Mega Post

I got really behind! On the road I'd been so good about getting pictures of my food and I was planning ahead... and then there was a fricking hurricane in Albuquerque and the electricity went out in our hotel. So rather than do anything, I just went to sleep. Last night... I just didn't feel like posting. So today I have some catching up to do. Whoops! Bear with me.

Picking up where I left off, I think it's safe to say you know what oatmeal tastes and looks like when made with water at a hotel. I've posted it already. But in case you didn't know:

This is oatmeal.

Lunch was incredible though. This time Jim found a restaurant on Trip Adviser called Bangkok Tokyo in Amarillo, Texas. The owner served us, and through some conversation I found out he was a vegetarian. Everything in his restaurant could be made vegetarian, and he was knowledgeable about a vegan diet, which was really helpful. I got a miso soup which he assured me was made with vegetable and not fish stock. It wasn't the best I'd ever had soup-wise, but it was still pretty yummy. The entree was deep-fried tofu with some kind of tangy sauce (I could give you better details if it wasn't two days ago. My bad). It was AWESOME. And I managed not to get a picture of it. However, I got to try some of Mom's seaweed salad which was also incredible. We're putting it in our plans to go there again on the way back home! We also stopped at Orange Leaf (Mom is a fucking froyo ADDICT). And newly aware that those thingys weren't vegan, I got a little dairy free froyo with about a cup of fruit on top. Yummy!

Miso Soup

Menu

Seaweed Salad

"My belly is happy" face

New, informed Orange Leaf

Lunch had been incredible, but dinner was incomparable. The whole place was vegan. It was actually called:

I was overwhelmed. Probably for the first time in my life I'd have been willing to eat everything on the menu. When I was younger I was a picky eater, as a vegetarian I became limited in what menus offered me, and as a vegan I often have to invent my own meal. But at this place I didn't even have to think about it. Everything was delicious. We found this one on Trip Adviser as well. I wasn't even paying attention, and as we pulled up and I saw the sign I had a little fit of excitement. For a starter we had some lightly salted edamame. I may have gotten more than my fair share at our table. (Oops. Sorrynotsorry.) My entree was called the P.E.T. Pumpkin, eggplant, and tofu. It was very spicy, but I'm pretty fond of a little heat. It came with two springrolls, and adorable, heart-shaped brown rice. I was full after dinner, but couldn't pass up dessert. I ordered banana springrolls. Basically fried banana. Jim got the sticky rice. When it was all done, I left with two boxes, one so full they gave me a rubber band to keep it closed! I'm crossing my fingers we hit it on the way back.

These people are so cool.

edamame

my whole meal

P.E.T.

it's a heart!

Salad

bananas!

soooo much food

After that came all the drama with the weather. I went to bed. Too tired. You get the idea. When we woke up, I again had hotel oatmeal. I'm not going to post a picture. Instead, you get this (scroll to top). There. After that we went most of the day without eating so we could have lunch with Kathi and Rochelle (the reason for coming to Silver City, New Mexico, btdubs). I was starving, so thankfully Kathi had set out some apples and almonds. That was enough to hold me over until we walked to a place called The Curious Kumquat. I think we'll be going back later in the week for a tasting. I'm pretty excited about that!! I got a chickpea burger without the cream sauce, a soup that was green (when they introduced the soups they said vegan and I bounced on it), and there were some precious apple slices on the plate. If it hadn't been our first meal with Kathi and Rochelle I may have tried to get some more pictures of the restaurant. It was very cute, decorated with local art, and representing these southwest colors as only a southwest town could.

lunch

ALMONDS in the raw

Apples. yes, I eat the core.

Then for dinner we had a hard time figuring out where I could eat. We finally decided on a steak house. Go figure. There was some chips and salsa to start us off. The salsa was incredible. It was my first experience with real salsa in its natural region. It was hotter than I'm used to (I went through Mom's water a few times), but I loved it. I couldn't get enough. On the actual menu I searched a while before deciding on a peanut butter and jelly. It was probably going to be the best I could do. I also ordered the sweet potato fries. She assured me they were not fried in butter like everything else in the restaurant. And they were actually quite good. The pbnj was so-so. For dessert I ordered a cherry pie. Sans the sugar used, I'm pretty sure it was vegan. They use Criso which is vegan. You're welcome for that, veggie friends. Don't believe me? Check it out. I couldn't finish it in the end (I really had eaten a shit ton of chips), so our friends helped me out. ;)

Puppy mills and hunting. My two favorite things. -_-

This morning I had oatmeal again. However, I'm willing to post the picture because it was pretty damn awesome. I just used about a cup of oats, a cup of almond milk, a few shakes of cinnamon, raisins, and bananas. But when I microwaved it, I kept the bananas in, so they got all melty and blended into the oatmeal. It was pretty fantastic topped off with a Stevia packet. Kathi made me coffee. We ate our breakfasts on the front porch over talk of mountain lions and weaving. We also made plans for cooking dinner tonight! I can't wait to show you that finished product!

Lunch was not as easy for me. We went to a place serving breakfast until 2:00. I wasn't going to have oatmeal again, so that left me with fruit and dry toast. I wasn't really ready to complain. Those things were good too, but I'm already ready for dinner...

Understanding Fat Shaming

Note: I'm calling people "fat" on purpose in this post. First of all, I want to own that word. It isn't a cuss word for God's sake. Secondly, I want to evoke an emotional response. Fat has been used as a hurtful word. It's a word that makes strong people cry. Cry if you need to, but it's time for the truth.

I realize I've already made a post tonight, but after my post about self-love (which included body image), I had a conversation with one of my best friends. I know that he doesn't hate fat people, but he said some pretty ignorant things regarding fat people in our culture. This was just another effect of fat-shaming on us. Someone who really means no harm can say things that are very hurtful without understanding the reaction that understandably roars in response. So, I could go on about what fat-shaming is, how it affects people, how to fix it, etc. But I'm not going to do that. Because the person I talked to tonight understands all of that, but still doesn't understand. Instead I'm going to tell you a story. I'm going to tell you a story of a girl who's been fat for *most of* her life. I want to share my own fat-shaming history. Some of this will be news to you and shared for the first time, but I've come to realize that stories are heard while rants about the harmful effects of unhealthy societal expectations often fall upon ears accustomed to the sound. So here's my story.

As a five year-old, my step sister told me I was fat. She told me I needed to lose weight. She also told me I was a wuss because I was afraid to get my ears pierced, while her best friend's little sister who was only three had already done it. She told me I looked like a boy because of my short hair. She told me I couldn't touch her barbies because I would mess them up, and although my memory has served me the kindness to block it out, it's likely she molested me. She was about nine years older than I and she was skinny and pretty and cool. She constantly told me in new and creative ways that I wasn't okay. As an adult I can look back at that time and see a girl struggling with her parents' divorce, probably dealing with her own history of sexual abuse, and of course her own issues with self esteem. But at the time, someone who was older than me and knew so much more than me was telling me I was useless. It didn't matter what anyone else said, because people are nice, even when they don't mean it. I wasn't the kind of kid to be mean unprovoked (that came with puberty, haha), or ever hit below the belt like that. So I assumed that she must be right, and everyone else was being nice to spare my feelings.

Being a bipolar kid, I was really intense. I would constantly talk, usually about myself, I interrupted people, I argued too quickly, and I was completely oblivious to this behavior. So when I had a hard time making friends or people pulled away, I assumed it was because I was fat. Later, issues developed because I would see popular fat people, and I couldn't understand what was wrong with me. At St. Mary's we had uniforms. Until the fifth grade, girls wore plaid jumpers. Because in fifth grade girls began to wear navy skirts, the sizes stopped at what they thought a little fourth grader ought to wear. I was bigger than the rest of the little fourth graders. Only four girls were in my class at St. Mary's, and the other three were tiny. There was a new seating chart at school and I overheard some of the other girls complaining about it because they had to sit next to me. Completely unaware of my affect on people, I assumed this was because I was fat. It makes no sense, but to my young mind it made perfect sense. No one wanted to sit by me because I wasn't cool, which correlated directly with size. And I was deeply hurt by it.

By fifth grade I'd found my love of dance. Being big in the dancing world is incredibly difficult. You always have to be better than the best girl, because you're judged before the music even starts. My cheerleading uniforms had to be altered because the biggest size was too small for me. For someone trying to fit into a new school, I was convinced everyone knew mine was different. My best friend at the time who was dealing with her own self esteem issues as well (noticing a common theme?) would make side comments to me about the extra red fabric we'd snuck onto my uniform so it would fit. I would respond in a way that preserved her feelings while my own heart was breaking over it. I just wanted to be normal, and I had no idea how. I couldn't even wear the same clothes, because junior clothes were too small for me. I had to shop somewhere else. My dance team in junior high was called the Cubcadettes. After I joined (along with some other heavier girls), we were coined in the hallways as the "Chubcadettes." That made it ten-times harder to go perform on that floor. My mom, who was the coach, and I argued constantly because I was already so self-conscious about being a fat dancer that I didn't want anything else to make me look stupid. Often she was right (although to this day I think getting us pom outfits that looked like cheerleader uniforms was a bad idea), but my bipolar turned our conversations into battles. I was already scared.

In seventh grade, I started to lose weight. I worked out a lot and started seeing a doctor for weight loss with my parents. It was working for me. That year was the first year that I auditioned for and made UDA All Star. It was an audition hosted through UDA and UCA (Universal Dance/Cheer Associations) that gave you an opportunity to dance in the Philadelphia Thanksgiving Day Parade. I was so proud of myself when I received that medal. I wore it all day. Mom gave me shit for it calling me a Special Olympian, which genuinely hurt my feelings at the time, but I wasn't good at expressing that, really. I was just so proud because I truly thought my weight was going to get in the way of me winning that medal and it didn't. (Later I had a huge internal crisis when I considered that they may have only given it to me to prove they weren't fat-phobic, but that's a whole other story.) I went and performed in Philadelphia. It was a really cool experience and I got a lot out of it. I talked about it non-stop (again with the intensity that I'm sure drove people up the wall).

I came back, and during PE one day I was walking the track with the same friend who had made those comments about my cheerleading uniform. I'd been on TV, and she said that she had been with some boys (I'm not afraid to call out Abraham Huffington because he's still a dick). She told me Abe had said if they could find my station they wouldn't be able to miss me because of my huge ass. Again with the silent heart break. All I could think was I'm trying so hard. I will never be good enough for you people. I really was trying to lose weight and I was working my ass off to do it--way more than any of my peers did to maintain their tiny physiques. I cried about it in the bathroom between classes. I was truly hurt. People had said things about that friend to me, but I'd always kept them secret to spare her feelings. I had wished she'd done the same for me, but at the time I genuinely believed she thought she was being a good friend. Now I believe she may have used that as an excuse, but was looking for a way to bring me down. Perhaps out of jealousy, perhaps to shut me up about it, or perhaps both. But I do believe he said those things. In junior high (I think this is true of most girls; boys are oblivious), I was convinced people were always talking behind my back. Every now and then I'd find a moment of peace where I'd convince myself not to be so self-centered and to realize I was not the topic of everyone's conversation. But in this instance I was proven wrong. Being proven wrong one time will poison everything that follows.

This same friend also revealed to me that Sarah Simpson was calling me "Weight Watchers Dancer" behind my back. At the time, there was a Weight Watchers commercial with a plus-sized dancer. I guess that was supposed to be me. I was afraid to ever be around her again. I was so embarrassed. She was stick thin, a dancer, and everything I would never be. The only thing that made me feel better was being mean. Granted, my form of meanness never involved lying. I only told people how much of a bitch she'd been. I was so embarrassed that I wouldn't even use her words, but I'd say she was skinny and not that good of a dancer. I'd say she was mean and I didn't understand why people liked her... and people agreed with me. When my weight loss became more visible, she and her friend cooked up a rumor that I was bulimic. It was as if they were trying to say that, yeah she can be skinny, but only if she cheats. Again I was miserable. I worked my ASS of to lose weight. I was running, lifting weights, dance class, dance team, stretching and doing situps in my front room while I watched criminal minds... and they were going to say I was cheating? I was so pissed. But horribly, more than truly recognizing her cruelty, I continued that thought process: this is what everyone thinks. She's the only one enough of a bitch to say it out loud. And I felt worthless.

By 8th grade I'd lost a lot of weight. I was around 40 lbs lighter with a lot more muscle gained. I felt healthy. I still wanted to lose weight, but I was really proud of where I'd gotten. One day I dropped a bunch of stuff after the last bell. As he was passing, Dylan Reed mumbled, "like a cow" under his breath. I was done. I kept working out and eating right out of habit. But when the time stopped being readily available to hit the gym and the food not quite as accessible, I stopped caring. I didn't make the time or choose to eat healthy. What did it matter? I was never going to be skinny, no matter how hard I worked. I was never going to be as skinny as Sarah Simpson. She could eat all the pizza she wanted and look that way forever. She had it easy. Slowly, the weight crept back on. Cruel passing comments remained. Finding dance clothes to fit was still an issue. Changing in PE was devastating... High school.

On and off through high school I struggled with cutting, inappropriate relationships with boys, and all the other goodies bipolar brings to a hormonal teenage girl. I hated myself and I had no clue why. And I don't think I was ready to understand. I wasn't ready to say, I think I'm fat and I'm afraid no one likes me, because just the thought would make me cry. I didn't even like myself enough to really try to get to the bottom of why I was unhappy. College came and after an incredibly rough first year I began to truly find myself. My diagnosis with bipolar disorder gave me something I'd never really had before. For the first time I knew what was driving people away, and it had nothing to do with me being fat. I could acknowledge that the things I truly hated about myself were symptoms and not character traits. It was so freeing that I began to really come to terms with what it really meant to love myself. I learned that secrets are evil. The more you silently convince yourself you aren't worth it without consulting the people who love you, the less likely you are to succeed. Loving yourself is necessary to be healthy both physically and mentally.

So that's a story of fat-shaming. It took a mental health diagnosis and 19 years of struggle, but I learned that my body did not define me. I am smart, I can write, I can sing and dance, and I love children and books and Doctor Who and Harry Potter and and and... my size has so little to do with me. Granted, with the danger of generalizing I will state, that oftentimes, MY (not true for everyone) weight is a sign of how I'm doing emotionally. If I'm heavier it means I'm eating emotionally and I don't have the energy to work out. This is depression, folks. That is bad. But now that I know myself better, I know I'm not depressed because I'm fat. I gain weight when I'm depressed. And right now, after a year of self-discovery, I finally feel ready to tackle my health. But that's what it took for me. If I'd started any sooner, I wouldn't have been ready, and I'd have wound back up right where I started. Everyone has to find their own individual journey.

With that said. Fat-shaming is never okay. Ever. It is a sensitive topic because of the way it's been handled in the past and therefore must be handled sensitively now. Otherwise it's simply pointless. America is fat. Okay. Instead of making that broad and obvious statement, do something to teach kids about eating healthy. Tell them that loving your body is the first step to taking care of it. Tell them that it doesn't matter what someone else thinks of their bodies--they have to be their own champions. Okay? So shut up about the problem and be a solution. The solution isn't a lecture circuit. It's about appealing to people's emotions. Making them feel worth the effort. It's hard to understand what it's like to be fat in our culture unless you've been there, but hopefully this will give you a better idea of what it's like, and hopefully that will allow you to support healthier messages and to smash what hurts the people already struggling so painfully with self-hatred.

Before and After

My life has taken a turn for the positive. This isn't anything new. Because of bipolar I dip pretty low in the winter, and with spring I find myself fighting a little hypomania. Despite all the negative effects of hypomania, one of the better side effects is feeling productive. Granted, it always comes a little too late to be useful for school. But it gives me extremely narrow focus and a burst of energy to undertake and complete big projects. I've always been a girl with big dreams, and now I know exactly what that means. It means my huge wave of creativity and drive that hits me this time of year would fill my mind with new projects to start, and right around the time they should have come to fruition, I would hit a big, black block of depression. I would lose all the energy and passion that had once driven the idea with such force. I would convince myself my idea had been a bad one. It could have never been accomplished. But I know better now. I know I'm a little hypo right now. There's not a whole lot I can do about it, except to utilize it while I can.

I'm eating a vegan diet. The food is healthier, delicious, and I've really been proud of myself learning how to cook. Every meal I create feels like an accomplishment when two months ago I was still known as the girl who mistook 3 teaspoons for 3 cups of baking soda and accidentally bought 10 pounds of cous cous. I'm learning. Every new recipe I try is an opportunity to make a mistake, or try something new and fall in love with it. It's an experimental process and honestly fun. I feel like I'm doing something good for my body. And I know I'm doing good things for the environment, animals, and the world. I've found that changing your dietary habits is easier when you feel like someone's counting on you. And I've dedicated this lifestyle to so many causes that I can't possibly let any of them down. In Terre Haute it's nearly impossible to eat unhealthily as a vegan unless I eat nothing but Oreos. And let's be real, not even my sweet tooth could handle that.

I've started running. I began because I wanted to challenge the myth that vegans are weak and unhealthy. I want to be a runner. I'm never going to be an olympic runner, or even the person who wins a race, but I want to run like I mean it. Running is a kind of freedom. I tell myself I can't do it, and when I run down my country road, I tell myself about three times I'm going to quit and I never do. It's so fucking inspiring to prove yourself wrong. I haven't really implemented any other workouts yet, but I'd like to do some yoga to improve my flexibility for dance and to practice meditation which I hope may help center me when I'm feeling manic. I also find a lot of satisfaction in work out classes. What classes will I take? Well. None this summer because I have zero opportunity between camp, Europe, and vacation to take any exercise classes. But it's good to remember for when I begin to struggle again in the winter. But for now, I will keep running. Every day I will at least run a mile and walk a mile. No exceptions. When I get my Vegetarian/Vegan Student Fellowship up and running, I want to enter races together to make a point. We are healthy. We are strong. And I can't promote that truth unless I'm living it.

But here's the kicker folks: You can't be healthy unless you love yourself. A lot of people lose a lot of weight driven by self-loathing. This is true. But being skinny won't make you love yourself forever. After a while that negativity will come back to haunt you. You have to love yourself (your body is a pretty important part of you, by the way) before you can try to make that body healthy. You can't look after something you hate. You have to nourish your body and work your body because you love it so much that you want it to be strong. Loving yourself is just as much a part of overall health as looking fit. You have to sort out what's inside first.

So I take some issue with before and after pictures. The before pictures are always heart-breaking. The faces on those people reflect the self-hate that has driven them to this transformation. The after pictures display skinny or muscular bodies and smiling faces. The women have put on makeup and fixed their hair. The men pose, proudly showing off their new built bodies. But I know that they aren't happy--not really. Because when the high of pride has settled, they will be left with the same person inside that they began with. Self-love isn't earned by being skinny. So. I decided to do a before and after picture. But I'm smiling in my picture. I love my body as it is, but I've decided to start taking care of it, and I want to record the progress, because I'm proud of myself, as I should be. So here I am, right now, as I truly stand. I have fat, but I'm not fat. My size does not define me.

I'm not trying to lose weight. I'm just on a mission to prove to myself and the world that I love myself. What's your mission? What helps you get up early for that run or eat better? Let me know in the comments. :)

Peace.

Compassion is Revolution

I love stickers. I love bumper stickers, laptop stickers, stars for good grades, decals... ALL the stickers. This summer I bought several stickers to put on my laptop. One of them says "Compassion is Revolution." I liked it at the time because I really like the word compassion. It's under-utilized, I think. It is a pretty-sounding word, and its relative connotations give me a warm feeling. Compassion. It's great. But the sticker didn't mean much more to me than that word. I was happy with that word and hadn't really put meaningful thought into is revolution.

But wow is that a powerful statement.

The other day my professor saw it on my laptop in class and said she liked it. As is expected, when someone draws attention to something, you see it again when your eyes had become too accustomed to its presence. And so I looked at it, smiled at her, and said thank you. I began to think about those words, because a part of me was very interested in what had drawn her attention to it. Perhaps she too has a bit of an attachment to the word compassion. Or maybe she had really considered the whole body of the sentence. So I decided the latter was probably more accurate because, really?, she is a nazi grader and the woman misses nothing.

So I felt the need to reevaluate that yellow and purple sticker. Compassion is Revolution. I wanted to know what exactly that meant to me.

At first I thought of a pay-it-forward kind of response, but somehow that felt too obvious and novel to be right. So I reconsidered my interpretation. What I decided on was this: Compassion is more than an individual act. Compassion is not just being kind to someone when you know they're struggling. Compassion is being a whole person who is in touch with their inter-connectedness with the world. Compassion is feeling pain because someone--anyone--else is suffering. Compassion is knowing a person's crimes and loving them without condition. Compassion is pain and it is joy. It is the pain of accepting the evils of the world. It is the joy of feeling connected to all other beings. It's a comfort. Each of us is compassionate, but not each of us is in touch without our compassion or ready to act upon it for whatever reason. The inability to express compassion is a sickness.

Enlightenment is a kind of revolution. When I make a lifestyle change, I have called for revolution within my own self as an individual. But if each of us is connected. If we are a greater being as residents of this big, blue planet... then that revolution within me is a revolution within all. Now, when I first had that thought, I was quick to correct myself. Just because I have done something kind does not mean that someone else will choose not to rape or murder or assault. I am smart enough to know that a single action does not save the world, no matter how we wish it would. But then I chose a different angle. When I commit an act of kindness, I am acknowledging that I have that capacity. That is the revolution.

Compassion is revolution only when you become aware that it is. You are revolutionizing yourself, which in turn creates a tiny revolution in this greater world. Each act of compassion will affect someone new. And if, now that we've dug a litter deeper, you would like to implement pay-it-forward into the theory, feel free. Feel free to do so, loves. Because honestly, there isn't much hope in the statement as I have perceived it. It is more of a demand or expectation than a soft statement. Revolution is personal, but our interconnectedness means it matters to the whole world. Perhaps for every door I hold or smile I wear, I will spur revolution within someone else. There is hope in that. There is hope in thinking that we can fix the world with individual acts of compassion. I'm not sure I really believe that. There will always be evil. There will always be debilitating pain that sickens a person and creates evil within their heart. Always always. But there will always be goodness in the world if we can find it within ourselves. It is our human responsibility to revolutionize our hearts to compassion.

Plant-Based Diet: Why and How for Naysayers

A conversation with Mom I had only a few minutes ago prompted this post. For the noobs, I had been a pescetarian (which is a word Mr. Spellcheck!) for about five and a half years. A camp friend of mine inspired the idea. We were 14 at the time. She told me she saw pigs in a trailer on the highway, thought about where they were going, and gave up land animals altogether. Honestly, I was trying to assert myself as a liberal in a very conservative small town. I was about to enter my first year of high school. I made the decision in September or November. Jim gave me shit (as is common and will be the topic of this post), and so in order to prove him wrong, I dove into it.
Granted. I'd never been much of a meat-eater. My lifestyle didn't change all that much. I was still eating fish which can be found at any fast food restaurant. And being surrounded by conservatives I got a lot of grief about it, which I took in stride. However, the response made me less sure in my decision. I was a really self-conscious high schooler (who isn't?) and took these things to heart. Out of pride I continued, but I don't know if I had any real reason in my heart to continue at the time. I hadn't done any research. I wasn't receiving the health benefits because I still relied on fish and cheese as my primary protein sources. But I kept on.

For lent this year I decided to go vegan. Wow. It sounded overwhelming (and still kind of does). Even to me, vegans were extremists--crazies--comparable to conservative Christians in their intensity and arrogance. But it had been on my mind, and I knew I had to try. I wanted to be healthy when I did it, so I did all the research I hadn't done when I'd initially picked up pescetarianism. I learned plenty about eating healthily as a vegan (actually a very healthy, protein-filled diet contrary to popular belief) but I also learned the reality of the meat industry. It shocked and disgusted me.
I was raised in a liberal household, but in college I've changed ideas and beliefs (as one should) and I've become far more liberal than the rest of my family. When it comes to animal rights, my family has a much more conservative viewpoint which I've grown to disagree with. Before I talk about this any more, I'd like to make it clear that I respect my family greatly. Their liberal upbringing gave me a strong foundation of a life based on compassion and inclusivity. From that, I've developed more liberal beliefs, just as they are more liberal than their parents, and their grandparents before them. With each new generation, revolution inspires progress. We fight injustice because it matters to us. We are the educated, passionate, liberal masses of Generation Y.

So, I promised a why and how regarding my vegan/vegetarianism. I'm going to try to stick to comprehensive facts and to cite my sources so you can check up on me or gain more information if you're interested. Before I get started, though, I'm going to define veganism. I've been surprised at how few people actually know what it is. A vegan is someone who does not buy or consume any product that has any substance from an animal. That includes, of course, all meats, eggs, milk, honey, some food dyes, and other things you may be surprised to learn have animal by-products. Okidoke.

It's healthier for the environment to eat less meat. An ignorant science teacher of mine in high school once said, "vegetarians are actually hurting the earth. If cow farts are to blame, then they aren't helping by not eating them." Oh, yes. This happened. If you were thinking along the same lines, it's important to remember that cows are severely over-bred to meet the extremely high demands of beef in our country. "A University of Chicago study found that the ‘typical’ US diet generates the equivalent of nearly 1.5 tonnes more carbon dioxide per person per year than a vegan diet. The livestock industry is responsible for 18% of global greenhouse gas emissions, more than the entire transport sector (which produces 13.5%), including aviation." Link here. Plant-based diets require 1/3 of the land used to house animals bred for food. The animals that we kill actually consume more protein and minerals than they produce. Plants are also a far more-sustainable food source. It makes way more sense to eat the plants we feed to farmed animals ourselves in a world with such precious and limited resources. Picture a world where the food used to feed over-bred farm animals went to feed impoverished families around the planet. We take this planet for granted. By 2050 our population is expected to have reached 9 million which is entirely unsustainable based on the average, meat-eater's diet today. Check it. 

It's a lifestyle choice rooted in compassion. This is where much debate arises. People bring up plants as living beings, blah blah blah. Plants are not sentient beings which is the basis of many who choose a plant-based diet. Most don't like to hear that pigs are more intelligent that our beloved dogs. "Man's best friend." Because we don't eat dogs, that would be barbaric, right? This is a state of ignorance that we have chosen as a society. No one wants to know what happens in those factory farms. The conditions are despicable. It's a lot easier to say, "don't tell me, I don't even want to know!" as I have in the past. But I care deeply about animals--mine, as well as the ones that man has designated as inferior. And so now, when I'm exposed to horrible truths about the industry, I feel a deep-rooted sense of shame when I turn away from it. If it makes you so sad that you can't even look at these images, then why do you support it? That was a question I really had to look at.

a rebuttal

I was discussing it with Mom earlier this week, and another misconception that many don't consider rose to the surface. She pushed my liberal buttons with this one: "If you're saying that eating eggs is wrong, then you're saying abortion is wrong." There are a few things wrong with this statement. Most obvious is that I don't care about the life that egg could have had. It was not a sentient being. I care about the hen who made these eggs, and is doubtless still doing so under inhumane circumstances. Many people I know who have been raised around farms will say, "no one did that to animals that I saw." There's also a problem with that statement. More than 99% of all farmed animals come from factory farms.Yup. Why? Because they produce cheap meat. They can house thousands of animals on one property. Because they aren't given special attention, there are no vet bills to pay for, and workers are paid as little as the industry can get away with. Local meats are far more expensive and won't be found at your local Wal Mart anymore. This quote summed it up beautifully:

"The disturbing nature of these problems can make it difficult for many people to accept the truth about factory farming when they are first confronted with it: “Surely,” one is tempted to say, “it can’t be that bad.” But once the scale of the devastation that this industry is wreaking on our health, the environment, and animals becomes clear, the most surprising aspect of factory farming is how effectively these problems have been hidden from the public in the first place.

It's healthy. When people picture vegans this is what comes to mind:

 

 

Rarely do these, more accurate pictures come to mind:

Lea Michele

Venus and Serena

Ellen and Portia

Emily Deschanel

Bob Harper

Jane Lynch

AmIRight? Some people have claimed vegan diets have helped with things like asthma, allergies, arthritis, indigestion, and migraines. Not to mention the obvious: lower cholesterol, considerable improvement in diabetics, and help for symptoms of IBS. Here is a seriously long list of personal testimonies to healthier bodies and minds. Commonly, people worry about my protein intake. What they don't realize is that the average American eats twice as much protein as is necessary for a healthy diet. Getting your protein from beans and grains is healthier and can even reduce your risk for osteoporosis. Also, the human body is not designed to process cow milk. 75% of the population may be lactose intolerant and live with undiagnosed milk allergies. A lot of people find cramps and constipation are alleviated with a vegan diet, simply because what they had been eating was poison to their bodies unbeknownst to them.
One woman said that when people ask her where she gets her protein, she answers, "where do you get your fiber?" Fiber leads to healthier bowel movements which can help prevent colon cancer. A vegan diet is beneficial to prevention of many diseases. Cardiovascular disease, high cholesterol, arthritis and many more. We are told to drink lots of milk to prevent things like arthritis. Ironically, a dairy-free diet has shown substantial benefits for arthritis symptoms. I could go on and on, but the link above has a really great list from a nursing website.

Finally my favorite argument: evolution. Another liberal button. As I've said, vegans are often compared to religious zealots. However, most vegans are left-leaners (as one might imagine), and this is an unfounded theory regarding human consumption of animals that naysayers like to torture us with. I do believe in evolution. Of course I do. We are a highly developed species. But that does not give us the right to eat all animals for a few reasons. First of all, these aren't animals we're hunting. They're bred in captivity and shipped out. All we have to do is pay for it. Other species have to fight for meat--have to chase it. Unless we can kill it with our own hands, we have no right to be eating it, and we aren't expending the calories necessary to get that food, which is another reason humans suffer from weight problems. Secondly, we are using dairy from cows which was never made for humans. Do we feed other creatures human breast milk? Better yet, who continues to drink milk into adulthood? It's unnatural. And here is the completely scientifically irrelevant point I'll make. Along with our evolution has come a refined evolution of compassion. We have the brilliant gift of speech, which has aided human emotional development (linguistics for ya). The fact that so many people turn away from images of the industry they support is because of guilt. But here's the good news. How about you try a Meatless Monday in your house? Maybe cut out red meats and buy soy milk when you can? You'll feel good about your decision not to support a capitalist, immoral industry even if only once a week. And of course you can reap the health benefits. You can make a difference. It's hard to be vegan. Worth it, but hard. I'm not asking everyone to make that life change. But I would like for people to know where I'm coming from now that I have. This post wasn't written to shame anyone about their diets. But I can tell you that I don't really find your meat jokes funny, nor do I find rape jokes funny, or child abuse... injustice should be taken seriously. Y'all will take from this what you will. If I've convinced someone to just give up red meat, I've done something. These are hard things to hear, but as compassionate, sentient beings, it's our responsibility to care for those who are least among us.

Bring us Your Kids: I Believe in Summer Camp

I've had camp on the mind lately. I'm so pumped for the summer. I realized last night as I was falling asleep that I have a whole life to live before I can get sick on those familiar winding roads. I'll have finished the other half of this semester. I'll have sung in my concert and danced in the showcase. I'll have been to Paris and Berlin and back. I pictured myself doing all these things and I felt very alone. At ACA Midstates Conference I heard the term "nature deficit disorder" for the first time. I need to slow down. This is traditionally a really hard time of year for me. As some of you will recall, this time last year this blog was formed. I left behind Tbird's Train with all it's secrecy and darkness because I wanted a fresh start. I think thus far I've done significantly better. But this long winter weighs heavy on my soul. So many good things can happen to me before the summer comes, bringing the energy and community of Waycross with it. But I only see these days as an obstacle. Am I excited for the other things? Of course. I cannot wait to see Berlin again and to visit Paris for the first time. I love performing, and I'm excited for my shows. But... my heart is in a hammock strung between two trees outside a little red cabin. So, what can I do about it? I'm just going to have to tie the two together--camp and life.

When I come back from camp, I try to organize my life to look just like camp. Partly I'm holding on with desperate, sweaty fingers to the life I'm leaving behind, but partly I recognize the logic in a camp lifestyle. My bipolar mind requires structure. I need time for excitement and time for reflection. I need time for bonding and time for introspection. I need to get in touch with nature, and to turn off anything that requires a battery for just a while. I need breath. Simple. In. Out. When I come home from camp, I make myself a schedule as detailed, but not as dynamic and colorful as the ones I make for my campers. I hang my whistle by my door on a hook. I see it every time I enter or exit my room. It serves as a reminder. I am accepted--respected somewhere. And I'll be back soon. I want to recreate camp at school. Of course that isn't possible. Camp is a safe place. Someone got raped in the parking lot I always end up stuck in at 2:00 am on a Thursday night. Right? Camp is its own world. But at that conference I had another thought. Camp isn't a vacation. Camp isn't some trip you go on to get away from everything. In essence, you do, but not in the way we traditionally picture vacation. Camp strips away all the shit of everyday life to really give you the freedom to dig deep. Sure, it's fun. But who says self-discovery can't be fun? And if you dig really, really deep you may pull something to the surface. Maybe that something you find can change you on such a basic level, that when you leave that sacred place, you keep that thing--whatever it is.

We do a really incredible thing at camp. We give kids an opportunity unique to a camp setting in which to find themselves. Kids don't go outside anymore. They're far too entertained by what's inside. They're so overstimulated that they have learned to easily escape themselves. We let them push those things they hate within themselves to the very, very back of their minds. I say bring that shit up. Because there is nothing within a child that can make them unlovable. It's our job to show them that.  We teach kids to love themselves. I hate when people say, "how can other people love you if you don't love yourself?" Well. Fuck you, too. Not everyone has their shit together. Most of us don't. But everyone is worthy of love and compassion. That kid that is struggling the most--they're the one that needs love. For some people it just works the other way around. A kid needs to be loved before they know it's okay to love themselves. I will love the shit out of those kids

I will love the shit out of you.

Anyway. Here comes that wrap-up you've grown to know and love: Camp is a big fucking deal to me. And it should be to you too. Sending your kids to camp shouldn't be a matter of "if," but of "how." In an age of immediate satisfaction, depravity of nature, and real anxiety in children, one week of play, of meditation, and of unconditional love is golden and unseen. Bring us your kids. Because I believe that we can make a difference. I've seen it within myself. I've seen it within my campers. I believe in summer camp.