My blog was down for a couple months again, so I posted this on my Tumblr on March 9, 2015. Transferring it here for posterity. :)
I am nearly 24 hours into a 3-day fast. The seed was planted during an episode of House of Cards, where a gay man imprisoned in Russia for speaking about homosexuality mentioned that he had gone on a food strike, but only lasted 6 days before the hunger was too strong, and I wondered, “Could I go 6 days without eating?” I Googled it, and the seed grew into a sprout. There are health benefits to fasting. Being raised a Christian, I am familiar with religious fasting. Even Kafka’s “The Hunger Artist” crossed my mind while I was researching fasting.
So I am fasting for 3 reasons: emotional/spiritual, health, and pure curiosity.
I’ve long thought I had a weird relationship with food. Whether because of my habits or some physiological reason, I am ALWAYS hungry. It doesn’t seem to matter if I eat 6 small meals throughout the day, 3 meals, more natural/less processed foods, or all processed foods, I am always thinking about food. I have even tried banishing thirst as a cause by making sure that I am drinking enough water throughout the day—for the month of February, I drank 128 ounces of water almost every single day. No dice; still hungry all the time.
I truly love my job, I really do. I love the
people I work with, I love the people I work for, I love that I get to a ton of different tasks every day. Regardless of all of that, some days, I just do not feel like working. But I’m an adult, and adults have to do things they don’t want to some times. Here’s what I do when I don’t want to work to get back in the groove and get things done.
1. Make a List
I love making lists anyway, but sometimes the reasons I don’t want to work is that I am just too overwhelmed with all of the tasks I need to accomplish that day. Making a list and prioritizing those tasks helps me focus that sense of being overwhelmed.
Due to a WordPress plug-in failure, I have been locked out of my blog for a long time, but today, I figured out how to get around it, and I have access again! I can’t promise that I will become a blogging maniac now, but there are things I want to say and words I want to write, and now I have my place to do that again!
Last week, I posted about death cafes and how, at 31, I am not afraid of death. I actually wrote that post on March 8, and five days later, one of my high school classmates, along with another Neosho High School graduate, died in a car accident in Indiana.
When I found out, all I could think was “Too young, he was too young to die.”
I will never know how Brad felt about dying, but even though we didn’t stay in close contact after high school, it seemed like he was doing a good job of Living, and he had always been good at pursuing his passions and playing to his strengths, in high school, at the very least.
After the shock wore off that someone I had spent hours making jazz with, someone who had been in most of my classes, someone who had been in my wider circle of friends, had left this earth, I started thinking about his family, and I remembered all that my grandpa, aunts, and uncles had had to take care of when Grandma died. I remember the mundane details that simultaneously didn’t matter one bit in the face of the loss we were all feeling, but yet seemed to matter so much because they would be our last way of showing Grandma we loved her and to honor the amazing, joy-filled life she had lived before Alzheimer’s disease corrupted her sweet, spunky personality. I remember swearing that my loved ones would not have to struggle with those details, and I remember that not long after Grandma passed away, I found MyWonderfulLife.com. Continue reading
Today, I heard a piece on NPR about death cafes, a place where people can come together to contemplate their mortality. The reporter said, “The fear of death haunts us like nothing else. And it makes sense. All other fears — such as public speaking, centipedes and heights — pale in comparison. So we don’t really talk about it.”
I am not afraid of death.