When You Actually Believe Things
And announcing Field Sobriety Guide No. 01!
I’m grateful to be back out on the pirate balcony. I’m grateful for my home. I’m grateful it’s sculpting and not excavation. I’m grateful for the way mistakes sharpen my vision. I’m grateful to be sober today.
Sometimes you realize you might have been asking the wrong question?
Much to discuss, summer has ended, some other things ended and, well, here we are. There are times when the future seems fresh, exciting and invigorating, and then there are other times, when the future seems a lot more like a Dudley Do-Right conveyor belt, huge buzzsaw dead ahead, type of affair.1
I was sitting on the pirate balcony earlier this morning, coffee on ledge, sun in face, trying to sort through my day. What am I going to try and accomplish? What’s the top of the priority list, when there are like 19 things to do?2 Moments of clarity aren’t always great moments and this one struck me.
I’ve mentioned my friend John, the minister of a church I used to attend in DC, back when I was in and out (mostly out) of sobriety. I had happened on the quaint little church completely by accident, shortly after moving into my post-divorce digs in the Logan Circle neighborhood. I went to a service on a Sunday morning, probably with some kind of a “go to church, then it’s kind of cool to go to brunch” plan in place.
It’s a win-win, right, Big Guy?
You can kind of see the problem, right there; the way I’m trying to wheedle God. Anyway, this service had incense, and annointing stuff going on, an amazing energy in the place, I felt it right away. The best part was the sermon. They often started with an Emily Dickinson poem and then wove those themes through whatever the liturgical lens of the day happened to be. I know this sounds so trite, but I’d take my notebook with me on Sunday mornings, knowing that I’d spend a good amount of time making notes about how I was going to get sober, inspired by church, sitting at a bar.
Again, you can kind of see the problem. So, this morning on the pirate balcony, coffee in hand, something hit me kind of hard. There wasn’t any mean or malice in the hit, just a good hard tackle. The things ahead of me are the things ahead of me. When you really believe things like, “the things that are supposed to happen, generally do happen,” well, that can have some downsides, too.
Not that the direction is set. Not by any means. One of the best sermons I heard at that church in DC revolved around the famous quote by Michelangelo about sculpting:
I created a vision of David in my mind and simply carved away everything that was not David.
This particular sermon went on to describe the sometimes violent nature of sculpture. To the extent rocks have feelings, the prospect of being “hewn” into “art” can’t feel great. That’s where this sermon went, and it included a line I wrote down later at the bar:
and with every blow of the hammer, we are made that much more perfect, that much closer to his image, that much closer to the people we are meant to be.
Here’s what I realized this morning: When you really believe that the things that are supposed to happen, generally do happen, then they will. The problem: One doesn’t get to set conditions around that. If you really believe in that stuff about the strength of the signal and listening to one’s heart being the definition of courage, you very quickly get to the spot where that becomes very necessary. That part about “you held on to you,” also contains an implicit, potential warning about bracing for impact. 3
I have lots of snappy sayings I’m hoping to popularize one day, one of which is something along the lines of “there’s a certain liberty in not having a choice.”4 That’s life, one attempts to plunge in a forward direction; it’s worth noting that in football, depending on down and distance, “falling forward” can be an incredibly valuable skill.
As I walked in from the balcony to refresh my coffee and my recollection, I laughed out loud. I’m a big believer in emotional anniversaries and you know what this last weekend was? Well, for you, it was Labor Day. For me, it was my triumphal, non-cloak or palm frond-strewn, arrival in New York.
That explained some of the feelings, but actually increased the intensity, ex post facto, of that very big sideline hit. Things come in circles, I think, which makes life pretty complicated for someone who is spatially-challenged. So, here’s been one of my secret projects. I know how hard it was for me to finally come in and get sober. I began writing as a way of trying to figure out what had happened, what had changed and what still needed to change. I have kind of an operational bent, so that’s how I approached sobriety, also with a fair amount of that piratey strain of MacGuyverism once known as the BSA: “Boy Scouts of America.”
You have heard me speak of the Field Sobriety Guides, well they are very close to being an actual thing. And I have the proof right here5:
What I am sharing with you, my loyal and much beloved subscribers, is close to a final draft of Field Sobriety Guide No. 1: Am I Lost? These will live up in the “Field Sobriety Guide” tab on the website. And yes, there are plans for more. Next on the assembly line is a gratitude journal—which as you might know, is also kind of a thing with me. Anyway, this is a draft, so please be cool with it and try to avoid focusing too much on the typos that are inevitably noticed shortly after calling something “final,” or even “near final.”
Here’s another thing:
and I do this because it helps keep us sober. That’s why we started this and why we keep hammering away at it. We write this because we love it, we find power and freedom in sharing our stories, and have the hope of all alcoholics, that our experience can help someone else. That’s why the Big Book has all of those stories, by the way.Here’s the point, and the big pitch: We’re always going to do this for free, it’s too important to us. But we could sure use, and would really love, your support. I re-jiggered the pricing for subscriptions and we even set up a referral program, meaning that if you refer us free subscribers, we’ll turn you into a swanky “paid subscriber.”6
I would urge you not to think of this through an ROI filter. I like to think that if we met in real life and had a chat or two on the some of the subjects discussed herein, you might be willing to buy me or Jane a coffee.7 This would be less than that, and also, it just would mean an awful lot to us.
And here’s a way to do it, that doesn’t involve actual cash: Just give up your friends. When they subscribe, you get paid.8
I’ve wanted to be a writer my entire life. Specifically, I wanted to be a writer living in New York, my entire life. I’m not sure I’d recommend this particular path, yours needs to be different, but for me, I think it’s leading me exactly where I need to go. 9 The things that are supposed to happen, generally do happen.
Again, the placement of the saw in those cartoons? There’s a pretty disturbing image for you. Again, 1970’s!!
I really think I have some kind of attention deficit disorder, that would be another reason I found alcohol so useful.
Is “implicit, potential,” potentially redundant?
Or something like that, it’s still a draft. “You’d better have your shit in a can,” has been final for sometime.
Is this a pun?
I’m going to be honest, the “perks” of paid membership are still subject to modification.
You’re way more likely to want to buy Jane’s coffee.
Very indirectly.
If you actually know where that is, I’d appreciate a directional point.