Wednesdays Without

A couple of weeks ago, I decided to fast every Wednesday. Today is my third time, and I guess it's gone well so far. Without doing any research on this, I decided to go with the style of fasting my Muslim friends use during Ramadan—a small meal before sunrise, no food or water throughout the day and then a light meal after sunset. This was, of course, a good time to begin such a fasting regimen, given that yesterday was the winter solstice so these recent Wednesdays are among the shortest days of the year. Sort of like cheating, I guess, but maybe I'll be able to work up to those long Wednesdays that will come my way when summer arrives.

What am I getting out of doing this? So far, I'm only scratching the surface of the possibilities. For one thing, this practice is helping me get my weight somewhat under control. In a little over two weeks, including the two previous fast days, I've lost six pounds. That's good, I think.

Although I haven't yet dug deeply into what fasting has to offer spiritually, I've sensed its being able to help me feel what so many people in this world feel minute by minute, day after day: hunger and thirst. I can get at least an inkling of what this condition must be like for them. And this evening when I eat and drink and tomorrow and the next day, maybe I'll carry a little bit of that inkling into the world with me to curb my selfish behaviors somewhat.

This practice also helps me see how I can have a little backbone in the face of temptation. (To be honest, I'm generally putty in the hands of temptation.) My first fasting day, 9 December, passed more or less in secrecy. Nobody knew what I was doing. But last Wednesday and today, a friend has contacted me about going to lunch at our favorite restaurant—on the 16th he didn't know about my fasting; today he just forgot. On both days, I've been able to say no. And I didn't say no by saying I had something else to do, that I was busy or whatever. I let him know I couldn't go because I was fasting. What that means, I don't know, but it somehow feels important.

So, it's just a little before noon. I'm hungry. I'm thirsty. My lips feel a bit dry—I'm even trying not to use lip balm to remedy this. Already I'm looking forward to that first drink of cold water and wondering what I might eat to break the fast. But the trick is, I think, not to be looking forward to these but rather to focus on what I'm experiencing now, to feel what this is like, to let it clear my head a bit so that I can live more fully in the moment. But I could be wrong.