[Comment] A Dollar A Day

from Relevant Magazine

I get all my best ideas when I'm out running. I also happen to get some of my worst ones too. Last Saturday as my stomach continued to revolt at the bland regime of lentils and water that I was inflicting on it, I began to curse the moment I put on my spandex speed suit and headed for the hills. For it was there that the thought first infected my brain: Could I survive for seven days on just seven dollars?

The answer, as it turns out, is yes. For a week I was able to feed, clean and transport myself for a mere 53 of our English pence per day. (Actually, that's close to being true, but you'll have to check my blog for the confession.)

Why was I doing it? Because with more than 1.2 billion people living on a similar amount—or less—each day, extreme poverty claims the lives of 50,000 mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters and friends every single day. It seemed like the least I could do.

Day 1
Within a few hours of beginning my challenge of living on 53p a day, I'd spent £299. Not a very good start, I admit, but the new, expensive washing machine was actually bought by my wife. Still, it hardly left me brimming with confidence about my chances of making it through the week. If this was how things kicked off on Day 1, would I end up buying a yacht and small Caribbean island by the end of Day 6?

Day 2
The caffeine withdrawal kicked in, and I felt pained and unable to concentrate all day. I also had a long-standing engagement to attend—one which involved free transport, free food and free drinks. I had big plans for the event, mainly focused on getting as much orange juice and high-carb food down me as quickly as possible. Then someone shoved a glass of wine in my hand, then another and before I knew it, after two lentil rissoles and a feta wrap, I was overly full and a little lightheaded. I returned home on the train, praising my good fortune but cursing my inability to stick to the game plan.

Day 3
This was the tipping point. You know that bit about man not being able to live on bread alone? Well, I took it seriously and decided that if I was going to last the rest of the week, I ought to start getting some decent grub inside me. So I bought lentils, carrots and other things. I made Lentil and Bean Surprise. The surprise was that its taste failed to resemble that of any remotely edible food.

Day 4
The soap wasn't showing me the love as I found out that my hair now squeaked to the touch. And then there was the matter of hunger—it was starting to build. But so were my thoughts. Gradually I found myself thinking, reading and writing more about how my life usually revolves so firmly around my own wants and desires. Did it really have to be this way?

Day 5
OK, this was the low point. Friends came over for lunch, and I watched as they tucked into all the good stuff that was beyond my budget. Worse, my offer to let them try a little of my lentil and processed pea soup was taken up a little too enthusiastically. I watched in horror as they sucked up an entire portion that I'd earmarked as Day 6's breakfast.

Day 6
With 48 hours left and way less than a dollar in my pocket, I was glad of the invite to a family birthday party. It didn't seem like hypocrisy though, more like an offer marked by generosity and grace. I don't think I've enjoyed a meal out quite as much ever before.

Day 7
The last day and it was back to the beans and bread. But despite the prospect of getting back onto proper food, I found myself wanting to hold on to much of what I'd experienced during my week of Poverty Lite. More than cutting out dairy and caffeine, I ended the experiment with a rock-solid understanding that my life locked into the hamster wheel of consumerism was not a done deal.

And here I am, a few days after the experiment ended, and I'm sure of two things:

That what I call "liking nice things" or "looking after myself" or "spending the money which I earn to treat myself" has another name. Gluttony. Forget images of clinically obese, aging emperors gorging themselves on global delicacies, the truth about gluttony in the 21st century is that it wears a thousand perfectly respectable, blinking, flashing, shining, enticing masks. Gluttony is not the preserve of the ultra wealthy; it is the driver that powers our materialism.

And if I'm sure that I've got a long way to go, then I'm even more assured of this eternal truth: that change is possible, that my life does not have to conform, that nothing is written.

Craig Borlase is the author of God's Gravity: The Upside-Down Life of Selfless Faith (RELEVANT Books), which releases this week. You can read more about him and the wonderful world of lentils at his blog, Nothing Is Written, at www.craigborlase.com.