roberta the smoke-free snob

One of the toughest challenges about living here is dealing with parts of Roberta that I had either buried or had never really surfaced. Right now I’m thinking again about what a snob I am (just one of many icky parts...). Really, it’s embarrassing how difficult it is for me not to be a bit of a judgmental stinkpot when I walk into smoky coffee-bars. I was often signing petitions for a smoke-free America (or whatever they were for, but I got some pretty fun stickers as a result). Anyhoo, it’s just one of those adjustments that is coming pretty slowly for me. It comes down to whether I care more about my comfort (or “rights”) or about being aware of the love language of the Balkans: quality time usually spent in smoky coffee-bars sipping macchiato or schwepps. I often choose comfort.

I had noticed some improvement in me. For the first several months, waging an anti-smoking campaign was one of my savior-complex fantasies. It is a bummer to see 10- and 12-year-olds smokin’ joes. It’s also a real bummer to see/know that bunches of believers smoke, yet I had stopped zeroing in on this one issue. But now that it’s chilly, doors and windows are shut…and my clothes, hair, and even skin constantly smell like cigarettes. Once again, I’m struggling with my attitude.

Enough with the smoking snobbery (this blog doesn't even scratch the surface...). Yet my attitude is similar when I eat my weight in white bread, oil, and salt…and drink my weight in soda and sweet coffee/tea. In the States, I tried to eat as many whole grains, leafy greens, omega-3 or -6 oils, and foods light in sodium as I could get. Here, that’s not an option available to most of the peeps. And, once again, I often mentally lament my comparatively low amount of nutritional choice (or food variety stuff). Wah wah. This attitude of “woe is me—I’m sacrificing my smoke-free comfort for the souls of kosova” needs to go. It’s heinous. Sacrifice--what a word to use when I hear stories of real sacrifice. When it comes down to it, though, I wonder with fear and trepidation how much latent un-grace is bottled up in me.