So the last post I wrote was kind of a downer.

Well, only if you replace the words “kind of” with “a complete.”

I think I recall saying something at the beginning of this year about trying to be more grateful, looking for the good things in my life.  This sounds vaguely familiar.  But then stress, and disappointment, and fear set in.

And there is nothing like a call from your parish priest asking if you’ve got cabin fever to snap you right out of your self-indulgent malaise.  When you hear the question “Are you doing alright?” and you realize that you are WAY too embarrassed to answer honestly and say “You know what, no, I haven’t been doing alright, because I don’t think anyone loves me enough, or appreciates me enough, or showers me with enough affection, dammit, and therefore I have been having a crying, angry, pity-party for like a week.”  Wait, no I can’t say that.

“I’m okay.  I took a walk.”

And I am okay.  And I did take a walk.  I finally mailed my tax worksheets to my accountant, which I had ready two weeks ago, but I’ve been too busy crying or sleeping to mail.

I vacillate easily between having zero expectations (I would like another human being to acknowledge that I exist) and have fantastical expectations (I want someone to make it their sole mission in life to please me in every way and wrap me in comfort and protection so that I may never be troubled by anything ever at all for the rest of my life).  As my heart becomes more fixated on the later, the former comes crashing down. They feed on each other, reinforcing anxieties and doubts that only thrive in dishonesty and darkness.

In seeing both as united, as dimensions of a single lack of faith, then the way out is much easier.  If I do not believe that God truly loves me, completely, fully, as I am, in hope of all I will be, with patience for my failings, with no desire for reward, then I will always look for love to be “proved” and I will always be disappointed.

Now, this seems like I’m still being a downer.  And maybe I am.  But I don’t mean to be.  Lent beings tomorrow.  This is the last day of celebration before 40 days of penance, prayer, sacrifice.  I’ve kind of skipped Lent for the last couple years.  I start out on Ash Wednesday with the idea that this year I’ll be amazing.  I’ll give up everything I enjoy, I’ll pray all the time, I won’t complain about anything, I’ll be a radiant font of joy to my fellow man.

By Friday I have given up, and usually decided to test run some new sins that maybe would fit well into my regular rotation.

Then Easter arrives, I act like I’m surprised it did, rush to confession (at least by Pentecost) and say “Next year, next year I’ll do Lent right!”

I’m going to try something different this year.  I’m going to try being normal.  I’m going to try giving up one thing and adding one thing.  Not big things.  I’m going to try giving up Diet Coke.  I love Diet Coke.  I drink about equal amounts water and Diet Coke each day.  It has been a part of my life since I can remember.  But it is also a burden.  It stretches my tight food budget.  It’s heavy to carry home from the grocery store.  It gives my acid reflux.  Clearly, it’s not something helpful for me that makes my life happy.  It’s something that I am used to.  Something that I enjoy, but that I could probably do without.

It’s not a sacrifice equal to Christ sacrifice on the Cross.  It couldn’t be.  Nothing I could do could be.  And I shouldn’t try to make it into such.  Or pretend that it is supposed to be such.

So really, for Lent, I’m just going to try being a little more realistic.

(2 Year, 5 Months, and 14 Days Sober)