I’m giving up beer for a while. I’m fasting from beer because I am a saint. Who else gives up beer? Nobody but me. But even if I only have a couple of beers a week, that’s over $500 a year. More than what 40% of the people in the world make as income. I’m giving up beer. I am a saint. In it’s place, I’m sitting in a coffee shop with espresso machines whirring away and sipping on a $4.00 strawberry/banana smoothie. I am a hypocrite. I am the antagonist.

When I can’t sleep because I’m tossing and turning and crying thinking about all the poor people in the world, I turn on my $300 iPod and allow music and Wendell Berry essays to lull me to sleep. I am a saint. I am a hypocrite. I am running from my guilty thoughts.

I share 5% of my income to global small businesses via Kiva. 80% of the people I support through Red Cowboy are women. And all of them are in the third world. I’ve made 39 loans while the average user only has 2.4. I am a saint. Oh wait . . . I have a $2300 computer that’s 2 years old and I need a new one. A $1000 camera. And countless other little pieces of metal with little wires and little circuits. I am a hypocrite. I am full of shit.

I don’t watch television. The only show I watch is LOST. So maybe 2 hours a week. Tops. I tell myself I’m an intellectual and that I’m a better person for reading books rather than watching American Idol or Dancing With The Stars or insert any other reality show here. I am a saint. I tell myself this myth to make me feel better about my self. It’s a shame that we bought a $600 flat screen HD television to watch LOST and play the Wii. And I spent more time on my computer than 10 average people combined. I am a hypocrite. I am my own worst enemy.

I’m aware of the injustices that go into the global food market. I haven’t eaten fast food in almost a month, have given up soft drinks (for the most part), and only buy free-range meats. So I make my own blackberry jam, can my own pickles, and make whole-wheat organic bread. I am a saint. The only small catch being that I do so with a $100 bread maker and continue to eat out 2 or 3 times a week and over-eat when I do. I am a hypocrite. I go to sleep on a full stomach of Ben & Jerry’s $3 ice cream.

We use cloth shopping bags. Look at us. We don’t use god-awful plastic bags. We care about the environment. I am a saint. I’m glad I bought 5 of them when 2 would have done the job. I am a hypocrite. I care more about appearance than I do function.

I haven’t bought any clothes in nearly 6 months. And only a few things over the last year. Mostly from thrift stores. I never go to the mall except for movies. I don’t like to shop. I am a saint. But I take pride that my utilitarian jeans and solid shirts are more powerful than fashion. I enjoy looking plain. I enjoy feeling better than people stuck in the vicious cycle of trying to stay cool. I am so much better than them. I am a hypocrite. I am ashamed of my own thoughts.

I don’t buy books. I go to the library and check them out. I even am intelligent enough to read 1 a week. I read big books too. The big kind with 300+ pages and big words like Straussian and antinomy. The kind that talk about economics and theology. I am a saint. It’s almost comical that I pay hundreds of dollars for domain names and hosting space that is neither material or tangible so that I can blog and podcast my pretentious little thoughts for the world to see. Millions of people across the world own little to no physical property such as land, home, or necessities. I own a whole variety of “virtual worlds”. I am a hypocrite. I am a cyber landlord.

I don’t use gasoline lawn mowers. How brutish would that be? I have a manual reel mower and I cut my grass and pull weeds with my own bare hands and my own human strength. As the blades move manually as I walk, the sharp cutting sound is music to my ears. I sneer at the neighbors across the street. I make my own pillow from the feathers of cat tails in the neighborhood retention pond. I have reclaimed and reimagined the wasteland that is the suburbs. I am a saint. I lay my head on my pillow every night in a comfortable bed with sheets with high thread counts and down comforters. And two of my rooms sit empty while people sleep under boxes on the cold streets. My closet is full of clothes that I wear once every couple of months if at all. Perfectly good shoes sit on my shelf next to my extra blankets and coats. I am a hypocrite. I horde my privacy.

I am so thrifty and conscious. I’ve changed all of our light bulbs to compact fluorescents. We keep our house at 60 degrees in the winter and 76 degrees in the summer. We hang the majority of our clothes on drying racks. I drive a Vespa that gets 75 miles a gallon. I pass Hummers and use a choice word under my breath as I weave past them. I am a saint. Meanwhile I give my dog some of his $65 vitamins every night with his $30 dog food, his $5 treats, his $15 blanket, his $5 spray, and his $20 toys. When we go out of town, we pay $25 a night for him to get a good night’s sleep at a kennel. My dog lives, eats, and plays better than most of the children of the world.

I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I. I.

Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me.

I am a hypocrite. Hear me roar. I sip my smoothies and blog with my expensive technology. I listen to my indie music with my utilitarian wardrobe. Don’t mess with me! I give money to the poor. I pay extra to get our electricity from “green energy”. Come! Come follow me. Downward mobility is the way to go. But wait . . . I am not going downward. I’m accessorizing my middle mobility. This is not change I am doing. This is not life that I’m creating. I’m perpetuating a myth. I’m soothing my guilt. I am the great politicizer. The great moralizer. The great theorist! Come and hear my new theory on economics. I have something new to share with you about politics. Tomorrow I will espouse upon my new theology. My affluence grows and so does my imagination. Let me tell you about it. But first let me go throw up.

Ha!

I am broken. I am ashamed. I am full of shit. And that’s no where near harsh enough. Welcome to my inner dialogue every night.

Josh Brown is the creative director of Red Cowboy Designs (www.redcowboydesigns.com) in Atlanta, GA where he is currently experimenting with common living. He's an amateur brewer. Pipe Smoker. Mac Lover.  Husband. Soon-to-be-Father.

Josh has 7 plus years of full time church staff experience, but recently traded that in to be a full-time dreamer, co-creator, & adventurer. And he thinks all of this sounds rather pretentious.