Doctor, My Eyes

I’m grateful for a Friday morning. I’m grateful for a soft morning breeze. I’m grateful for what I have. I’m grateful for the way the orange sun glimmers on the water. I’m grateful for my secret perch on the pirate balcony. I’m grateful to be sober today.

song of the week:

I took a long break from this song. I liked it a lot when it first came out, it was a song I always sang along to, if I could, which I usually couldn’t, owing to the close proximity of people who might hear me. I’m pretty shy about that.¹ To be honest, I always felt a little sheepish about really getting into this song, mostly because it seemed a little hysterical for a 15 year-old to be plaintively wondering:

Doctor, my eyes, 
Tell me what is wrong, 
Was I unwise, 
to leave them open for so long?

Spotify suggested this as an addition to the playlist, “What I’m Probably Listening to Right Now,” and I hadn’t listened to it for quite a while. Now it makes a lot more sense. It actually hits me pretty hard these days.

People go just where they will, 
I never noticed them until I got this feeling, 
that it’s later than it seems…

and this:

Doctor, my eyes, 
tell me what you see, 
I hear their cries, 
Just say if it’s too late for me

As I considered which video to post, one from 1978 showing Jackson Browne in his prime or this one—with a 75 year-old version of the same guy, I saw a little of my own evolution in there. So, you know which one I picked. I’m sorry to the younger people, this song really belongs to folks my age. Speaking of my age, I was surprised to learn (maybe not in the good way) that I’m actually older than vice-presidential candidate Tim Walz. OMG, I thought, “he looks old.”

Not to worry, I easily pass for 60, or even 59, so it’s all good. But still. It’s hard to be this age and not get reflective. It’s easy to start compiling the list of “what you had and what you lost,” to steal a line from Fleetwood Mac.² Some days, those lists both seem impossibly long.

Owing to my prolonged drinking career, and my very difficult path to sobriety, I lost a lot of time. I’m grateful to be sober, so grateful, I’ve actually posted a gratitude list every day for the last three years that always ends, “I’m grateful to be sober today.” But like everything in life, it comes with a cost.

Early sobriety is very, very tough, make no mistake. But there is also a deep sense of satisfaction, of triumph even, as the days turn into those first two or three years. The feeling of liberation, the ease and peace and calm that replace the fear and dread and chaos—well, that was when I really was spending my days on a succession of pink clouds. I had this sense, as the responsibilities and duties of the real world began to impinge on my pink cloud kingdom,

“Hey, can I get a break here? Isn’t it enough that I got sober?”

I think every alcoholic/addict has this moment where they wonder why they aren’t getting more credit for finally accomplishing this very, very, very difficult task—getting sober. I had a lot of moments like that,

“Hey, not sure if you noticed, but I’m sober now, so everything is fine.”

Sobriety and recovery are priceless jewels and I’m lucky to have finally found the path, but I had to learn that doesn’t necessarily resolve all of the issues I left behind, the hurt I did, the things I left undone. This is obviously where the 8th and 9th Step come in, and why I think it’s hard to accomplish those in the first year of sobriety, it’s hard to make amends for sins that you do not yet fully comprehend.

I have embarked on another round of amends and, of course, view this with a great deal of trepidation. I’m going to do some for the first time, some are going to get an “Amends, Part Deaux.” All are guaranteed a rollicking, good time. Actually, probably not. Facing up to the past is not easy. I look back on events in my life, the way I acted at crucial moments, the moments I created in the memories of the people who loved me, the moments I lived through, it’s enough to get that stomach to flip, lower the temperature of the blood flowing through me and make me want to look away, to not remember, to forget.

Unfortunately, like elephants, alcoholics never forget.

I think the Steps, and particularly the 8th and 9th, perform their magic by defanging shame. One of the potent drivers of this alcoholic’s drinking was shame and regret, the fear of having to answer for the things I had done. Alcohol was the fuel for my coyote-like rocket, as I attempted over and over again to make a clean exit from very difficult situations.

Of course, that never, ever worked. Not even one time.

The 1000 Deaths of Wile E. Coyote

I can get a little teary listening to “Doctor, My Eyes,” there’s maybe still a little too much of that wandering through this world, waiting as each moment unfurls, and yeah, maybe I feel like it’s been a long time waiting to awaken from these dreams. I definitely have the feeling that it’s later than it seems.

I’m at an age where my contemporaries are spending their time with grandchildren or on boats or playing an endless round of golf. I’m starting a brand new career and working pretty f****** hard. Sometimes I get envious. Sometimes I feel like I’m at a water balloon fight (these don’t happen often enough imho) and everyone else is chucking their balloons at each other and shrieking with laughter and excitement. I’m still at the spigot, trying to fill my balloon.

That’s me feeling sorry for myself. That’s actually a version of a lie I’ve been telling myself since around 1978:

Everyone else is having a great time, everyone else knows what to do, everyone else’s life is just better.

I drank for 45 years to try and live like I thought everyone else lived.

One of the things I had to come to believe to get sober, and keep believing to stay sober, is this: I’m placed exactly where I’m supposed to be at this moment. I think that’s called acceptance, scientifically, it’s simply the recognition of a force called gravity. I’m here and the only thing I can change about this moment, or the next one, is me. Myself.

A lot of those years I sometimes feel like I wasted, the years where I just couldn’t stop drinking, no matter what it cost me, were spent waiting for the cavalry, the sober cavalry, to ride in and save me. I was waiting for all of the people in my life to get their shit together so that I wouldn’t need to drink so much. I needed them to fix the holes in the fucking roof, where the rain kept coming in. If they would simply do what they were supposed to, I would be liberated from this very sticky barstool.

I finally got sober when I realized there was only one person I could change. I stayed sober every day I recognized that I was exactly where I needed to be, for that moment. That doesn’t mean things are static, that they stay the same. No, just the opposite, many days it feels like I’m trying to stand on the heaving deck of a pirate ship, or one of those annoying people on the subway who think they can balance without hanging on.³ The only person I can change is me. I lack the power to still the waves around me, I can only still my own fears of them.

It turns out, that’s enough. Do I have a lot of regrets in life? Yes. Are many of them unexpressed? Yes. Can I do something about that? Yes. I’m placed at this moment for reasons I’m sure I can’t understand and that extend well beyond me. The feelings of discomfort that wash over me periodically? That’s called growth, and it kind of sucks sometimes.

I know this sounds kind of sad or unhappy. It’s not. I have a default level of happiness in my life, an emotional floor, so to speak. It was constructed as I began to disbelieve another of my self-lies, as I began to realize that I was enough for the world, as is. I realized that as long as I stayed sober and true to myself (that means authenticity and vulnerability), I was living the life that was meant for me.

I definitely am due for a visit to the opthalmologist, my glasses shuttle on and off, depending on what I need to look at, and I’m famous for not recognizing people in the wild. I know now the problems didn’t come from keeping my eyes open too long. Things went bad because I forgot to keep them open. It’s what I looked away from that did the damage.

No more. My eyes are wide-open these days, to be honest, there are days when that sucks. When things happen that I wish wouldn’t. When I have to sit with my own fears and disappointments, when I’m forced to listen to the sadness inside. I spent years and years drunkenly chasing peace and happiness; it turns out it was right here all along. I just needed to open my eyes.

Happy Friday.

1. And yet, karaoke…

2. They were so close this week.

3. You can’t. Especially on the curve out of GCT on the Express 6.