I’m grateful for the funny things that happen. I’m grateful for seeing how I got here. I’m grateful for the moments when I feel less alone. I’m grateful for fresh sheets and spring mornings. I’m grateful for chances for things to be different. I’m grateful to be sober today.
Happy Friday. I had a really marvelous time in Boston, got to spend time with family, got to teach a class (including telling MBA students how the Internet worked in 1996), and, of course, got to walk around a truly beautiful city on classic spring days. And by “classic spring days,” I mean rainy. I got back to NYC on Wednesday afternoon, attended to some things and then set out for a walk of undetermined purpose or destination.
I had my airpods in and scooted across the big intersection at 86th Street on the blinking orange light, which meant I could make the hard right turn (west) on 86th Street, just as the light turned white. I love when the timing works like that. I drifted south as I crossed the street, hop/skipped the curb and powered up the mini-hill that crests after the dry cleaners, just on the other side of 85th Street. Another hard right on 85th Street, good luck if you’re tailing me, because I’ve got a great view from the window reflections and those turns clear the baffles, for sure.
I hadn’t been in the greatest of moods. There’s a fair amount of uncertainty in front of me, and returning to my lovely, but kind of solitary life, always has a little tinge of sadness, missing the days with the kids when you didn’t have to leave. That had been the melange of thoughts combining in my head all afternoon. My immediate objective was a coffee place on 84th Street and from there, who knew? Walk until I outpaced the dark thinking was mostly my plan.
After that complicated, multi-block S-turn maneuver, I throttled back slightly and headed west on 85th Street. I let out a long breath of regret, fear and other nonsense, shook my head (yes, pretty much like dogs do) and looked up at the trees. The leaves were that bright, almost neon shade of NYC spring green, there was a soft breeze and a big headline thought popped into my head: “We’re home.”
I was thinking about how deeply rooted I am here, even though it hasn’t even been three years yet. I was thinking how much I felt at home, and how I hadn’t really felt that way, emphasis on “felt that way,” for a long time. All of the fears, worries, concerns, regrets began to move from the “intractable” bucket into the “we’ll figure that out” one and I felt much, much lighter. I may not have much of a clue about what I’m doing on a broader level, but I at least feel like I’m in the right place.
Actually, I’m pretty sure of that. I don’t think the passage about “Acceptance” on page 417 of the Big Book came from an oracle nor do I think it is a statement of fact that “nothing in this world happens by mistake.” Oh wait, I left out the word “God.” Because a ton of nonsense happens in my world by mistake. I think that’s the point. When I’m connected to “God’s World,” I don’t know if it’s a 100% mistake and accident-free workplace, but it feels like the odds go down pretty significantly.
I think that statement on page 417 is an article of faith. My own conception of God is not George Burns or Morgan Freeman handing out sage, but strangely ironic advice.1 My own conception is some kind of loosey-goosey force or power or combination of forces and powers that mysteriously and magically propels and connects things and people. There aren't mistakes in that world because it's an "Is" world. Meaning that's what "is." As an alcoholic, living with what "is" was exactly what I didn't want to do. I built my own alternate reality, my own palace of resentments and deceptions and excursions and diversions. The key that unlocked the magnificent gate to that opulent place of self-worship was at the bottom of the third or fourth glass of Sauvignon Blanc.2
I think spring in New York is highly-underrated. Seeing the hints of renewal and growth in a sometimes kind of gritty urban environment fosters hope in me. Everyone is different and has their own place. It took me a long time to find mine. From here, I don’t know where the path goes and while I sure would appreciate some certainty, I understand the thing that allows me to continue on the path is faith. Faith is a muscle and it only gets stronger when it’s put to use. The problem is, it requires you to believe in things you can’t prove. Faith can be bolstered by a track record of recent events, but it is a philosophical step into darkness.
Actually, it wasn’t dark at all on Wednesday afternoon. It wasn’t exactly bright and sunny either. I drink enough coffee that my multi-day absence had been noted at my spot, I walked out after a quick chat, a skim Cortado and two of the cookies I like in hand. I crossed 2nd Avenue and headed towards Central Park. I allowed myself a quick “life is good” thought as the first sip of bitter coffee hit these aging taste buds. Actually, life just “is” and that is what is good. I smiled as I walked by the doggy day care place and watched the dogs cavort. When I turned to look ahead, well, there was a penny. I sure would like to know how he does that.
Matthew McConaughey might be closer from a personality fit perspective.
Not unlike the excellent toys that were concealed in cereal boxes once upon a time.
Excellent post. Are you on the East Side or the West Side?
LOL, the Charlotte, NC part. I haven’t lived in Brooklyn since 1980, but wherever I roam my feet are ever on Brooklyn concrete.