I’m grateful for the way things feel new. I’m grateful for learning how to let things go. I’m grateful for a return to some old stomping grounds. I’m grateful for change. I’m grateful for demands and obligations. I’m grateful to be sober today.
song of the week:
Well, well, well, I guess you didn’t see me first.1 It’s both good and strange to be back writing. I’m not sure how to describe this summer, which appears to be gracefully bowing out this weekend. It was a summer where a bunch of things that I thought wouldn’t happen, actually happened. It was a summer of loss. It was a summer of coming to terms with my dad’s death.
What I mean by “coming to terms” is not about accepting the fact that he has died, it’s about feeling the complicated swirl of feelings that his death has provoked. I am sort of a newbie when it comes to this processing of emotions and feelings thing. I used to handle situations like this by filling a slender glass with an almost golden-colored elixir, a potion handed down by the gods themselves, pausing with anticipation over the fragrant but mineral-y scent and then guzzling three or four back in quick succession. Whatever thoughts, feelings, emotions, or fears that were getting “processed” in there, got washed away in a flood of sauvignon blanc.
One thing I’ve thought a lot about is how little I’ve thought about drinking. I’ve heard lots of stories about grief and death bringing on a relapse and I can see why. I know my mom (and probably others) were concerned about me in the days right after my dad’s sudden death, but it never really crossed my mind as something I would do, much less something I would want to do.
With a little luck, I’ll be celebrating six years of sobriety this October and I guess that is something I’ve been thinking about a lot—the path I ended up walking, the way I got sober. I think the me of 2022 or 2023 might have been more at-risk; the me of 2025 has finally accepted the idea that things actually don’t get better when I drink, the bad things don’t get less bad and the good things don’t become better, even with the very liberal application of that flinty, glinty light gold magic in a glass.
I tried writing a bit after my dad died, but kind of just hit a literal wall. I really couldn’t find words, couldn’t think of anything to say. In the immediate few weeks following his death, I just felt a heaviness descend and a lot of things just started to feel impossible. Things like walking the three or four blocks to the subway, going to the park, making dinner, just seemed way too hard.
The depressive feelings would part a bit on Sunday mornings. I’ve mentioned my church-of-the-week thing, wherein I maintain a “roster” of churches and visit them as the mood strikes me. One thing I found in my summer church expeditions was that no matter where the pew I was sitting in was, it was a place where my heart would open up. What I mean by that is that I sit in those wooden pews, listen to the music I’ve listened to my whole life on Sunday mornings, and suddenly, I’m very, very emotional.
The first time I went to sleep-away rehab, I was making the very wrenching phone calls to family and friends to let them know that I’d be off the grid for the next 28 days or so. These phone calls always devolved into tears on my part—which I very much did not like. A very good friend told me, as I was crying on the phone with him,
those tears are how you know that God is near.
I can’t prove or disprove the existence of God. TBH, I think that exercise is on about the same level as the debate over whether Luke Skywalker or Captain James T. Kirk would prevail in a fight.2 I choose to believe there is some force or power, much greater than myself, that somehow organizes things or sets things in motion. I also believe that when I acknowledge this power, when I make an effort to attune to it, the things that happen next make this weird kind of sense. It’s not that everything that happens next is what I wanted or how I wanted it, but I can see the universe kind of likes finishing those circles. As I’m fond of saying,
The things that are supposed to happen, generally do happen.
Anyway, I ended up taking a few weeks off from this writing gig. I just felt empty and didn’t really have anything that I really felt like saying. I’ve done a lot of reflecting and also have spent some time perusing the archives here. I don’t know if you knew this, but we’ve done a literal shit ton of writing. As I’ve perused this vast assemblage of alcoholic words on paper, I’m thinking it’s time to come up with some new approaches. I’m not 100% sure what that means, but I’m thinking that what with it being Fall and schools starting and what-not, that a back-to-basics thing would probably be a good idea. Watch this space.
Last thing today, I wanted to share the latest from someone who I think is on to something:
Read this. Tatiana has been a guest on the podcast and I think “Brazenface” is a fantastic account of what happens when you set out to find yourself. I completely agree that the “messaging” and “branding” around sobriety needs to be changed. It is too often expressed in terms of having given something up, and we even measure the significance of the change by the period of time we’ve given the thing up for. This calendar-based approach may be a useful, but very limited way to look at it.
If I only counted up how many days I didn’t drink, I’d miss the enormous change that has washed over me, the transformation that took hold once I committed to this journey to find myself. That journey surely started when I was able to stop drinking, but it isn’t measured or valued by the length of time I’ve been on that path. It’s properly measured and valued by what I’ve found along the way. Peace, love and understanding.3
Happy Friday. It’s good to be back.
This is a reference to that joke where someone says “see you later,” and you reply, “not if I see you first.” It was very funny in the 5th Grade.
C’mon, the phaser won’t be set to stun. Do you know the scene from one of the early Indiana Jones movies where the guy has this sword and does this whole menacing routine with it and then Indy pulls out his revolver and just shoots the guy? yeah, like that.
And now we are left wondering why that’s not the sotw.
Glad to see you back, looking forward to new musings in the Fall. I’m sorry to hear about your dad; sober grief can provide a lot of fuel for growth, but it hurts too…..
Welcome back!