On Not Eating: What a 22-Day Fast Taught Me About Silence, Social Media, and Sanity

I recently spent 22 days not eating. Not as a punishment, not to shrink a waistline, not as some preposterous political statement (though the way some people tweet about Oreos, you’d think insulin resistance is a campaign platform). No, I fasted because I needed clarity—and discipline. Because the world has become so full of noise that the only sane act left sometimes is to shut everything off, including your own digestion. This is NOT a recommendation as it is a dangerous thing to do especially for those who haven’t done it before.

I intended three days. Then a week. Then, as I always tend to do, I pushed the bar to fourteen. Ultimately, I landed at twenty-two. Not quite biblical, but enough to qualify me for the next round of “Are You Okay?” texts from extended family and the occasional DM that began with “bro…” and ended with “—just eat something.”

What I Didn’t Do

During the fast, I didn’t write as much. I didn’t argue with strangers online about the metaphysical implications of tariffs, or whether Ron DeSantis was wearing lifts. I didn’t feel compelled to respond to political dopamine bait packaged as “breaking news.” And strangely, I didn’t miss any of it. I was on from time to time, but easily disengaged as people drive themselves to nonsensical places.

Instead, I read Paul. Yes, that Paul—the apostle. And though I’m an atheist, as anyone who’s heard me on spaces or read my Substack knows, I still find something sublime in the Bible and in the case of Paul how the man wrestled with the interior self. Paul, like all great thinkers, understood that clarity does not come from indulgence, but from absence. Fasting, in this light, was less a diet than a dialogue.

What I Did Do

I thought more about my family. I spent more time outside. I began the slow, deliberate shaping of a book (more on that soon). I remembered the contours of silence and how useful they are when everyone else is flailing to be heard.