I gave up alcohol for Lent. It was easy at first. I made a strawberry balsamic shrub and added it to to lemon water in a martini glass. I made a vanilla honey syrup and mixed it with homemade blackberry sage reduction. I squeezed grapefruit juice into coconut water and sipped it on the rocks with a slice of lime. I hosted two parties that way and didn’t miss the buzz at all.
But by the time the third Friday afternoon rolled around, I really wanted to sit at a bar and sip a cocktail with my husband. Instead, I snuggled up to him on the couch with chamomile tea. Saturday night was the progressive supper at church, and I sipped my lemon water from a wine glass. And here we are, on Sunday evening. I went to the local liquor store to buy a sampling of NA wines to try to find one that doesn’t taste like Welch’s white grape juice.
Success. For now. There’s ice rattling in my fake Sauvignon Blanc as I type this.
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I’ve always been mindful of the Lenten season. As a kid, I’d give up cookies or candy. As a teenager, I’d abstain from a certain television show or favorite food. But at some point in my early adulthood I began to take on a commitment instead of giving something up. I would read a daily devotional. Keep a faith journal. Donate one item every day.
But this year, I felt pulled back to that old tradition. A sacrifice of some sort. But not abstinence for the sake of abstinence.
I wanted to make a sacrifice that would, in some small way, force me to be better. More present. More productive. More alert. More aware.
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Anyone who lives in New England knows that March is gross. It’s when we battle the last of the winter weather and when our seasonal doldrums are at their peak. We’re stir-crazy and cold and tired of winter coats.
Anyone who teaches in a public school knows that March is the absolute worst. The kids are ALSO stir-crazy and cold and tired of telling their parents that they don’t need a coat. The meetings are piling up and the term is finishing and state tests are looming. There’s no break in sight and everyone’s nose is running.
Every March, I consider alternate career options. I’ve been doing this teaching gig long enough to recognize the March job hunt as a passing phase. I’ll be fine by April.
But it’s convenient that March coincides with Lent. It gives me a little extra motivation to pull myself out of my annual funk. I get introspective. As I was recently starting a new journal, I thought about the things I do that make me, well… better. I put them into categories. Connect. Move. Explore. Create.
Each night, I jot down a note about those goals. Who did I connect with? How did I move my body? What new place or idea did I explore? Did I create a meal or music or a blanket?
And with a little less alcohol in my life, there’s a little more of all those things. More sitting on my son’s bed and hearing about his day. More simmering fruit to create homemade syrups. More crocheting and more reading and more walks and more phone calls.
And more blogging. I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long. It’s good to be back.