I’m grateful the sun is out and for a gorgeous morning. I’m grateful for a chance to clean up the garden. I’m grateful for putting words on pages. I’m grateful for red pens. I’m grateful for being where I'm supposed to be. I’m grateful to be sober today.
In other news, the sun came up this morning. This is exciting, in part, because I will shortly have an opportunity to test a hypothesis I’ve been working on during this very Noah-like October.1 Since the soggy advent of Fall, my court-time has been limited and during this same period of time, I’ve noticed my knees don’t hurt as much. For example, I haven’t been calling out the name of our Lord and Savior every time I arise from a seated position.2 Today’s test: Will playing basketball help or hinder my knee rehabilitation process? I know, I know—you’re saying, isn’t the connection pretty clear? I’m going to tell you, in response, that I’d like a few more tests to rule out any other possible external causes.
Speaking of which, I had dinner last night with a friend I hadn’t seen for a while. S. was one of the miraculous people who came into my life two Falls ago. I give him full credit as one of the people who truly helped save my life. That first barren Fall, he and I would sit outside at the Gracie Mews diner, coats and hats against the cold, we’d talk and he helped me find my way a step at a time.3 It was his idea that I start writing a gratitude list.
I celebrated my first year of sobriety with S. that first October in New York and I will celebrate another in just a few weeks. Things haven’t gone as well for S., he relapsed that next Spring and has struggled to put time together since. S. is brilliant, incredibly successful, dynamic, funny, smart—he has literally everything in the world going for him—he just can’t stop drinking. He’s always bumping around 90 days and then going back out again. He doesn’t know why. He expresses a lot of combat fatigue, he’s been fighting this fight for a long time. Of course, I see myself in him and it breaks my heart to see that reflection across the table. I can see the puzzlement, the pain, the slowly-crushing despair, the fear that I’m one of those poor unfortunates who could maybe taste a little of sobriety, but could never maintain it.
S. and I talked about why it wasn’t working for him, he bemoaned his lack of discipline and self-control. Why didn’t he have more will power? He said to me, “How did you do it?” Here’s someone who had a front row seat, even a backstage pass to my miracle and, like me, he isn’t completely sure what happened or how. Well, maybe I’m starting to get clearer on it.
I told him as long as the exercise was about stopping drinking, I was miserable and a miserable failure at staying sober. Also, everyone around me was miserable. I would characterize that approach as one that generally brings misery to all involved. I actually felt a little sheepish, but then I said it,
“I had the spiritual awakening they talk about in the Big Book.”
I don’t know where or how or what immediately preceded the awakening. I just know it happened and that it slowly changed how I looked at everything.
Explaining this and sounding rational to someone who is exceedingly rational and pretty brilliant felt daunting. I leaned across the table and said, “maybe this is a little insane, but isn’t this kind of like Bill’s dinner with Ebby”—just at a Japanese restaurant on the Upper East Side.4 I explained that I thought part of Bill’s reaction was “this guy got sober and I can’t?” In Bill’s view, Ebby was way further down the scale, a real hopeless alcoholic, unredeemable. Except that Ebby sat across the table one evening and told Bill that he was sober and couldn’t really explain it other than saying he'd experienced a spiritual awakening. I think Bill’s competitive instinct was part of the spur—”I want what that guy has.”
S. listened pretty intently and then said that the thing he hadn’t really tried was reading the Big Book and really working the Steps. I told him how reading the Big Book aloud, line by line, with another alcoholic, was what gave shape to the idea growing in me, had tended that tiny flame in me. It wasn’t that flowery last night, I think I said, “You know, reading the Big Book really helped me,” but you get the idea.
We finished dinner and chatted for a little longer. I told him I’d love to go to a meeting with him sometime, roughly anytime. I told him that I’d be happy to read the Big Book with him sometime, too, if he was interested.5 He smiled and said, "Maybe I should." We said our goodbyes and he turned right on 75th Street.
My grandfather was an exceptional fly fisherman and I have some of the better examples of his fly-tying framed—I think they’re pretty artistic. Anyway, if you want to catch fish when fly fishing, mastering the art of presentation is pretty critical.6 Even if you have the perfect fly, the crippled Mayfly pattern that works wonders even in crystal-clear spring creeks, and a perfectly-knotted leader and tippet, you better have the perfect drift and know how to make that quick, subtle mend so the line doesn't create drag on the fly as it crosses the trout's field of vision. If you do all of that exactly perfectly, about 1 in 7 times the fish will decide he wants it. Then there's the fight and the need to keep the line tight and landing and releasing, but the first thing is the presentation and hoping he wants it.
He may not have enjoyed the encounter, but he did survive it.
To be clear, I’m not trying to trick anyone into biting something sharp. I know about patience and I know sometimes you have to cast to the same spot a few times to get the attention of whoever is hiding down there. I know the importance of telling the story of my transformation as simply as possible and with as little adornment as possible. Presentation here involves honesty and authenticity and just sitting across the table and putting that inner peace and calm on display.
The whole fishing metaphor is pretty apt when it comes to the subject of sobriety and redemption and I certainly didn’t come to it first. I’m not sure there are more exciting moments than when you have a fly drifting perfectly over a spot where you know a big fish is hiding, except for that 1 in 7 moment when the fly twitches below the surface and the line tightens. That’s a pretty f****** exciting moment.
I think I had a pretty good drift last night,
Thanks for Letting Me Share
What month was Noah’s big month? He’s definitely on my list of alcoholic achievers, along with U.S. Grant and Winston Churchill. We do have some heavy hitters on our team.
Growing up, we were not permitted to exclaim “Jeez” or “Geez.” Why? Because it was short for the name of our Lord and Savior. I had a hard time imagining the Holy Spirit calling out “Hey Jeez!” as a friendly greeting when he saw the Son of God. But whatever.
Note: 1st Avenue is pretty much a wind tunnel, so coats and hats didn’t help that much.
This is a really good place and when K. is in town she often requests a visit. That’s all I’m going to say because it’s already getting hard to get a table. Sorry.
I think the subheading of “Working with Others” should be “Just be Cool.”
As the saying goes, “it’s called fishing and not catching, for a reason.” Or something like that. Here’s one I know for sure, straight out of my grandfather’s mouth: “Never leave fish to find fish.”
I’m grateful for a beautiful day! i’m grateful for finally getting above 95. I’m grateful for my tutor helping me literally every step of the way. I’m grateful for random calls from my grandfather. I’m grateful for slow days at work. I’m grateful for pumping spice candles. I am grateful for my new comforter set and body pillow. I’m grateful to be clean today.