We are caring too much and my Grandmother proves this.
The avocado is a precious food. It’s tough, wrinkled skin is similar to what I imagine a rhinoceros’s to be if it were a fruit. It’s vibrant green presence is extremely versatile – pasta sauces, guacamole, and the ground breaking unoriginal Nigella recipe of avocado on toast. Upon peeling (you do peel these creatures, right?) one the other day, a friend informed me that is was possible to eat the pip. Obviously not whole – you toast it and roast it first but I digress. Devouring the pip is all in the name of health; it claims to provide nutrition benefits that it’s flesh simply can’t. Which leads me to question how far we’re willing to go for ‘health’ today.
Fad after fad saturates us. Raw diets claim to leave you feeling energized, bullet coffee keeps you fuller for longer, and coconut oil does wonders for the skin where as diary ironically doesn’t, yet French studies argue the opposite.
Fads like these to exist because unfortunately, we allow ourselves to care.
I’ll openly admit that I want to look and feel my best – who doesn’t? However, the media today is saturating us and suppressing us to believe that our best is one actual, literal state we should all strive to attain. It’s a bit like happiness really; no one can define what it is as it is different for every individual, yet there are images splayed online of portrayals of happiness, inferring that it is an exterior destination as opposed to something unique to everyone, coming from within.
Yes, I know – someone’s at it again, blaming the media for personal insecurities blah blah blah. BUT, guess what? There’s a reason our old pal keeps cropping up in this field (no pun intended): it’s undoubtedly the trigger.
I’ll prove this with an example: my grandmother. She simply just Does. Not. Care.
The elder generation in general tends to not give a damn about what young adults do nowadays. I see an odd woman stereotypically popping a peppermint like a drug at the bus station and chuckle because it is more likely to NOT be sugar free. My grandmother adores me without makeup on – she tells me that my skin is beautiful even when I’m working borderline troll face at 6am. She doesn’t understand it when I say I’m vegetarian or ‘on a detox’. She’ll categorize me as a rabbit and dish up plates of plain boiled vegetables.
She’s a feminist too – she doesn’t batter an eyelid at its glamorization or misconceptions with dominance as opposed to equality. She simply appreciates what has been done and continues to support her and her husband and work as much as any retired man would his wife. She acknowledges that there is still more work to be done, but does not respond with spiteful comments to those who challenge her. She does so in an elegant, thought provoking way – one that captures the right attention.
Caring has spiraled out of control to point where we are potentially unable to show interest or concern in something without approaching it in a hyper sensitised manner.
I’m going to try taking my grandma’s approach to life for a while – particularly regarding avocados. She knows what one is, yes, but when it comes to devouring its pip in a bid to improve her skin, she’ll just stick to some bloody good soap and water, thanks.
