I’m grateful for a sunny morning on the Pirate Balcony. I’m grateful for the coffee next to me and the light breeze. I’m grateful for new projects and new chances. I’m grateful for learning what’s real. I’m grateful to be sober today.
Song of the Week:
I was casting about, trying to come up with a worthy sotw, scrolled past this song, said to myself, “wait a minute, let’s listen to that.” We did. There is no hidden message in this song, or secret theme that I’ll try to draw out in weirdly Hallmark-esque fashion. It just seemed to fit the mood this morning—which is mostly good.
Life has a very different rhythm these days and for a routine-loving alcoholic like me, even good change requires some adapting. I’m struck every now and then by how different my life is, how different it was, and how have these years passed so quickly. I look at old photos sometimes and wonder whether that all really happened? It did.
I have a number of semi-obsessions, and one of those is time-travel. I’ve spent more time than I’d care to admit, puzzling through the potential logic of time travel. I will tell you that when you get down to details, it’s pretty f***ing complicated.1 Also, who wants to end up in a “Back to the Future,” “is that your mom?” moment?
Anyway, I’m not sure I have the whole time travel itinerary mapped out yet. When I let myself sit with some of the memories I have, when I think about the way things were, it does feel a little like I’m hurtling through a wormhole in another dimension, getting glimpses of what things were like, and how things felt. How much has changed. One of the core principles of my recovery has been accepting change. The “accepting” part of that means that I recognize that I’m not the one directing the changes, nor should I be the one trying to measure the changes against some imaginary made-up standard. Accepting change means just that.
Since it’s really not possible to write around any of the themes in “Mama Used to Say,” I’m just going to share a couple of random thoughts/ideas that are kicking around my head these days.
Not every moment is meant for me.
I have this Encyclopedia Brown investigating spiritual phenomena vibe going and I like to try and decipher the clues and breadcrumbs the Universe strews about. I walk around thinking about weird coincidences, glimpsing people, places and things that drive the hamster wheel into overdrive. What did that glimpse mean? Why did that happen?
One of the dangers inherent in this exercise is that the hamster wheel actually gets dangerously hot—it will be a while before you get the smell of burnt hamster fur out of your nostrils. I was investing very, very heavily in this exercise, looking for portents in every chance encounter. Then I realized this is exactly the way alcoholics think; I think there is language in the Big Book about about a play and a stage and who’s the Director. I also realized this one day:
It’s not all about me.
Maybe someone else needed to see me. Maybe the chance encounter, the random re-connection after many years, isn’t solely for my benefit? One of the hallmarks of alcoholism/addiction, I think, is the inability to correctly perceive not just our place in the Universe, but also the true nature of our relationships with other people. What we actually mean to other people.
In the olden days, I spent a lot of time sipping wine and sifting through clues. I was usually trying to prove that various people in my life did not hold me in the proper regard, and the litigator in me was pretty good about putting that case together. My mindset these days is that I have what I need, and what I need is the ability to show up for the next day and accept whatever happens and then so on. I don’t need to always know why, because it’s not always about me. That’s actually a very liberating thought—I find that it frees me to be me, and what happens after that is not determined by me.
Sponsorship is like a time-machine
and I have been talking about this, how working with sponsees takes you back to the days of early recovery, because that’s the reality the sponsees are living. Working with someone who is struggling to turn days into a week, much less an entire 30-days, brings up a lot of feelings and memories. For me, I think about all of the lies I told, the way I tried to manipulate my way through treatment attempts, how much I invested in evading accountability and how exhausting it was to run so hard from someone I could never outrun.
For sure, early recovery is hard, but I don’t want to make this sound all terrible and full of dread. There is also the thrill of seeing someone start to change, start to understand the process and eagerly grasping for the next hand-hold. That’s exciting and inspiring. Even when people relapse, watching them come back fills me with admiration and respect for the strength and courage the coming-back takes, and sadness, for what is lost every single time that happens.
I said to
the other day that I didn’t think I had another recovery in me. That’s probably dramatic and likely untrue (as are so many of my negative conclusions), but it’s maybe a useful thought/fear to keep handy. Not that I require dissuasion these days. But, just in case. Working with others in the Program keeps me connected to the early days of my struggle, the failures of my struggle, but most importantly, to the hope and faith that gradually suffused my life. The hope and faith that ultimately helped me get sober.Why creativity is important in recovery.
I know a fair number of alcoholic writers, and like them, writing has been an incredibly important part of my recovery. It’s not just writing, I have seen so many examples of hidden talents and pursuits emerging from the newly-recovered. I don't pretend to understand what creativity is or how it work, but the Big Book suggests that inspiration and intuition are products of a robust connection to a higher power. I’m down with that.
I also think that one of the other hallmarks of the alcoholic/addict brain is the ability to spin out unbelievably complex and real-seeming disaster movies in our heads. I can pretty clearly see the clear path between leaving dishes in the sink overnight and the eventual destruction of human civilization. Or, something like that.
I was sipping coffee on the Pirate Balcony and thinking about something I’d like to write; imagining the characters and parts of the plot. I realized this is precisely the kind of activity my brain loves; imagining a story and bringing it to life in my head. That sounds magical and unicornly-fantastic, but when it is applied to the theme, “ways people disrespect me and why,” well, things get dark.
I think writing takes over that crazy idea-spinning part of the brain, and hijacks it for purposes like this, or simply for a journal that no one will ever read. Instead of trying to parse the motives of the various people in my life, I can create completely made-up characters instead. Again, this is incredibly freeing, even if it’s never, ever shared with another person. The magic seems to be in the writing. Or in the painting or drawing or whatever creative pursuit gets you excited.
I sit out on the Pirate Balcony,2 mostly in the evenings and the mornings, and watch the hustle and bustle of the neighborhood slide past me. There is still a lot of uncertainty in my life and some pretty significant challenges lie ahead. I used to wake up in the early morning, stomach churning, head spinning, hamsters and me wondering how we would make it through the day. Things are very different now.
I wake up in the early morning most of the time, it’s hard to beat the sun these days, and make coffee. I’m often on the Pirate Balcony as the sun is rising over the sanitation facility on 91st street. There are still moments of doubt, anxiety and fear that wash over me, but when they retreat, as they always eventually do, I feel a sense of inner peace, quiet strength. That comes from acceptance and knowing that I don’t have to master the next moment, I just need to live it. There’s no use fretting about creating perfect moments, happiness comes from just accepting the next one and seeing the beauty in it. And then the one after that…
Happy Friday
I also think that any planned time travel has to first include a trip to find and eliminate Hitler? I think I’m right about this.
It’s called the “Pirate Balcony,” because it’s narrow like a plank that a pirate would make you walk.