I’ve gone full organic. Everything I eat is
pesticide-free, hormone-free, GMO-free, and none of the meat I eat has ever
been exposed to antibiotics. I have two stories that I tell myself about this.
Story 1:
Me, in ten years, feeding my four-year-old son a bowl
of organic quinoa: “Here you go, blessed child, eat of this nourishing meal.”
Son, elocuting perfectly: “Thank you mother.”
Husband, sitting cross-legged on a hand-woven mat: “Rachael,
your antioxidant-rich, neurotoxin-free womb was the perfect environment for our
son’s development. Thanks to you, his chakras are open and he’s two standard
deviations ahead of his peers in every way.”
Me, blushing: “Oh, it was nothing.”
Story 2:
Me, in ten years, holding a newspaper with trembling
hands, reading headline: “Organic food is a FRAUD and pesticides ARE JUST FINE
and YOU WASTED ALL YOUR MONEY and YOU ARE PRETENTIOUS.”
รจ It
should be noted that in this scenario, I’m usually alone in life, sitting in a
poorly-lit studio apartment in Torrance. Through the bars on my ground-floor
window, in my peripheral vision, I see a flickering neon sign: “O’Malley’s Bar.”
My floor is littered with scraps of paper—the poems I have scribbled, crossed
out, and torn into pieces. These scraps symbolize the littered remains of my
writing aspirations. I also drink heavily.
So. When I lay awake at night in my bed, thinking
about this Los Angeles life, it can get confusing. I talk to myself a lot.
“Rachael, you’re doing a good job. Organic food is
good. Your tummy doesn’t hurt when you eat bread anymore.” Pause. “Maybe organic
food benefits are a hoax.” Nods to self. “Possibly. Don’t know what to do about
this.” Cue minor crisis. Ruminates, ruminates, ruminates. “Well, time to go to
sleep.”
My body does feel
good, though.
Organic food is just one of MANY changes I’ve made.
Moving to California has been lovely. There are white roses outside my bedroom
window.
Everything blooms. On the curlicue lanes of my
neighborhood are spreads of watercolor-delicate flowers; vines climb over
trellises; capacious sunlight works a sweet glow on the clean white homes on my
street.
This area is quiet. It amplifies the feeling of alone—not necessarily lonely, but here,
present, intimately synchronous with myself.
Remember when Sabrina (from the eponymous Sabrina (the one with Harrison Ford is
my favorite, sorry to all purists)) goes to France to discover herself, and she
talks about seeing the world through rose-colored glasses? I identify. Sometimes
I imagine accordion music playing while I study and look at my white roses.
I set out to claim my body as my own when I came here.
I seek a changing palate. Less sugar, more nutrient-infused things. I’ve been
doing a LOT of yoga, and for the first time in my life, I have observable
muscles. They’re not impressive but they’re there. I’ve been reading The Madwoman in the Attic, which details
the history of the fetishizing of female weakness, and I’m forgiving my body
for being out of fashion—read as strong, getting stronger—and I’m allowing it
to be.
Identity is such a lovely thing. I’m not trying to
discover Rachael, because we’re already friends, but I’m definitely getting to
know her better. Body and mind.
The writerly part of me has been growing too. More and
more, people in my life feel like characters to write, to store away for a
future novel. I think we all fictionalize each other, but this method is
self-aware, which I like.
I think I’m fictionalizing myself too. In a good way.
We have to create a narrative for ourselves. From one perspective, creative
nonfiction’s goal is to breathe meaning—fiction, or opinion, or creativity—into
observed real-life patterns. In other words, the creative nonfiction writer
creates reality by interpreting it.
If you’re reading between the lines and thinking that
I’ve been challenged by this move, you’re right. I’m growing a lot. I’m also
surrounded by sweet roommates, fantastic writers, and an incredible cadre of
saints, both in and out of the church. I’m choosing to breathe these meanings
into my experience: strength, beauty, growth.
I’m excited and nervous about my future here. Prayers
and fingers crossed!
