I’m grateful for a lovely Thanksgiving. I’m grateful for a pretty excellent dinner. I’m grateful for a couple of me days coming up. I’m grateful for seeing things for the way they actually were. I’m grateful for trusting in what’s ahead. I’m grateful to be sober today.
Thanksgiving Day in Central Park.
I had a really great Thanksgiving and hope you did, too! I was a little unprepared, owing to my trip to Iowa, but decided to go the Farmers Market on Wednesday and accept that whatever I could find there would be Thanksgiving Dinner. Well, it was a Thanksgiving Cornucopia at Union Square and I came away with everything I needed, including a perfectly-sized, supposedly wild turkey. I set off for home, my bounty stashed in Agata & Valentina resuable bags, feeling a little like Miles Standish, if Miles Standish rode the NYC Subway.1
Perhaps you’ll not be surprised by this, I’m not a real stickler for following recipes. I mean, I do in a general sense, but I like to experiment a little bit, so I went largely recipe-less yesterday. One of the experiments was stuffing the turkey with little baby Brussels sprouts—I’m deeming that a delicious success. I made my grandmother’s glazed carrots—if you have lots of brown sugar, this is not too hard, either. I think the general view is that things were delicious—the gravy was maybe a bit salty.
Union Square on the day before Thanksgiving.
I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this,2 but I turn 60 on Monday. I have very mixed feelings on this topic, the birthdays ending in zero have not historically been great ones for me. When I turned 50, I had been in my first Intensive Outpatient Program (an "IOP"). It was my first real attempt to get sober and it was working: I had right around 60 days of sobriety. I had planned a trip to New York to mark my birthday and just generally reward myself. I think I knew the whole time that I was going to “celebrate” by relapsing. I say, “think I knew” to be nice to myself, the fact that I secretly went off my Antabuse a week in advance might be seen as evidence of intent.3
The next week I returned triumphantly to my small group at the IOP and talked about what a great sober birthday it was and shared all of the realizations that had come to me. I talked about walking across the Brooklyn Bridge and seeing this painted graffiti that said: “You feel weakest right before you get stronger,” and how hopeful that had made me feel. Then I tested positive at the break and back to Day One. That’s the kind of drinker I was. I’m glad to be able to say, “I was.” I’m pretty certain, even with a bit of ambivalence about the age that is attached to this birthday, it’s not going to end with me drinking.
That’s the shift that eventually happens, eventually there is freedom from the obsession. I’m not sure exactly how it happened for me, or how it happens more generally. To be honest, that’s kind of what I’m trying to figure out here every morning. I can tell you I had a spiritual awakening and I’d sure like to share the recipe with you, but I’m reluctant to do that, mine involved kind of a hard landing and lots of lots of pain for a lot of innocent people—not sure you’re going to want to try it exactly that way at home. Just like my Thanksgiving Dinner, I know the basic ingredients: Willingness, Openness, a little desperation, finally being able to be honest with myself, and a big, big spoonful of hope.
I think hope may be the neglected ingredient. When you hit the bottom and if there really is no hope left, well, I don’t think that ball is going to bounce anymore. There is plenty of desperation and fear at the bottom, but there also has to be hope, otherwise, why bother? Bill W. refers to this moment as the “jumping off” time. It’s the dangerous time after you’ve achieved self-honesty, the self-knowledge of just how far gone you are, coupled with the horrifying realization that the substance which has been at the center of life no longer does what it’s supposed to. Going on as before simply isn’t an option.
Looking back, I realize there was still a fair amount of hope left in the tank, even at the bottom. That’s probably what saved me. For sure, that’s one of the things I was giving thanks for yesterday. Also, my grandmother’s carrots.
Thanks for Letting Me Share
I tell you these things in the event you’d like to show up at Union Square some Saturday morning and be “in the know.”
This actually means I know I’ve mentioned this before but am trying to seem nonchalant.
Antabuse is a drug that makes drinking unbelievably unpleasant. It has been approved for use for more than 70 years. Dr. Ruth Fox called it the best treatment available in 1955. Why it’s not prescribed for more alcoholics? I’m not a doctor.