My junior year of high school, I had a crazy American Literature Teacher.
She was a young mom who was infamous for wearing pesto colored pants and being a hard ass. My best friend, Katherine, and I went back and forth between making fun of her mismatched outfits and being terrified of her.
After a while we started to realize she would undoubtedly finish every insightful connection she had to the text we were analyzing with the phrase: “food for thought.”
“Food for thought” entered our conversations more often than YOLO at the peak of its popularity. It mainly just mocked our Lit teacher but it was also a way to convince ourselves that we were philosophical high school students who sat around and pondered great ideas.
Most of the time, we were just pondering whether it was worth it to leave the house to get ice cream or if we should just stay in and bake cookies. Katherine and I like food. I surround myself with good eaters, which is another reason why “food for thought” makes so much sense to me.
These days I’m always hungry. I blame rowing. It stole my life and took my food budget with it. If you’ve ever talked to a rower, you probably picked up on the love-hate tension surrounding it. Every morning when I wake up at the butt crack of dawn to go to practice I wonder why I’m still doing this. The only answer I’ve come up with that I can’t stop. I need to row. It’s that simple.
And that’s how “Food, (F)Oar, Thought” was born. My thoughts need somewhere to be read and responded to, just to make sure I’m not crazy. They’re driven by lack of sleep, even though I go to bed at the same time as the elderly and babies, and hunger, even though I eat more in two days than most families in third world countries do in a week.
Enjoy it world! (and by world I mean my mom and close friends because who else reads blogs. No one.)