I’m grateful for Friday morning and Xmas on the way. I’m grateful for a quiet sunrise and a sunny morning. I’m grateful for seeing I only have to be myself. I’m grateful for carrying a lighter load. I’m grateful to be sober today.
song of the week:
It’s not that I feel a need to explain myself, however…
I had another song in mind late in the day yesterday, this would have been really good if I had gone with that. But I started thinking this morning that today’s runner-up sotw wasn’t really “Christmassy” enough.
That took me to a very weird place in the Universe, and this video, which reminds me of another Xmas I’ll never have:
I don’t think there was ever a George Michael Christmas Special, somehow this reminds me of the old Andy Williams-Claudine Longet Christmas Special—even down to the part where the ex(?) shows up on the very same ski trip? RIP Spider Sabich.1
But why isn’t “Last Christmas,” the sotw? Why are we already on Point No. 4? Why are these numbered today?
I’ll answer that with a question: Is there a song that better encapsulates the true meaning of Christmas than the sotw? Also, never really been a fan of “Last Christmas.”
Before you answer that, I should disclose that “Everything She Wants” figured prominently in a playlist that is somehow entitled, “No, I’m not Bitter.”
Is there a better example of “irrational exuberance” than Wham in the 1980s?
The runner-up sotw had a much cleaner transition to the whole sobriety thing. I do get how hard the holidays are for lots of people, seeing the images like in “Last Christmas,” used to stir up this hotpot of FOMO and regret and self-pity. Everyone else was having such a great time, there was so much cheer and light and warmth, and then there we were, folding chairs again. Perhaps the mood further lightened (?) by the festooning of a string of lights or two and alcoholics donning festive Santa caps, another AA Christmas.
I don’t mean to mock, I’ve done that for a number of Christmases and I know how hard it is. I used to put a lot of energy into the side-dish I was going to make for the AA potluck. There’s kind of a double-whammy waiting for you as a divorced father of grown children; they have their own lives and there are multiple stops on the holiday tour, all of which contributes to solitary holidays.
I’m not going to say it’s great, but like everything else in life, it’s kind of what you make it. I used to lead the kind of life where the refrigerator was packed with invitations and between child-connected events and work-related events and friends, it was an exhausting three-week whirl; there were lots of fun things and lots and lots of drinking.
We’re all different, I don’t really have a problem with other people drinking around me. I’m pretty open about my status and have developed enough confidence in the benefits of my sobriety that I don’t feel a sense of shame or fear when I’m not drinking at an event where other people are drinking a lot. Interestingly, I find it goes the other way more than I originally thought. Me not drinking does tend to really make some folks really uncomfortable, but there’s not much I can do about that.
I would say the larger problem with the alcohol-fueled holiday festivities is that they can tend towards the dumb side. Meaning, there is little that is harder to bear, as a recovering alcoholic, than the vapid, weirdly intense and oft-repeated “conversations” with drunk people. Those interactions don’t often leave me with much yearning for the olden days.
What does is seeing other people having uninhibited fun. Like many of us, I was a bit awkward, nerdy for sure, and possessed of kind of an odd sense of humor (the humor part not always being so evident). This led to a lot of standing in places that were exactly contrary to the immortal words of Kool and the Gang: “Get your back up off the wall.” This was the backdrop for one of the central self-lies of my alcoholism:
Drinking was necessary for successful interactions with other people.
When I watch people whooping it up on the dance floor at a party or a wedding or whatever, I’m vaguely envious. When I see people laughing in raucous, flirty conversations, I’m vaguely envious. I remember some of my own-alcohol fueled exploits, especially around this time of year, and I can see that one of the things that was so gratifying about drinking was that it enabled me to do things that I thought generated positive attention.
I’m only vaguely envious when I see the drinking life on display again, because I know what’s at the bottom of every glass: A need to be seen and appreciated and maybe even loved. A need to be the center of attention for someone, a need for attention from people generally. None of that is terribly bad at all, it’s just that stands in for the real problem, that pesky hole in the middle of life that resists filling, no matter how popular you are on the dance floor.
I’m not sure which adult thought the whole self-relighting birthday candles were so uproariously funny, but they kind of remind me of the hole back in my drinking days. There was no amount of hole-filling attention that would actually last more than a few hours or a couple of days, max. Then it was back to the needy alcoholic, seeking validation and acceptance from others, and demanding it when it was not freely given fast enough. When I think back, it’s almost like I wanted to see someone else jump in the lake first, show me that it was safe to love myself.
And that’s the thing that is at the core of the alcoholic and addict (and maybe everyone), a sense that we are unloveable. I kind of hate terms like that, because somehow they get turned into things like massages or shopping, which are not really the point. For me, self-love is about acceptance and developing confidence that I have value just in being myself, that doing that is what positions me for the next right thing to happen. I have to have the confidence that whatever that “next right thing” is, I’ll still have value and worth. Entrances and departures in life don’t denote a lack of self-worthiness, that’s simply what’s necessary for the next moment. Or when things aren’t meant to be.
I spend some time trying to image what life would be like if I had done this or that. I don’t ascribe to the view that I was somehow pre-destined to be exactly where I am, that I was meant to be here from the beginning. I think there is a lot of randomness and beauty in life and that there are very many possible paths. None of them intrinsically better or worse, they just reflect different choices and events. The central challenge of life, I believe, is finding a way to learn whatever it is that I’m supposed to learn with every turn of the wheel, every sunrise.
I very much ascribe to the view that to the extent things are meant for me, they can only find me when I’m being myself. Alcohol was a tool I employed to be a person that other people would love and desire. The problem is that I wasn’t that person and couldn’t keep up the charade for very long. That required more drinking and led to the development of resentments, chief among them, I’m not appreciated for who I am, for being me. Ha. We alcoholics can be so clever, did you see how I did that?
The person who didn’t appreciate the person I was, was me.
This is a hard time of the year to be alone or to feel less than, compared to all of the normal holiday revelers. There isn’t a magic solution. Well, there is, it just takes some time. I think the Twelve Steps are a bit of archaeology, uncovering the person I was. It’s not possible to feel self-love, to recover from addiction, without understanding and accepting oneself. That sounds super-basic, how could you live any other way? Drinking helps.
No, what helps is working the Steps and finding ways to be of service to others, and being true to thine own self. The magic that happens is a bit subtle, and sometimes takes a bit of practice to spot. Not to ruin a holiday surprise, but I’ll wake up on Christmas morning feeling so much joy and happiness that the people I love are happy, even if they aren’t in the next room. That I am where I am, that I’m happy and healthy, that I have no idea where I’m really headed or what I’ll find next, but that wherever I go, there is always a way in front of me.
The hole, the feeling that other people are more popular, better dancers, funnier, attract more attention, is what has magically shrunk. Pretty much disappeared. Whatever those funnier, more attractive, better dancers are looking for, isn’t what I’m after. Maybe it’s meant for them, but it was never meant for me. Every minute that I wasn’t myself was a minute that other people couldn’t connect, appreciate or love me. There was no amount of dancing or drinking that could ever change that.
The holidays are special to me because they’re slower, there’s a chance to reflect and appreciate the things and people that are a part of my life. They mark the passage of another year and they remind me of the so-many people I’ve loved and who have loved me. The magic that I was talking about is not of the “Wham! There’s a rabbit in my hat!”2It’s the joy of feeling connected to my own life and the people I love, wherever they are and whatever day it is.
Happy Holidays.
It feels like celebrities don’t kill each other as much as they used to.
Very weak cheese, as they used to say.