Two more days and I can drink again. Not that I couldn’t drink before. Actually I’ve had several drinks throughout Lent this year. First time in a long time for that. Don’t know why in previous years it didn’t bother me when people asked, “Why do you give something up?” And I didn’t have a definite answer. “It’s sort of a ritual.” “I always learn something.” “Er…”
But this year the steam just went out of me. Maybe laziness. Maybe because no one else I know is doing it. Maybe my faith is changing. I did keep my fast but the rules were more convoluted. If it feels in the slightest bit socially awkward not to drink, go for it. So I wasn’t allowed one at home, after a hard day, hanging out with Dave. But if we were out for dinner with friends, bring on the gin and tonics. Not that they would have cared, but clearly I did.
So this year I guess I didn’t give up booze, I gave up staunchness of purpose. I guess God wanted me to learn something about presumed expectations. He’s huge on that.
What’s really awkward for me (because it’s all about me, ultimately) is that I feel like an alcoholic if I’m drinking and you’re not. Somehow, drinking has become something that is only acceptable if one does it communally. In fact, at one point in my life, I absolutely would not drink if I was home alone.
This year, I wavered on whether or not to give up drinking along with you. I finally decided I should add something to my daily rituals instead. That hasn’t worked out as well as I might’ve liked, though.