The Treat You Can't Deny Yo Self

The first time someone told me to "treat yo self," I was studying abroad. A new friend and I were out somewhere, doing something and she looked at me and quoted that delightful episode of Parks and Recreation. Understandably, it became the tagline for the semester - leagues better than YOLO, which was absolutely also used quite a bit. There we were, in London for three months of our lives, an experience we would never have again. What better time and place to treat yo'self?

The phrase didn't stop with London, even though it took me three more years to watch Parks and Rec and not just quote it like the poser I am. Now, in Philadelphia, I use it probably too often. There's always a new bar or restaurant to try, or new exhibit to see. There's often a long day of work, a bad school group, a night out with friends, or visitors in town to use as an excuse. I work several different jobs. I balance a very complicated calendar. Sometimes my brain gets tired. Sometimes I need a treat.

For Tom and Donna in the show, treat yo self means buy something. Get something you've been wanting; get something wild and crazy you will never need or use again; get a manicure; get a haircut; get anything. When I use the phrase, it often means the same thing. Treat yo self to that milkshake, that rugelach, that beer. Buy that small thing that will give you a moment of rest and joy.

On Wednesday, I was walking home from yet another interview for yet another gig. The interview went well - was fun, actually - and, after so many grey, rainy days, the clear blue sky and sixty degree weather had me in a great mood. This week alone I have worked 3 different jobs, plus a volunteer thing, plus the interview. My brain was exhausted and it was only Wednesday - I still had a busy Thursday to get through. I needed a pick me up. I needed to treat myself. And I just completed an interview! I deserved a treat, didn't I?

But then I thought about my wallet. I had already treated myself to a lunch out on Monday...and to a bakery stop for myself and my roommate and his friends the Friday before...and to a Stitch Fix a few days before that...and I am expecting my sister and sister-in-law this weekend, which means lots of treats in addition to the treat of their very presence. Alas, money is not on my side. It never is, really. But I still needed self-care! I still needed a moment to myself, to give myself something, to congratulate myself for continuously sticking it out and attempting to make this gig life work.

What does treat yo self look like on a budget? And what's more, what does treat yo self look like during Lent?

That's right. If my wallet didn't stop me, my Catholic conscience tried. Lent is supposed to be a time of fasting, prayer, and almsgiving; a time to forgo, not indulge; a time of solemnity, not of joy. A time to deny yo self, not treat yo self. The warm day made me want to fill my home with flowers and shout for joy, Spring has come! Alle---, but I can't say that last word yet, because Easter is still weeks away. No, I had to curb my joy - I wanted to curb my joy, I wanted to feel Lent deeply - but I also needed to recharge, to build a moment into my day that was for me and not overwhelmed by to do lists and preparations. 

As I walked home, I thought of treats that didn't require money. A bath? No, the tub wasn't clean. Netflix? Eh, did that yesterday with dinner. Read? Not in the mood. Bake? No good ingredients. Eat a cookie? Not long enough. Nap? That'll make me groggy. Adoration? Hm...well, actually, yes, that sounds great.

Thirty minutes of sweet silence. Thirty minutes to just sit and think and pray. Thirty minutes to not think about sinus medication or memorizing lines or receiving texts or anything at all but the Blessed Sacrament in front of me. Thirty minutes to bring my exhausted self to His feet, because when I finally let myself sit down, I was oh so weary.

I closed my eyes most of that thirty minutes. I thought of the apostles, of the agony in the garden: "So you could not keep watch with me one hour?" Jesus asks them when he finds them asleep. I've always taken this passage to heart. Stay awake! Stay awake! But if "I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine," then shouldn't I be able to come to him in whatever state I am? Isn't that the best part of a long-standing relationship - getting to crumple into each others' arms, without explanation, without permission, without worry? Getting to pass out next to the one you love, while they tenderly tuck you in and watch over you?  Would it really be so bad, then, to sleep in Christ's presence, to share that most intimate, most vulnerable state with him?

"Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest," Jesus also says. As I sat there on Wednesday, treating myself to being crumpled on the hard, thin-carpeted floor, I couldn't help but find something so beautiful - so, desirable - about being with Jesus in this way, simultaneously worn out and glad. Here I was, labored, burdened, and wanting to rest in him. I didn't sleep, but I let myself be tired with him, let him transform my weariness into tranquility. Around him, I don't have to smile. I don't have to produce. I don't have to charm. I don't have to feign. Around him, I can be all that I am in any given moment. No more, no less.

Now that is a treat - a treat which costs neither me nor anyone else a single dollar or negative consequence, but which only could bring a world of good. I think I'll treat myself to that more often.