Fasting

That sounds much more disciplined than it really is. A more accurate statement would be, “Wednesdays are the days I do my best to fast”. That would be more honest, certainly. More certain, honestly.

Discipline is not one of my strong suits. When the trump suit is hearts, I tend to play a two of clubs. I may make a good start, make some progress, and then rationalize wandering off to some other theoretically good topic upon which to concentrate. I value good habits, talk about them, encourage them, and try to be them. (Be the hunger pain, grasshoppuh Mike.) 

 

But I’m a backslider.

~A recidivist

~Habitually unhabitual

~Wayward

~Recalcitrant

~Intractable

In short, I’m not a worthy role model for that about which I’m writing. One could describe me here (and probably here and there and here) as a windbag. As a jackanapes asserting wisdom where little exists. I can only reply,

“True that.”

But I’m working on it. Meal by snack by meal by snack. Because while "practices" take some effort, good practices make for good lives.

I may not stay on the path, but I’m usually pretty good about finding my way back to the path, even if I wander down all sorts of unruly alleys along the way.

I can fast or exercise or eat mustard seeds as long as I’m heading toward a goal, like losing ten or twenty pounds, but once I’ve broken the tape that’s it. Back to Slouching Toward Death-by-phlegm (Sorry Joan Didion). A couch spudnado. 

Still, I’m working on it.

I pick myself up and get back to it. Over time – sometimes a long time – I make progress. That’s a “practice”. 

Yesterday was Wednesday. I fasted. Here’s how it went.

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Woke up and headed to the kitchen for my typical breakfast. Something like cereal (whole wheat first ingredient) or a fruit smoothie (no added sugar).

I stop. Gobsmacked. Remembering that Today I Will Not Eat.

(What did I commit to!!!)

Nothing? Not a bite. Not an apple, not a ‘nana, not a samich, nothing? 

Nothing!

It slowly sinks in. I'm going to starve to death.

Nothing.

The thought of the long march of time extending into infinity settles in.

A weekly fast day usually means I drink water and also coffee or tea.

The every-thirty-minute pilgrimage to the men’s room is on.

Ensconced in my office, meetings here, deadlines there, the time is flying by.

More coffee. More water. My tummy, at least, is full.

I skip out of a meeting to head down the hall.

I feel success. I’ve made it through the day. 

Wait…fasting is supposed to something more than just survival, right? It’s supposed to be about sacrifice, focusing on what is important rather than what is easy, about being mindful instead of mindless (as in mindlessly eating the whole – big – bag of M&M’s…).

I feel success. I’ve made it almost through the day.

I walk to my car from work. Breathing in the air of success.

I pop into the driver’s seat. 

I hope there is no road work along the way, between me and my house.  My stomach gurgles.

I know, from experience, that I will usually sabotage a whole day’s worth of fasting with a snack at night. Maybe my ego just wants to prove it’s in charge. I’ve won. Success is just getting under the covers away. Maybe it is a flouting of the idea of discipline, my personality wanting to assert its free-spirit status. I dunno. But often when success is just within reach I will stuff something in my mouth, sullying the entire day’s efforts.

But not tonight.

Not tonight.

I head to bed.

I head to the bathroom on the hour.

The day of fasting draws to a close.

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There are a number of reasons for fasting and it's not for everyone and it certainly needs the blessing of your doctor and to fit one's health status. 

But I have made fasting a part of Lent before. For that, I might not eat after sunrise, until sunset, donating a small amount – say $5.00/day – to programs that feed the hungry that I would have normally spent on lunch. It’s symbolic to a large degree, but it is meaningful, and puts fasting into a deeper perspective than just going through the motions of giving up something for Lent. 

I also fast for health reasons. It helps me – I haven’t conquered this yet by any means – to break the cycle of mindless, helpless eating. It builds willpower and the practice of making choices and taking responsibility for those choices not just about eating but about all the choices I make. I discover that the fear of never eating again – like I truly felt this morning – is an illusion, probably a “survival of the fittest” instinct I carry inside evolutionarily. 

Fasting, like all practices, is as useful to me as the commitment I make to it not just when "everyone's doing it", but over a lifetime. No one ever “wins” a practice, one only sinks more deeply into it, making the practice – whether it be grateful living, generosity, or some other virtue – more and more and more and more a part of who you are. The trick is deciding what kind of person you want to be, and then intentionally incorporating practices, disciplines, routines, and habits into your life to make it more so. Unlike fame and wealth and power, which are extrinsic qualities which can be taken away from you on somebody’s whim, you have the ability, over time, to make yourself into the kind of person you want to be, and that no one can take away.  

You become a generous person. You become a kind person. You become a grateful person.  You become a humble person. You become a healthy (mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually) person, over time. More and more, over time. We can never become the perfect person we would wish to be, but with practice we move inexorably in that direction.  We can never be as healthy as we would wish to be, but with practice we'll be far healthier than if we give up to those spudnado tendencies we all have.  Practices are something we have the ability to do, in the middle of so much we can't control.

This, far more than building a global company from nothing or acquiring any other wealth, fame, or power, is truly what it means to be a self-made person. The irony, of course, is that no self-made person can do it alone. It truly does take a village to help us stay the course when everything else is calling us away from the kind of person we wish to become. 

But as our lives move along, we also have considerable ability to choose the village in which we want to live, don't we?

Much of our life is outside our control. We have the remarkable potential, with time, to become the kind of person we hope to be.

I may not stay on the path, but I’m usually pretty good about finding my way back to the path, even if I wander down all sorts of unruly alleys.

And maybe that’s the path, after all.

On that note, it’s time for a fruit smoothie.