So, So Grateful
Exactly a week ago, I attended a four-hour writing workshop hosted by the university. Copious amounts of food and beverages were served. I sat at a table with three other people who drank and drank and drank throughout all of our activities (each cup of coffee perched so tantalizingly close to my nose on our tiny workspace) and ate and ate and ate throughout all of our (working) breaks. Torture! Inside my head I was railing against the inconsiderateness of all these (unknowing) people, and against my own inability to consume. And then something snapped. Something good. A ferocious little voice inside my head said 'No one is stopping you, go ahead and eat!' At which point, ridiculous as this probably sounds, I finally understood that fasting was MY CHOICE. And that it was important to me.
The next morning, I met my flatmate in the kitchen.
My rationale in not telling anyone here what I was doing was sound at first. I didn't want anyone to feel uncomfortable, or to think that I was trying to take something away from their own experience of Ramadan by essentially tailgating on their holiest month. I'd managed to time my breakfasts throughout the first 11 days of the month so that no one was in the kitchen by the time I got there. But by doing that, a relatively significant part of my experience of Ramadan became about not letting my flatmate know what I was doing each morning. And at the point that it stopped being an experiment for me, starting every day worrying about someone else in that way seemed like a poor use of my brain.
When I told him that the reason he was in the kitchen so early was the same reason I was in the kitchen so early he didn't get it at all. Once it clicked, I watched a succession of emotions play across his face, surprise and bemusement chief among them. These gave way variously over the next 24 hours to ridicule, admiration, hostility, and, eventually, something approaching solidarity. When we sat down to talk about it one afternoon, he told me that even though Ramadan is something so many people do together, it is by nature an individual experience. Of course this is true of everything in life, though perhaps the conditions of Ramadan, the cycles of fasting and prayer, of deprivation and abundance, of introspection and acknowledgement, heighten the paradox. In any case, paradox aside, having someone else to share my early morning meal with each day, as well as other reflections, has infinitely deepened my experience. Gratitude and prayer come a whole lot more easily to me when I'm not busy sneaking around a big house in the dark!
On the second day of the fast I wrote 'I prefer to think of it as an experiment in self-control and empathy, as well as a chance to share, even superficially, a faith experience of a significant portion of the world's population.' What I have learned so far is that it is impossible to share someone else's faith experience first hand. Also, it is impossible to remain at arm's length from your own. At some point (perhaps with the rearing up of that little voice in my head) Ramadan stopped being an experiment for me (which implied something I was outside of, watching from a distance), and started being...something else. Something deeply personal. Something both bigger and smaller than I first imagined. And for that I am so, so grateful.
The next morning, I met my flatmate in the kitchen.
My rationale in not telling anyone here what I was doing was sound at first. I didn't want anyone to feel uncomfortable, or to think that I was trying to take something away from their own experience of Ramadan by essentially tailgating on their holiest month. I'd managed to time my breakfasts throughout the first 11 days of the month so that no one was in the kitchen by the time I got there. But by doing that, a relatively significant part of my experience of Ramadan became about not letting my flatmate know what I was doing each morning. And at the point that it stopped being an experiment for me, starting every day worrying about someone else in that way seemed like a poor use of my brain.
When I told him that the reason he was in the kitchen so early was the same reason I was in the kitchen so early he didn't get it at all. Once it clicked, I watched a succession of emotions play across his face, surprise and bemusement chief among them. These gave way variously over the next 24 hours to ridicule, admiration, hostility, and, eventually, something approaching solidarity. When we sat down to talk about it one afternoon, he told me that even though Ramadan is something so many people do together, it is by nature an individual experience. Of course this is true of everything in life, though perhaps the conditions of Ramadan, the cycles of fasting and prayer, of deprivation and abundance, of introspection and acknowledgement, heighten the paradox. In any case, paradox aside, having someone else to share my early morning meal with each day, as well as other reflections, has infinitely deepened my experience. Gratitude and prayer come a whole lot more easily to me when I'm not busy sneaking around a big house in the dark!
On the second day of the fast I wrote 'I prefer to think of it as an experiment in self-control and empathy, as well as a chance to share, even superficially, a faith experience of a significant portion of the world's population.' What I have learned so far is that it is impossible to share someone else's faith experience first hand. Also, it is impossible to remain at arm's length from your own. At some point (perhaps with the rearing up of that little voice in my head) Ramadan stopped being an experiment for me (which implied something I was outside of, watching from a distance), and started being...something else. Something deeply personal. Something both bigger and smaller than I first imagined. And for that I am so, so grateful.
posted by Roberta | 5:29 AM
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