It seems like everywhere I turn these days, I run into yet
another book or movie concerning something French. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. The reason I’m running into all this
Francophilic “stuff” is because I’m looking for it. I studied French for 2 years in middle
school, as well as a combined 8 years between high school and college. Yet despite having studied French for a whole
decade, essentially half of my time on earth by the time I graduated college, I
never actually got around to living in France.
In fact, I have never lived abroad.
Ironic, considering that I was born overseas and lived for 18 years in
the most diverse melting pot in the world (NYC). Unfortunately, in college, I was too boy
crazy, too wrapped up in the relationship of the moment, to tear myself away
for a whole semester, even to live in an amazing place like France. Stupid, stupid, stupid! But unfortunately, water under the
bridge.
So, here I am, 33, married with a new baby, at the tail end
of an incredible career, about to live with my parents (long story), and all I
seem to do in my spare time (which, by the way, consists of 20 blissful minutes
both ways to work, sitting on a DC metro) is read books on my Iphone or watch
movies on my Ipad on all things French, sometimes without even realizing it. This fact hit me today as I read page after
page in the latest book I’m reading, The
United States of Arugula, by David Kamp.
The book is not about French cuisine; rather it is a book about the mid-twentieth
century rise of the American food establishment. However, despite the title and plot-line,
all I’ve been reading about thus far is “French cookery”. More specifically, the way French cuisine
influenced American palates after World War II.
I’m sure that’s no surprise to anyone; the French have always had a
corner on the market when it came to food.
But child rearing? The last book
I read, Bringing Up Bebe, by Pamela
Druckerman, talks about the universal truths of French parenting and how
different they are from the schizophrenic tenants that dominate American
parenting. Who knew? There is a French way to parent. Interesting…
That got me thinking back to the last book I read on something French, a
book I still had on my bookshelf, French
Women Don’t Get Fat, by Mireille Guiliano.
A book about pleasure eating and portion control, Guiliano educates her
non-French audience how to maintain a trim figure by eating cake (but not too
much). Again, who ever thought one could
lose weight by eating cake, so to speak?
Full of cultural norms that, on the surface appear paradoxical, the
French way seems to speak to us Americans.
Or maybe just to me… Either way, whether I like to admit it or not, I’m
hooked on all things French and I might as well accept it.
So accept I will.
I’ve decided to create for myself a 365 day French “challenge” whereby I
apply various French cultural norms to my own life (and that of my family, by
default, I guess). I will have to go
about it in stages because frankly, I barely have time to brush my teeth, let
alone upend my daily life. The plan is
to apply the “French way” to 4-6 areas of my life that could use
improvement. Specifically, lose the baby
weight (I still have 20 lbs to lose nine months post-partum – no judging!),
improve my marriage (again, post-baby alone time seems so hard to find these
days…), wrangle the increasingly forceful and dynamic personality of my infant son into
a slightly more French (read: well mannered) version of toddlerhood, and discover
a sense of work-life balance which seems to be wholly lacking in my DC-esque
rat race existence. Four areas for now,
with room to grow to six if necessary.
The purpose of this challenge is to create positive change
in my life but to do so gently. Too
often, I feel that we Americans are very brutal with ourselves when it comes to
self-improvement. At least I know I have
not been kind to myself over the years, whether it has been excelling at
academics as an adolescent, succeeding at work during my twenties, losing all
excess weight before my first pregnancy, or even just the daily push to do, do,
do during the day. There has got to be a
better way! I’m tired, I don’t sleep
well, my back hurts, my hips hurt, blah, blah, blah. Of course, I’m tempted to blame someone or
something else, but the reality is that I am the one who not being good to
myself. And I need to stop! This is my (gentle) attempt to stop.
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