I started graduate school with a jumble of reasons why I was pursuing an advanced degree, but only one sincere hope: that I would do more than reach a personal achievement goal, but uncover an authentic, lasting interest that above all else would help someone. Gosh, I thought to myself, as I pondered the Peace Corps, teaching English in South Africa, I am a walking cliche. I needed to move forward with post-undergraduate life, and here I was star-gazing into the nebulous (self-righteous?) realm of 'just wanting to do something that mattered.'
Though I grew up 20 minutes outside of Milwaukee, I only say "I'm from Milwaukee" when I am out of state (and if that receives a puzzled look--"I'm from Chicago"). I am from Brookfield, a Milwaukee suburb, raised by two Milwaukee natives.
Raised, quite frankly, to be wary of Milwaukee. Trips into the city meant the resolute sound of the car doors being locked by my mother, almost urgently as though upset she forgot to do it sooner. Watching the morning news over my bowl of Cheerios meant footage of a dark street corner and the grave voice of the reporter saying. “The shooting took place at 2:15 this morning here on the corner of Locust…” and my Dad muttering, “Of course it did.” Milwaukee was frightening, full of “bad” neighborhoods and “scary” intersections. I was accepted as an undergrad at UW Milwaukee and Marquette, but I chose rural-by-comparison UW Oshkosh.
After moving to Milwaukee proper I took a good look around, comparing it to the drowsy streets of small-town Oshkosh, and decided there was absolutely nothing cliche, nothing obsolete, and nothing more needed than people motivated to make a difference. I still did not know how, where, or in what context that difference would be, but at least now I legitimized rather than lobotomized the impulse.
My own zeal for healthy eating and wellness shaped my decision to focus on Health Communication in my graduate studies. Zig-zagging around my brain, the academic interest tried to hit a nerve that would connect the dots to social impact. After awhile, it sort of clattered to the bottom of my head, exhausted and overwhelmed by the seemingly more daunting issues facing Milwaukee than I could address with my yuppie Greek yogurt and yoga.
One day, scanning for a bag of frozen cherries at Pick ‘n Save, I passed by a man filling his basket with Stoffer’s microwave dinners. I sighed internally, feeling an ugly surge of judgmental attitude oozing through my brain. No, no, I thought. Icky. Don’t do it, ok? All that processing. All that sodium. You may feel full for an hour or two, but then you’ll be clamoring for more. Well, that’s if you aren’t—
Then it happened. Light bulb zapping to life above my head. Stopped in my slushy-boot tracks.
Hey, wait! He’s not at the drive-thru. He’s not at KFC, consuming a day and a half’s worth of calories and six months worth of fat in a single sitting. You have to meet people where they are. Baby steps. Baby steps to good health and better choices. He’s already got a great start!
I wanted to hug this man. Maybe I should have. He was the vehicle to the revelation that changed my ‘it’s-hopeless-trying-to-make-a-difference-with-nutrition communication’ attitude. Realizing that I didn’t have to bring people from the bottom of the Krispy Kreme box to diet super-stardom, I saw the absolute pure beauty in transforming over time. Dropping an anchor to the bottom of my own resolve, I assert: This is a matter worth pursuing. People are capable of changing. I’ve sure changed.
We don’t need to leap, bound, and turn locavore vegan to succeed. No! We don’t need to demolish and rebuild people. We don’t need to morph them so drastically out of their own life they do not recognize themselves.
We nudge. Nudge along to better choices.
But. And there are lots of ‘buts’. What about people who cannot afford to shop at a place as luxuriously laden with choices as a Pick ‘n Save? My mind turned to news reports—the ‘more Americans than ever are applying for food stamps’ stories of a struggling economy. As I sat in my house filled with fresh fruit, ample greens, and a few boxes of quinoa, the rare high-protein grain from Bolivia (which, by the way, due to increased American consumption, Bolivians can no longer afford), I thought—“Post-racial, post-class society? Yeah right.”
Food, still subject to imperialism apparently, probably always has been and certainly right now serves as a measure of wealth, status, and privilege.
I began to read. There is…a lot to read out there on these ideas. CNN reporters and congressional leaders alike have taken the 'food stamp budget' challenge, raising awareness of this issue in our country and asking a crucial question: Can you eat well on food stamps?
From Lancaster to the Chicago Tribune, Detroit to the California Food Policy Advocates the issue of food equality, availability, cost, and government assistance has produced endless investigations using a plethora of methods. To the best of my knowledge, no such case studies have been done in Milwaukee.
The idea egg hatched. What if I did it? Started the Milwaukee case study, exploring neighborhood grocery stores, and finding out what information is readily available on healthy eating?
In my next post, I will pose some research questions and continue laying out my plan for this ongoing project.
All for now!
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