The French Paradox, Buddhism, and getting back to my roots

Where to begin?

Let's start with a breath. Then another. And another.

This is one of the first things I learned (or rather relearned) as I started reading Living Buddha, Living Christ by Thich Nhat Hanh. My friend, Kristin, recommended the book after I sent her a quick message telling her I was interested in finding a new way to find balance and peace and release stress. This has been one of my new goals for 2011, and while slow going, it IS going.

I am very, very American. In every sense of the word. Everything is rush, rush, rush. No time. Running out of steam. A million thoughts zooming through my head. Multi-tasking. Be better. Be more. Go, go, go.

I hate it about myself, but I can't seem to stop or even control it. I am utter chaos (that would make a great band name, by the way).

The book has been difficult for me. I can't even give it the proper time it needs to be read because I can't seem to tell myself to slow the fuck down and really take in the words. Take in their meaning, the meaning behind their meaning, the beauty those words hold.

I suck.

It was like when I was reading Eat, Pray, Love. The most difficult section of the book for me was the prayer section. It was tedious. But that was the point. I firmly believe the author wrote it that way because it was so tedious for her. The thought of just sitting there, breathing, chanting, being with one's self... it scares the shit out of me. I wouldn't be able to sit still for more than 2 minutes. There's just way too much to be done.

I think the woman in that book was a lot like me. In the end though, she did learn to slow down. And I'm damn jealous of her.

This weekend, Harry, Ellie, and I made a trip up to my ex-father-in-law's house. About a year and a half ago, his daughter, my friend (and ex-sister-in-law) Kim, talked him into rebuilding his house. It went way over schedule, and truth be told, it's still not completed, but we decided it was about time we went to see the new place. Ellie and Kim's son, Niko (my Godson), are only about 5 months apart, and it had been a couple of months since they'd seen each other. I hadn't seen my ex-FIL in a while, but we had always gotten along. I thought it would be a nice little visit. I planned on maybe staying an hour, then heading back home.

I spied the house as I turned the corner onto the street (you didn't used to be able to see the house from that angle - it's THAT much bigger). It is gorgeous. Like "HOLY CRAP" gorgeous. We stepped in, and I fell in love with it. It has high ceilings, big beautiful windows, lovely dark, walnut floors, luscious paint colors on all the walls, glass mosaic tiles in the kitchen... I could go on and on. Kim really outdid herself.

I gave my ex-FIL, Jose, a hug, and Kim gave us the grand tour. After that was done, the kids went and played in the playroom downstairs while we chatted in the kitchen. A little while later, the kids wandered up hungry. Ellie wanted fruit, so Jose started breaking up grape bunches and cutting up apples for the kids. Soon, he had a full spread set out for kids and adults alike full of cheeses, crackers, fruits, and drink. He and I shared the last of his opened bottle of red while Kim and Harry cracked open a few beers. The kids had some cocoa.

I love cheese. Like seriously love cheese. But it's one of my "forbidden" foods. I don't eat it all that much anymore because it has a serious amount of saturated fat. But that day I decided to tell that skank that lives on my shoulder, reminding me of all the things I can't do, to shut her piehole. And I ate. And ate. And ate.

Jose opened a bottle of Spanish red (sooo good), and we had another glass each. We all sat around, talking, slicing off small pieces of cheese and eating it with crackers lightly covered in a sweet fig spread. Bliss. Absolute bliss. We did this for THREE HOURS. We didn't have to be anywhere. We didn't have to do anything. We were just enjoying the moment, the food, the company.

I cannot believe I sat anywhere for three hours and ate and drank that whole time.

And I loved every single minute of it.

Jose and I have never talked as much as we did last Sunday. I'm talking in total, the entire 15 years we've known each other. We talked more in one afternoon than all those years combined.

And we were both pleasantly surprised about how much we enjoyed the afternoon together. It's a strange crowd for sure, but it felt competely natural. And we both said we'd have to do it again very soon. We hugged again, and we took the 40 minute drive home slowly. It was a perfect day.

The next morning, I realized that I neglected to eat dinner that night. Me? Not eat dinner? Really? I also realized that while I thought I must have eaten 10 lbs of cheese, I had really only eaten maybe a couple of ounces. It was because I ate it so slowly that it felt like more. And my body didn't feel like crap the next day.

I joke a lot about how Ellie "eats like the French" with her cheese and crackers and fruit plates, but really, my kid is pretty damn healthy because of it. She gets a very good balance of protein, carbs, and fat this way. She is also the slowest eater on the face of the earth.

Me? I scarf my food down. I eat in like 10 minutes flat. And I do other things while I'm eating like work or make up lists or recite the Gettysburg Address. I never just sit and enjoy my food.

And that is wrong.

My kid, the French, Jose (who is from the Dominican Republic), my dad (who's from Italy)... they've got it right. When it's time to eat, they stop what they're doing. They eat slowly and with relish. They taste the food, and if it doesn't taste good, they don't eat it. Period. They eat lots of fruit, good quality cheeses, delicious homemade breads, etc.

And life is good because of it.

I found a few articles about The French Paradox, and it was like a lightbulb went off.

This is part of my journey.

I need to take time. I need to stop. I need to breathe. I need to stop eating all this American crap and get back to my roots (both Italian and French). I'll go easy on the Italian side because, well, there's no such thing as portion control in Italy. Your status in society actually seems to go up the more food you can consume.

One of the best quotes I read while studying the French Paradox was as follows: "French women refuse to accept being overweight," says Benchetrit, director of the Clinique du Poids weight loss clinic in Paris. "It is no secret that they want to be beautiful, in love, and take care of themselves so they look good." (taken from How Do the French Stay Slim?)

Also from that same article: "We sit down and eat for pleasure, using all of our senses," Mireille Guiliano, author of the best-selling book French Women Don't Get Fat, has said.

I love how French women actually "refuse to be fat". I love that idea.

I'm about to delve into yet another adventure inside my current adventure. This weekend, Harry and I are going to a wonderful little Italian restaurant alone. I will order a tomato and mozzarella salad-type dish for an appetizer, a lovely salad filled with dried cherries, walnuts, and warm goat cheese for an entree, and a decadent chocolate thing for dessert. I will wash it down with a glass or two of red. And I will savor every moment.