By Tabitha Bozeman
Lent has begun. As a religious observance, Lent is a period of 40 days of spiritual purification and self-reflection. Lenten, or Lent, comes from the Anglo-Saxon word “lencten” which means “to lengthen”. The season of Lent starts during the darkness of winter, just as the days are beginning to lengthen and before Spring officially arrives. Plants that have huddled dormant through the winter begin to push through the soil and reach for the sun, and our attention lengthens to more than immediate concerns of warmth and winter safety.
Although Lent can be a period of sacrificial acts like fasting or giving up something as a way to remember our physical and spiritual limitations, it is also a time for growth from the same limitations. We limit ourselves every day in one way or another. We limit our peace when we only focus on the things that make us anxious. We limit our connection to others when we hold grudges or refuse to see different perspectives. We limit our accomplishments when we believe we have no agency. By choosing to give up something during Lent, many of us are choosing to jolt ourselves out of the numbness of routine and survival that tends to narrow the scope of our attention. How many times have we all realized we don’t even remember passing the places we see each day on our drive to work because we were stuck in our own heads, worrying about something? We can have “good” days and still barely be able to remember many details of them. This is just part of the human experience. But, awareness can help us experience things more vividly. Change is a mechanism by which we can increase our awareness.
Anyone who has ever given up coffee for a few weeks knows the first morning without it feels sharper somehow. We notice the absence. Then, we notice the habit. We notice how often we reach for it automatically. The same is true of scrolling, complaining, rushing. When we interrupt a pattern, even briefly, we become aware of how much of our lives run on autopilot. That awareness is uncomfortable at first. But, it is also clarifying. It reminds us that habits are repeated choices, and choices can be made intentionally.
Some friends and I were discussing what we plan to give up for Lent. This year, it feels a little more challenging than previous years. The news is one long nightmare of “you can’t make this up” day in and day out these days. Most days, I feel like it takes every bit of my attention and concentration to not be overwhelmed by it all. Even good days feel a little like this. These are the times when I realize I am narrowing my focus to a kind of survival mode: take care of my family; get to work; teach well; get home; cook dinner; get everyone to bed; begin again the next morning. Self-reflection, spiritual purification, paying attention to anything unnecessary can feel absolutely impossible sometimes. Those are the moments that make Lent so valuable. We face limits we don’t choose every day. Unchosen limitations often lead to frustration, doubt, and fear. Chosen limits, however, offer an opportunity to remove mental and emotional clutter and clarify what is important to us.
Maybe this year Lent isn’t about proving we can endure without chocolate or social media. Maybe it’s about giving up the numbness of survival in a noisy world. Maybe what we give up is cynicism, the relentless rush, the quiet assumption that we have nothing meaningful to offer. Maybe we give up putting off little acts of kindness until a more convenient time comes around. After all, kindness does not have to look dramatic. Sometimes, it looks like pausing before responding; sometimes it looks like letting someone merge in traffic without being resentful. Other times, it looks like sending the text you’ve been meaning to send, or dropping a note in the mail. It looks like assuming good intentions before assuming the worst. In anxious times, kindness can feel naïve, even weak. But in reality, it requires attention and restraint. It requires that we not surrender to irritation or despair. Kindness is, in its own quiet way, an act of resistance against the narrowing of our human experience and our hearts.
Observing Lent is a spiritual tradition rooted in faith, but its wisdom extends beyond any one denomination. Lent offers an invitation to examine what shapes us and to choose differently where we can. This year, I am giving up cynicism and defeatism. I am choosing to move through the noise and distraction of daily life with intentional kindness. As the days slowly lengthen and the light lingers a little longer each evening, perhaps our attention can lengthen too. Beyond headlines, beyond hurry, and beyond habit. Sometimes the small, intentional limits open the widest spaces in our schedules, in our conversations, and in our hearts.
