Cans, Bags, Boxes

I used to buy deadly foods—at least for a food addict—that were packaged in shiny bags, colorful cans, and tantalizing boxes. The food that would inevitably kill me threatened to lure me to a slow but eventual death. Yet all the while, I yearned for those cleverly-designed cans, bags, and boxes that fed my addiction but never my soul.

Since FA, shopping the perimeter of the grocery store has become a new way of life. I begin in the produce section, then stop at the meats, and close out in the dairy aisle. Early on, while still losing weight, I never ventured down the center aisles for abstinent sustenance. It was not until venturing into maintenance that I needed or even dared pick up a bag or box of grain. After months of eating primarily fresh produce, it was strange and even peculiar to browse and purchase a bagged or boxed item.

Today, my life is filled with food from the outskirts of the market—God-made foods, not factory foods. I shudder to think of the years I “lived” on canned, bagged, and boxed items, produced not in a garden or on a farm, but processed in an industrial plant for mass production, laden with multisyllabic, unpronounceable chemicals.

My life today is healthy—body, mind, and spirit. I don’t much miss those cans, bags, and boxes. When I see coworkers or friends microwaving boxed foods or stockpiling their pantries and freezers with factory-made items, I thank God I am in a healthier place. I do not judge; I am simply grateful that I am eating real, whole, life-giving food. And that is fine with me.