We’re All Hungry for a Normal Life Again. At Least We’re Not Starving
Despite all of the shoppers in the way, I’m running down the aisles of the market grabbing a bottle of peach cranberry juice for my dad here, a carton of low fat milk for us there. Better throw in a box of Cheerios. Make that five. I can’t find yogurt! There are no carrots! Don’t forget croutons. What’s left at the deli? Why is the guy behind the counter throwing things? I’d better get out of here. Don’t forget croutons. Where’s the cash register? It’s up a hill that’s so steep I can’t get there, especially with all this stuff in my cart. Oh no! I forgot croutons.
Am I the only one whose dreams are haunted by food lately? Am I the only one whose nights are filled with carrots and bottles of water and boxes of Chocolate Frosted Flakes? Am I the only one who spends her nights making mad dashes with a shopping cart in which I’ve hidden four rolls of toilet paper that I managed to find by precariously climbing to the top of a shelf and now all the other shoppers are chasing me?
Of all the ways – and there are many – that our “new normal” is affecting us, I think I feel it most keenly in this new fixation I seem to have with food. Back in the days that I will admit I took for granted, if we were out of carrots or juice or anything for that matter, I’d hop in the car, head to the market to pick up whatever we were missing and it would in all likelihood be waiting there on the shelf. No big deal. I didn’t have to plan or plot or maneuver. I didn’t have to think about the best time to go or how many shoppers would be lined up outside the store when I got there or whether to wear a mask and gloves or just skip the whole stressful trip altogether and try to arrange for delivery.
When I am actually able to buy food and bring it home, I find myself hyper conscious of everything I consume. Maybe I should only chop up one carrot for this salad instead of two so that we have some left for tomorrow. Will the salmon we bought last until Friday when we can get more? Maybe I should put that bottle of iced tea back in the fridge in case my husband wants it later.
And then before I can even get that pint of ice cream open (okay, so it’s a quart), I come across this warning. Don’t eat comfort food! According to a fitness blog, eating unhealthy foods when you’re stressed might offer temporary relief, but often the resulting inflammation and blood sugar spike will come back to bite you, so to speak, making you feel tired and even hungrier than you were before. Not to mention crashing your mood.
But what really changed my mood was when I finally stopped thinking about how many croutons I should put on my salad and suddenly realized an eye-opening truth. I’ve never been hungry.
I’ve never gone to bed without a meal unless it was my choice for some reason or another like say the colonoscopy I was scheduled for the next day. And yet, hunger is a way of life for many people not just during the “new normal” but yesterday and today and tomorrow and all the days after that. Food insecurity, they call it.
Of course, I’ve known about this problem. I’ve read about it, thought about it, put out cans of tuna and soup at my mailbox when the Boy Scouts collected for a food drive. I’ve visited the local food bank, donated money and even wrote about it. But to be honest, this is the very first time I’ve actually felt it. Food insecurity. Not hunger. Just a gnawing worry that there won’t be enough to feed those I love.
For many Americans, this is much more than a worry. And food banks across the country are stepping up to meet this crisis in a big way. Last month, our local one delivered nearly 40% more food than they did a year ago. On a national level, the Kaiser Family Foundation reports that since February 26% of Americans are either skipping meals or relying on government programs or donations to get their groceries.
I’ve heard a lot about how this pandemic will change us forever. I’m not so sure. But here’s one way I hope it will. That this giant pause in business as usual will help us not to ever take what we have for granted. That this heightened consciousness we’re developing of others in our community will compel us to reach out with empathy and compassion like never before.
Photo by Mick Haupt
