I’m Catholic by association only. My mother’s New England-y family was. Hubby is. And at a fat, sassy – and bald! – six months of age, the Wee Lass was christened at a rickety, lovely old church in Tribeca.
The bald bit really threw the priest; despite the fact that the Wee Lass was sporting a chic pink linen frock, he kept referring to her as “him” throughout the ceremony. Adorable.
So yesterday morning, because I’m not really in the Mass trenches, it came as a slight shock – an aha moment, if you will – when I spotted a dude in the street with an ashy cross on his forehead. And because I’m super-smart, I immediately realized that Lent was upon us – that time of year when zillions of people around the globe give up something they totally love for 40 days, until Easter.
Some folks forego candy, some bread. No one ever really gives up booze, though, right? I’ve never heard of that one. C’est un grand challenge, certainement. Life without a weekly flute of champs would almost not be worth living.
I’m a Scorpio, and we’re all about re-invention – a phoenix rising from the ashes and all that jazz. So I completely and utterly love the idea of Lent, even though I’m not officially Catholic. Being forced to detox from something a little evil – but only for 40 days! – seems do-able.
And awesome, too. Because after 40 days, there’s a strong likelihood that you’ll have built a foundation for lasting change.
Thus, in solidarity, I’m putting a massive hex on negativity, fish and chicken. As a wannabe vegan, I haven’t eaten red meat in eons. (I just think of cute, cuddly cows and there’s no way I can do that.) But I still, out of laziness, eat fish and chicken. Grrr. There’s no excuse for that. Although nowhere near cows on the cuteness scale, fish and chicken are critters too.
Okay, enough with the diet chatter. The more challenging piece of my fake-Catholic Lent puzzle is the “no negativity” clause. Whoaaaaaah. Hard, hard, hard.
For starters, it’s a two-parter: First, there’s the outer manifestation of negativity – grumbling and whinging (ooh, I so love the Brit verb “whinge”) to your family members, co-workers and assorted others in your realm. And second, there’s the inner manifestation – that internal soundtrack that keeps looping and looping, telling us that this or that bad thing is imminent, or that we’re not smart, sexy or successful enough.
Our inner dialogue – our “self-talk” – is such a huge, massive topic. And I do want to get to it in upcoming blog posts, as I tell you my strategies for getting through Lent in one piece. But for right now, I need breakfast. A nice, yummy, fruity, vegan breakfast.