“Chocolate, Chocolate, Chocolate-ACCK!!!”

A friend from seminary, Carmen, wrote a great blog piece of the strange and startling difference between our American culture and that of places like Zambia, where Carmen lived all last year. Upon her return from rural Africa, Carmen moved to the upper east-side of Manhattan. I think that is literally just about as far from Zambia as one can get!

In the post I'm referring to, Carmen talks about the strange obsession we find in American culture with skinniness. We have access to an abundance food- gourmet cuisine, fast food, and everything in between- and yet we still hold up flat tummies and toned arms as the perfect human ideal.

A couple years ago, I spent 8 weeks in Zambia; and I remember being aware that my body-image issues were an anomaly, to say the least. Women would "compliment" me, telling me that they thought I was putting on weight while I was there. I'd smile confusedly and say "thank you?" but in my head, I was thinking, "God, I hope not!" I did everything I could to be healthy and NOT pack on the pounds. But all the while, I felt guilty for caring if my thighs got a little thundery when surrounded by children who didn't know where their next meal was coming from.

When I returned home to the United States, one of the moments of reverse culture-shock that I experienced was being startled by overweight kids. Not "startled" like they'd jump out and say "boo!" but surprised and taken aback. I literally hadn't seen an overweight child in 2 months. No child that I saw in Zambia got nearly enough to eat, nor had enough sedentary time to pack on the pounds.

I write all this because I've been thinking about weight and body image and my own issues there-with. I got to a point several years ago where I wasn't happy with my body, so I finally decided to do something about it. With the help of good old Weight Watchers, I lost some significant poundage. And I kept it off for a good few years. And I was generally pleased with how I looked and felt. Now 5 years later, I've put SOME of it back on. Not all of it. Not even MUCH of it. But enough that I get displeased by the little imperfections I see in the mirror.

I do get annoyed that I don't always love everything about that reflection I see. But I am way MORE annoyed that I care so much- that I let myself get all sad and mopey over a stomach that's less rock-hard washboard and more warm-cuddly pillow. I am annoyed that though I KNOW in my head that there are way more important things to worry about than love-handles, that's what I spent a good 10 minutes whining about last night. I am annoyed that my life and my relationship with food is starting to resemble a Cathy cartoon. (Seriously- that cartoon is NOT funny. Though I guess they made fun of Cathy on 30Rock and that's gotta earn back SOME the wasted years of non-laughter Cathy spent in the newspapers.)

And so I write to you, dear blogosphere. Not to be one of those girls who say, "Oh, I'm so fat" and waits for all her REAL friends to protest. ("No, you're not! You are the epitome of beauty and all things skinny and perfect!") But to share with whoever might like to know that I am becoming a normal, almost-30-something year old American woman and I am quite ambivalent about the whole thing.

Can't we all just live in a world where little kids have enough to eat, where we who have too much give more away, and where a little pooch is considered the hottest new accessory? Let's make it be so.