Alexandra Kathryn Mosca — Exploring Life and Death: A Writer's Journey

Every year since childhood, I’ve given up something for Lent. It’s a small test of willpower, a quiet statement of commitment—though I’ll admit it can veer into the self‑serving. Once, on the way to a funeral, my hearse driver and I were talking about what we’d each given up. I said pasta and chocolate, two of my great loves. He shot back, laughing, “Let’s be honest—some of this is about weight loss.” We both cracked up at the double motive.

Over the years I’ve also given up alcohol, but since I’m not much of a drinker, it never felt like the grand sacrifice people assumed it was. When I’d mention it, some would look at me as if I were “on the wagon,” which always amused me. And of course, the moment you give something up, you crave it. On certain stressful days, I would have welcomed a glass of wine with open arms.

Then, a few years ago, I heard about a different Lenten practice: instead of (or alongside) giving something up, collect forty items—clothes, books, linens, household appliances—one for each day. Set them aside, and at the end of the season, donate them where they’ll do the most good. I loved the simplicity and generosity of that idea. It felt like a clearing out, a loosening, a way of making space for something better. I’ve been practicing it ever since I first read about it, and it’s become my favorite Lenten ritual.