On the Careful Use of Superpowers

I’m grateful for chances to say thank you. I’m grateful for knowing what is. I’m grateful for soft, spring days and long walks in the park. I’m grateful for lightness, freedom and meaning. I’m grateful to be sober today.

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song of the week1:

This has been a week of miracles. Truly. Maybe not all of them would register with you, or you might not agree with the tag, “miracle.” That’s ok, there was a time when I wouldn’t have either, and getting glimpses of that and seeing how things change, well, that’s another miracle. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Here are some of the miracles that happened this week:

Miracle No. 1. Adorable B. (my grandson) has rolled over—they boy is not even three months old yet. This is going to drive a lot of people crazy, but it’s pretty clear to me that the boy definitely has the pirate gene. A very, very underrated part of this is hearing the wonder in my daughter’s voice, pure love and excitement, as B. gets his roll on, teetering slightly on his side and then surprise, surprise, he’s on his back. This one is a pig-in-a-blanket miracle, layers and layers of miracles being presented: watching a baby develop is mind-blowing, watching my daughter become a mom is more beautiful than I could have imagined; re-animating those feelings I had when K was a baby has been just magical.

I really didn’t anticipate this part, the way it re-awakened all of these old memories and feelings. All of a sudden, I’m 29 years old and watching K. roll over (she wasn’t as fast as B.), feeling her fall sweetly asleep in my arms, falling in love with those first toothless grins. Post-traumatic stress disorder is, at some level, the re-experiencing of traumatic events. Those memories of past events feel real, present-tense real, and can reproduce the feelings that went along with the original experience.

But I think that goes for the good stuff, too. There’s no PTSD around these memories—it just has the effect of making me feel all warm and think about my next trip to Boston and I smile a lot. I got busted on a zoom call earlier this week, someone asked me a question and when I didn’t answer, I got a “Bueller-type” follow up—I laughed, I was busy watching the video of B. rolling over (which had just arrived). I got a pass on that one, after I told people what I had been watching.

Miracle the Second. My sponsee Daniel had three years of sobriety yesterday. I like going to Beginner’s meetings, because it reminds me of my mindset five years ago, when I was struggling to put days of sobriety, not even months, together. Again, a veritable onion of miracles. I had known Daniel for a while before he relapsed and asked if I’d being willing to work with him.

Sitting with Daniel and his wife last night at dinner was beautiful and surreal. Seeing them planning their lives, living their lives, so young and so at the beginning and so excited—it’s just beautiful to see. But I remember the long phone call with Daniel a few April 17th’s ago: I was at the Union Square Farmer’s Market when the phone rang and it was Daniel. He knew it was time, he had reached the point where using didn’t work anymore—that’s really the bottom for most of us. It’s that moment of panic and desperation that weirdly sparks the fire of willingness.

Anyway, Daniel was pretty desperate that day and was trying to bargain the terms of his surrender. Maybe he’d go to Detox in a week or so, maybe he could go and not tell anyone, maybe he didn’t really need to go. When folks ask those questions, they actually know what they need to do. I know this because I was exactly the same way when I was confronted with the need for sleep-away rehab.

Also, I was a chronic relapser and lied about my sobriety for most of the ten years it took me to finally arrive. I typically maintained the appearance of someone with about 18 months of sobriety—not too much, not too little. Like the baby bear of sobriety misrepresentations. Of course, I was usually drinking every day. So, let’s just say it’s pretty tough to get one past me. I know literally all of the tricks and can instantly spot things like when people are talking about meetings they didn’t actually attend. I know Daniel felt put upon in those early days, but look where we got, baby! Seriously, it’s hard not to consider this alcoholic bluff-calling as a kind of superpower.

I’m very proud of Daniel, very, very proud. Because I know exactly what he had to do to get here. I know how hard it was to trust those first hand-holds and looking up at what had to be climbed was terrifying and demoralizing. But then you’re sitting across from two beautiful young people, with smiles that were literally touching their ears, feeling the excitement that goes along with starting a life together—that definitely counts as a miracle.

You may know from the podcast that I almost always ask people about what superpowers they’d like, if they could choose a couple. I’ve also used this as a screening question during the periods of time I’ve attempted dating. If your desired superpower has something to do with healing people or feeding people or making them happy—well, that’s lovely, but I don’t see a future for us. Mine would be fire-starting and invisibility—call me shallow, but I have given this some thought.

People who ask the purpose of the invisibility have clearly not considered the consequences of using the fire-starting power and the consequent need for a clean getaway. Anyway, I learned on Monday that I possess another superpower, I don’t know if it’s technically connected to the fire-starting, but I apparently have some kind of summoning power.

I wrote something on Friday that basically came true on Monday. On the subway. While the song of the week was actually playing on my airpods. If you need your recollection refreshed:

It’s a freaky story and it literally left my hands shaking—not because anything bad happened, it was actually quite lovely, my hands were shaking from the adrenaline, from so much power, energy, emotion, whatever, being released in a subway car between 86th street and 42nd Street. You can ask for a verification on the details.

Of course, me being me, I’m left to consider what this actually meant? Was it a sign of something changing, an indication of unfinished business, or just a chance to say a real goodbye?

I have a friend who had a near-crash experience on a plane flight when he was a young man in his 30’s. In those moments of genuine fear, he made a foxhole promise to God and then penned a list of about 100 things he wanted to accomplish in his life. Some of the items on the list are completely outlandish, given where he was in life when he wrote the list, except that they started coming true. Crazy things like winning professional sports championships. They came true.2

Is that what we call luck? I think not; way too many of the highly improbably things on his list have come true for that to be the case. What I learned from his manifesting crazy shit from his list is the power of putting yourself, your actual authentic self, out there, including your hopes and dreams. By that I mean just being yourself, living your own dream. This goes by another name: it can be called freedom. I’m coming to see and feel the immense amount of freedom I have, that we all have.

The freedom to change course, to reinvent, to let out what’s been held inside, to fly your own freak flag, indulge your own passions, do what you love, be what you love, say what you mean and feel.

My life has taken some crazy turns, and some of the craziest have come in my early 60’s. This, of course, coincides with my burgeoning sobriety. It is completely a function of the mindset that getting sober has created for me: the sense that all I have to do is be myself, say what I mean and feel, and then let the right things happen. Of course there are disappointments, regrets, feelings of loss, fear and anxiety—those are all necessary components of the human condition. You can’t make omelettes without breaking eggs.3

My Monday subway summoning was proof that I need to be careful about what I write.4 But as I have reflected on what it might have meant, I see that most of what transpires in life is simply an opportunity to be oneself, in that particular moment. I’ve written in the past about “courage,” and my view that courage is simply a way of life that puts the heart first. The smarter parts of me realize it’s a dumb way to go through life—that it’s very likely to lead to bruising and other injuries.

You could look at my life and marvel at the much easier and softer way I could have had, maybe did have for long stretches of time. You could tally what I lost and let your jaw drop, think of what that might have allowed or enabled. I realize that another one of my superpowers is never choosing the easy way out. I am the king of the hard way—go ask any number of therapists, counselors, romantic partners, family, friends.

I see things differently now. I don’t know another way of living anymore. The last five years have been about stripping away what was, all the way down to the studs. There’s still some demolition work to be done, but I see the plan coming together. I’ve become very sensitive to my own energy, and how it reacts to other people and situations. I know when I’m being true to myself and what I believe. When I’m still and qiet enough, I can feel the right path beneath my feet.

So here’s how I lead my life: With an open heart.

Life is a series of opportunities to be myself, to express myself, to learn and to grow. The purpose behind some moments is a bit hazy sometimes, but I find that even when the fog is pretty thick, I can usually feel what is the right thing for me. The Monday subway conjuring was no different, it presented a unique opportunity to say things I’d wanted to say for a long time, to say thank you, maybe even a last big smile and a “see you around, kid” type thing. Maybe a little like the end of “Casablanca,” or better yet, the last, wordless scene in “Lost in Translation.”5

The rest matters less, well, to be more accurate, I’m pretty powerless over the rest. Maybe it hurts sometimes to put oneself out there, feeling vulnerable often provokes fear and then anger. I’ve learned that what matters is putting my authentic self out there, stupidly heart-first, over and over and over.

I’m going to tell you a secret. This is what produces freedom.

I work very hard, I’ve been given a chance to build something that is really cool at a time when maybe I should be thinking about new hobbies. My life is about freedom and possibility and excitement and most important: Contentment. I’m happy and grateful with what I have, with what I get to do, with the people in my life, with myself. I owe debts of gratitude to the people who helped me learn these lessons and Monday was a chance to do just that. Yeah, that counts as miracle, too.

Last Friday, I summed up my philosophy this way:

• The things that are supposed to happen, generally do happen

• The things that are meant for cannot be avoided

• My peace and happiness come from recognizing what’s not meant for me and are multiplied by how gracefully I let go of those things.

Be careful, this shit actually works.

Happy Friday