!
As a recovering former food snob (aka: working through food issues), a big realization came to me while traveling in other countries. There, I saw people enjoying their food, taking time with it, eating anything and everything with relish. The kind of relish that means enthusiasm, not sweet chopped pickles, although I eat relish with relish. The way I saw people eating, choosing their food, gathering for meals, it seemed everything was on the table—processed snacks, MSG, chicken feet in a shot glass in liquor in China, multi-course noodle, cheese and dessert-fest meals in Europe, and handmade flatbreads and the juiciest apricots (and even the kernel inside the apricot seed, almond-flavored and nutty) in Pakistan. The common denominator was that people did not eat the way we do in the US—fraught with anxiety, hurried and rushed, the foods we eat considered either “bad” or “good” according to what current food trend holds sway. As a traveler, I noticed every little detail with all of my senses wide open, and I came to an obvious but often forgotten conclusion. To most people around the world, food is food—it’s necessary and also enjoyable. Food is not taken for granted; food for many people is not a sure thing. To most people around the world, certain foods don’t need to be deserved or earned through a workout or exercise or hard day, and also, packaged snacks aren’t constantly grazed upon as if people can’t make it a few hours without food. Seeing people in other countries appreciate and cherish food in a practical, guilt-free way helped me realize I was bringing a lot more baggage into it.
Yes I actually do love relish, and I relish making it too.
Sometimes biking is just biking, and candy is just candy.
Let’s take M&M’s for example. As a kid, M&M’s were a source of joy, a treat, and a motivator on the slopes for me. I wasn’t worried about them being good or bad—they were absolutely perfect. And without being aware of it, I knew then that I was perfect too. I wasn’t worried about me being good or bad depending on what I ate. Then I hit adolescence, college, post-college, and with them all came the fraughtness of equating part of my identity with what and how I ate. I would alternate between a mentality of control and constriction (“I’m only eating foods that are good for me!”) and the pendulum swing of “F-it, I’m rebelling against being told what to do and eating what I want!” Certain things like M&M’s, that I considered “junk food” at the time—on account of the high fructose corn syrup and the artificial colors and flavorings—were alternately prohibited (to me, by me) with a sense of self-righteous martyrdom or scarfed guiltily with abandon, followed by shame and atonement. A packaged M & M cookie? Yeah, those looked yummy and fun, but I would pass—not worth the emotional complications, I thought at the time. So while it’s embarrassing to admit, it’s important to understand that it’s not about the cookie. It’s not about any one food, no matter how cute and brightly artificially-colored and surrounded by sweet dough as they might be. It’s about being comfortable with the knowledge that I know my body best, and I am the best suited to listen to when I’m hungry, when I’m full, and what feeds and nourishes my body, mind, and spirit.
Running towards peaceful, delicious, nourishing food.
A big part of coming to terms with the way I eat was being able to see all foods as neither good nor bad. Removing the judgement behind my eating (over many years of reflection, reading, writing, paying attention, not paying attention, and internal and external peace-making) has helped me be able to enjoy my food much more like when I was a kid. More importantly, it helps me be able to enjoy seeing my kids enjoy their food like kids. It’s still an ongoing process, of course, but the good news for me is that part of the process is stuff like embracing M&M cookies. I’ve been on a quest to perfect this cookie, partly because the packaged supermarket version is ubiquitous and I’m competitive, believing that a homemade version must can always be superior (see: recovering food snob). It’s also a nudge to my inner kid to help her continue to regain the knowledge that delicious, colorful treats are there to be enjoyed without judgement. But mostly, I want my kids to cherish and appreciate themselves and that part of that is knowing that they food they eat is to be appreciated, too.
Battling the demons in order to get to the candy inside.
It’s all pretty simple in the end, but sometimes we adults make it complicated because we try so hard.
