An Ascetic's Struggle in Prague

I’m not ashamed that, somehow over the last twenty years, I’ve become a secular ascetic of sorts. It happened gradually, I first gave up smoking my senior year of college, then saturated fat for the sake of Jim’s heart. Most recently, I said bye-bye to alcohol, but I still cling caffeine, only reluctantly doing without that drug when I was pregnant. I exercise as much as I can, cook with olive oil, take vitamins, ok many vitamins and follow good sleep hygiene. Since I live on the East Coast and hang out in yoga classes, I haven’t felt like that much of a freak, or struggled with temptations.

I was too smug to think that just by bringing bottles of fish oil, a yoga mat and a list of vegetarian restaurants, that I could seamlessly integrate my lifestyle with the Prague Summer Program.

The first hint of trouble came when I e-mailed my next door neighbor’s son James, who has been living here for over ten years. Which, I asked him was the best vegetarian restaurant, and who was the best yoga teacher? James graciously reminded me that maybe I might think that Prague was a little more like home than it really was. It’s only been 17 years since the Communists left. I knew that, but realized that I probably did come off as an ass. Why were those things so important to me and why were they the very first things that I asked James when I got here?

Two people in my writing class read essays about living big, or not worrying about living forever. Die young and leave a beautiful corpse. I thought about this a lot the last time I was in Europe. It’s hard not to, when so many people smoke and seem to eat many more pastries than we do in the States. Plus, I’m married to a fatalist, so I’ve heard all this before, no need to quit smoking, I’ll die when I’m sixty anyway. Love them while they last these heathens.

I don’t live like this, because I want to live forever, God no. I just feel better, less muscle ache from yoga, clearer head with no hangovers, steady blood sugar from whole grains. So, why am I sliding? How is it that 20-year olds can convince me to hang out in the bar after our readings and drink beer until the bar closes? Why am I eating chocolate croissants with lattes made from real milk (no soy!). Will I still fit through the door into yoga class when I get home?

I’m not that much of a pushover, so here’s the thing, it’s fun to talk to other writers, and when I do I get filled up with ideas that last long into the next day, make it into my journal and keep me from feeling hungry all day long like I do at home. I may have to rethink my boring resolve and dump the judgments that I’ve had of others wasting their time talking in bars. Maybe when I get home I’ll go out more and have more fun.

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