A Busy Woman and the Ascetic Life

Discontent. Unsettled. Restless. Fidgety.

All of these possible feelings describe a longing in my soul that cannot be filled. Or, should I say, cannot be filled in the ways our society suggests. I am very adept at filling temporarily - like a patch that falls right back off. By simply by reaching for my phone and beginning the mindless scroll, I momentarily block the feelings.

Perhaps I get lost in Instagram, or the day’s news feed, possibly it’s Pinterest, or even a search for my next beloved book. Regardless of the possible “value,” much of this scrolling is mindless. It is not really much different from continuing to eat long after you feel full. One link leads to another, leads to another, and before I know it, a chunk of time has past. During the blur of time, my restlessness seems soothed because I am not thinking about it, but the minute I pry myself away, the feeling is compounded and I may even add a dose of guilt for the time wasted.

When I think about it, this unsettled feeling is familiar. It reminds me of the Friday morning that I woke up on the second day of my first silent retreat. I had no phone, no computer, no tasks, no agenda… and the restlessness was overwhelming. My mind was frantically reaching for something to do; something, anything, to avoid resting with itself. My “go, go, go” constantly connected, never silent lifestyle had wired my brain to prevent its being still. John O’Donohue, a Catholic scholar, says that this phenomenon is, “at its root, a fear of nothingness. It panics in the face of the creative and generous uncertainty at the heart of life.” Because of the cultural connectedness, I fear nothingness.

Silence leaves open the space for thoughts and ideas. Silence is slow, maybe even boring sometimes. I recognize that my restless scrolling most often happens when I am tired. My exhaustion causes what is actually a longing. Our busy, bigger, better, comparison culture has conditioned me to believe I am longing for more - more images, more information, more clothes, even more books (wait, is that really so bad?).

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The problem is that this search is not actually soothing me. The opposite is happening. All the scrolling, all of the accumulated stuff is actually making me less content, even less able to enjoy the moments, the people, the things I do have. If I really stop to pay attention to my life, if I am still and listening, I notice a pull, a curiosity towards the ways of monasticism.

The word asceticism has risen from my readings and nestled in my soul. Merriam- Webster defines ascetic as, “practicing self denial as a measure of personal and especially spiritual discipline.” This lifestyle is typically associated with those living the monastic life, starting with the desert fathers and mothers who, “sold their possessions, giving the proceeds to the poor, and following Christ. (Matthew 19:21)” {~270 AD}

While I have not, and do not intend to move to the desert, I do find peace when spending time at the local Dominican Center. The silence, the beauty, the simplicity slip on like a glove when I arrive. When I am there I read a little, write a little, walk, sit, and pray. I do not scroll; I do not plan or make lists.

This makes me wonder about infusing a little asceticism into my scrolling, consumerist life. I have made baby steps by no longer checking my email on my phone and by doing a three-month capsule wardrobe during which time no new items can be purchased. I still find myself scrolling more than I would like though. I still long for more.

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What if the only way to soothe this longing for more is with less? What does a partly ascetic wife and mom of triplet teenagers with a house and a job look like? I look to synonyms - words like avoidance, fasting, self-control seem possible. John O’Donohue gives even more insight, “The ascetical approach is selective and subtracts from the feast of what is offered in order to enjoy, explore and celebrate.”

Yes. Yes. Yes. Our busy, consumerist culture is a feast of offerings, and it is my desire to be selective and subtract from it.

Less. Less for me needs to start with my phone; I simply cannot scroll when I am tired. Instead I should practice the rest and self care that my exhausted body actually craves. A glass of water, an energy packed snack, a good book, 20 minutes of silence, a walk in nature. I already know that I will arise from these activities more present, more calm, more energized. I will be so much more able to enjoy the beauty around me. Ready to truly celebrate.

Again, in the wise words of John O’Donohue, “The desire to celebrate is the longing to enter more deeply into the mystery of actuality. Longing is no longer directed away towards an anticipated future. Now, the present moment has blossomed. You really want what you have. You know the blessings and gifts that are around you. Celebration is an attentive and gracious joy of presence.” {Quotes from Eternal Echoes by John O’Donohue, 1999.}


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Meet Anna Bonnema

Anna Bonnema is an open-armed Catholic and a lover of words and nature. Anna is a wife to a man with a contagious laugh and a mom to amazing teenage triplets. Though she calls herself an introvert, she loves to gather around the table or the fire. Fueled by tea, lattes, and dog snuggles, Anna loves small celebrations and glitter. Fill your favorite mug and join her on Instagram @annabonnema.

Kara Becker