Back in Black

... or in Austin, rather.

Life on the return has been a bit of an onslaught. I have been realizing so vividly how many of the considerations and worries of the crazy American lifestyle (and my personal grad school version) took back seat when I was in Africa.

Exhibit A: Personal appearance. Malawian women can, when they want to, do themselves up; but they also have few qualms about walking around with their hair a mess and their oldest clothes on. And they certainly don't worry about "looking fat." I didn't either, when I was there, which demonstrated to me just how pervasive the subtle influence of cultural ideals can be. Back home, the whole comparison, self-assessment, and self-rejection process of Body Image rushed back like a bad memory. I hate that it "has" me, and I just can't shake it.

Yes, here comes the first of many sweeping cultural generalizations: we are much more self-aware here than they are there, as I have experienced it. We worry about being cool, looking great, working out, being thin, glowing skin, bronzing powder, dressing to the nines, etc. etc. etc.; and it's a trap. You never win. It's worth barely a fraction of the energy we put into it.

So, any ideas on how to get free of this problem? Should we all just ship off to Malawi?