Showing posts with label awareness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label awareness. Show all posts
In the online profile of an acquaintance of mine, whom we will call H, I stumbled across the following quotation:
"Drugs, alcohol, cigarettes-- it's my body.
I can do whatever the hell I want...so f*** off."
Really...? Other than the obvious implications of this statement, a more profound assertion is being brought to light:
"What's wrong? How many silly things can you find in this picture?" the back cover of children's magazine Highlights queries innocently, referring to drawings in which, perhaps a tree is upside down, or shoes placed upon the hands of an ingenuous youth with a baffled expression. Designed for young minds, the nonsensical discrepancies in the pictures are often quite obvious.
The problems in my friend's profile registered just as blatantly, but with a far more sinister undercurrent. Drugs, alcohol, tobacco-- what links them? They hint at a life lived on the edge, yes. They communicate a thrilling vein of subversiveness; after all, society dictates drug use as taboo, alcoholism is an issue that is rampant but suppressed, and tobacco smoking is a practice much frowned upon. Unfortunately, there is a valid supporting explanation concerning their illicit nature--each practice shatters the body, bringing it to crumbling ruin.
Yet in her profile H conveys an understanding that narcotics can lead to disastrous effects; that she is willing to take the risk--because it is her own body, and presumably is excited by the promise of a fleeting frisson of stimulation. She maintains that the responsibilities of any crushing consequences will be borne by herself only.
However, in thinking such, H displays a naivete comparable to that of the cartoon-child on the back cover of Highlights. Her actions would affect those close to her--friends, desensitized to its danger, might rush to experience the jolt of drugs or alcohol. Family and loved ones would inexorably be hurt by her decision of self-abuse--those who have supported her throughout her life, horrified and devastated by her choice.
So, in thinking that 1. it was acceptable to damage her health and self-worth and 2. that any harm would be shouldered by herself only, H is no different from the wide-eyed child who fails to realize nothing is askew with the picture.
One recent afternoon after disembarking the school bus from Leland (and consequently breaking free from the torrential screams and tortured wailing of first-graders that typify the 40 minute ride), I noticed a sight that piqued my interest. Beyond a low stone wall in the courtyard of the Cupertino library, a wildly curly head bobbed up and down rhythmically at a frantic pace. I could discern immediately that the untamed mane belonged to R.B.-- a bumbling, male middle-school student who nearly always arrives late in the mornings, panting as he struggles to board the bus before it departs.
R's customary grunt upon hearing his name during roll call was mirrored repeatedly and vigorously. Upon leaning in closer, the source of his intensity became perspicuous. With eyes fixated on his hands, R engaged himself in devouring mouthfuls of hot dog at a speed closely associated with Takeru Kobayashi, six-time World Champion Speed Eater. No ordinary bread-encased sausage, this specimen was a dough-swathed behemoth. Mere seconds passed before R assimilated the final chunk and stumbled off to dispose of the wrapper.
"Why did you eat that hot dog so rapidly?" I inquired rather intrusively as he returned. R blinked and made a guttural, inarticulate sound-- of a resonance that revealed he had just recovered from a fit of minor asphyxiation. "So quickly that you choked?" I added.
R replied that he didn't know in a flat tone, his shifting gaze revealing a lack of interest in conversation. I pressed on relentlessly, insisting that he ought to eat less swiftly in the future--supporting my claim by telling him that gradual digestion would lead to greater enjoyment of the pinguid treat. R's eyes glazed over.
"Well, when I eat something I like, the taste doesn't really matter," he attempted to clarify, though only muddying my perception of the matter. His explanation seemed vexingly counterintuitive.
"But," I argued quite vehemently, "taste is the only reason you would even enjoy the hot dog..." Plainly exasperated with the tedium of our discussion, R shrugged and sauntered away.
This exchange stayed with me the rest of the afternoon as I observed eaters (and children) from a seat outside the Coffee Society café. At one point the camp director made a rare visit, buying himself those paragons of sugary ruin-- a cookie and root beer ("What!? I like them!"). This blatant display of insalubrious behavior bothered me unduly, but even more aggravating was the fact that his eating paralleled R's almost exactly--the identical motions of shoveling food into the mouth, the indistinguishably glassy stares. Several minutes later, he too had finished (his period of ingestion was prolonged by the approach of several parents).
Neither appeared to derive any enjoyment from the consumption of his adored foods; eating had become a habitual motion, almost unnoticed by the eater. Earlier this year, an assembly was presented at school: the dangers of using the internet as an escape for daily pressures. Similarly, R's long day of struggle with geometry and the camp director's stressful interactions with demanding parents and irksome staff must have created a need for a distraction, a diversion from the pressures of the day-- a need that was filled by comforting favorite foods.
And yet, how much contentment did the hot dog, cookie, and root beer provide them? Most likely not enough, if their mechanical actions are any indication. Perhaps this justifies the abundance of overweight individuals who also have underlying emotional issues, the innumerable compulsive overeaters, the multitude of eating disorder sufferers-- instead of dealing with their difficulties head-on, they eat.
Awareness is key.
Labels: awareness, emotional impact, junk food
The obvious imminence of two free days otherwise known as 'the weekend' not withstanding, what would elicit 1,300 primary-school aged persons to look forward to their first Friday upon the commencement of the 7th Annual Math Enrichment Summer Program? After all, there are six more weeks--out of the remaining six Fridays, one is designated as a movie outing; another, a full day of frolicking underneath the golden Californian sun at a theme park. Indeed, what could the contrasting stifling 95˚heat and oppressive air conditioning that defines Friday, June the 20th, 2008 possibly have to offer these fresh-faced, ebullient youths--?
--an odorous (though not so far as miasmic) entity. A commodity that does not strain the wallets of parents (and camp directors) who already feel the pressure of soaring fuel and grain prices. It evokes a faint memory of foreignness, yet simultaneously projects a notion of homey familiarity- a slice of Americana.
Strong-smelling, economical, universal: pizza. Pizza: oleaginous, caloric, composed almost entirely of simple carbohydrates and saturated fats. It is clearly not fare for the health conscious; in other words, it is an 'artery clogger'. Though it provides little nutritional value, one triangle can contain upwards of 300 calories.
The stuff of free Friday lunches, pizza assumes the role of a savior, providing a moment of bliss into which students can sink after a week of cramming dense mathematics into their brains. An intermittent occurrence, certainly; though pizza is available daily at the snack bar, most students do not make the choice to purchase the greasy goodness.
A complaint may seem superfluous--to what purpose does it serve to make a case out the fact that once, just once, free pizza is generously distributed to hardworking juveniles? After all, a few hundred calories are not a crisis, considering a lifetime of consumption. Who am I to protest, anyway? I have most assuredly ingested my share of pizza. So it really is not so much the pizza that is the issue--that the kids are being presented with unhealthy sub-foods as a compensation, a reward for behaving well during the week is what is bothersome. Edibles, deleterious ones at that, are acting as a substitute for approval and love.
"Growing up, Kathryn [Murphy, of the Biggest Loser, Season 2] was loved with food. 'In our family, food was very much connected to approval, comfort, happiness, and reward,' she recalled. She was a chubby kid, and her weight would eventually balloon to 217 pounds."
Of course, a summer program is not instituted to dole out love and affection, but this idea may well implant itself into the as-of-yet impressionable minds of juvenescence.
Just a thought.
This morning, I woke up at 7:30 am, exactly 30 minutes before the start of first period: obscenely late. Blinking in a combination of confusion and dismay, I hit (end) repeatedly on my cell phone, convinced that I must have, in my stupor, pressed some wrong button. However, upon stumbling reluctantly from a warm haven of down and cotton into the cold, hard kitchen, I found that about 40 minutes time had indeed vanished!
I had gone to bed approximately 35 minutes later than usual, around 11:38. This appears early, no doubt, considering that we, as participants in the modern rat-race, require extensive time and effort to achieve our numerous goals. It is not uncommon-- widespread, really-- at my school for students to sustain their studies and activities with fewer than 4 hours of sleep per night.
Nightly, without fail, I obtain at least 7.5-8 hours of sleep. A dearth of rest never makes it easy for me to focus completely in my endeavors, either physical or mental. I am quite aware that it is obvious that not everyone necessitates the same number of hours; after all, many very successful people are refreshed and function well with fewer.
However, it is not how many hours one gets that is important. We hopefully are already aware of the potential health effects sleep-deprivation can have (hormonal imbalances, mood shifts, etc.) through mass-media distribution, so that is not worth discussion. The real issue here is that the restless are not putting themselves as the highest priority. In order to achieve our objectives in life, we compromise our health-- eating on the run, skipping exercise, disregarding natural sleep patterns.
We make excuses: "Oh, I'm putting myself on the back burner because I'm helping others." Unfortunately, to help others to the best of our ability, we ourselves first have to be fit physically and mentally.
Labels: awareness, priorities, sleep
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
