I'm grateful for the pristine morning weather that motivated me to log a higher than usual running distance + elevation gains. I'm grateful for the way the rising sun splashed across the Red Rocks making them appear like they were on fire. I'm grateful for getting to know our neighbors better. I'm grateful for attending a book reading meetup and pushing myself to speak with strangers. I'm grateful for a Denver fellow who has become a genuine friend. I'm grateful for learning trivia about how unique the Queensboro Bridge is, something I never considered in all my years traveling across it. I'm grateful for Harper's cuteness overload masking his personality quirks, especially with strangers. I'm grateful for remembering how therapeutic reading is, especially when I'm enthralled in what I'm reading. I'm grateful for the power of silence highlighting the truth of a situation. I'm grateful for my upcoming NYC trip. I'm grateful for music I haven't revisited in a while lifting my spirit and inspiring some personal creativity.
I've been listening to a ridiculous podcast called Therapuss in the background on my daily runs. It's chaotic Gen-Z banter that actually makes me chuckle fairly regularly. I'm definitely not the target demo as a 40-year old hearing early to mid-20-year olds speak words that sound like a new take on English. Consuming Jake Shane's content (the podcast host) makes me believe that a lot of my formerly "it" references are slowly drifting to the cultural peripheries.
However laying aside my ageist preamble, I think the reason I enjoy having Therapuss in the background as I run circles around Cheesman Park is because I get transported to a period of my life that is very much in the rear view mirror. Their conversations provide me glimpses of who I once was in my youth - the good, the bad, the ugly. I'm reminded of troubles that seemed so insurmountable now being quite frivolous given how much has happened since then.
Even though I wasn't drinking in my early 20s, my alcoholic behaviors were very much in full bloom. Workaholism was my insipid addiction of choice. My entire self-worth was wrapped around what my boss thought of me, what my colleagues thought of me, what my friends thought of me, what my partner's friends thought of me, what my partner thought of me. In that equation what I thought of myself was absent. As long as I pleased my immediate community, even if it meant lying to keep them temporarily content, then I was okay.
Occasionally I'll wonder what if I hadn't made a seemingly trivial decision at age 18 that triggered a chain reaction of unfortunate events? If not for that moment then maybe things might have panned out a little bit better? A little less toxic? Choices might have been made with less fear and higher self-esteem? What if I had a stronger "f*** it" mentality and told the truth about myself from the get go? If only I had ripped the bandaid off sooner then I would've had gained more time. Time to allow those around me to sit with an uncomfortable reality and decide whether to either accept me or not. Time to engage with the world authentically at an age where mistakes are meant to be made. Time to learn and course correct when the energy is there to push boundaries and explore.
But I didn't do that. I waited decades for my defects to become my defaults. Vodka sneakily stunted my growth. I started making mistakes in my 30s when it wasn't cute anymore. It was ugly. It was embarrassing. It was sad. While others were moving forward, I was crashing into a wall with careless abandon. My mental faculties let me believe safety could only be had in blackouts. I was on a familiar alcoholic path of binary thinking laden with lies and poor decisions.
I did finally find AA in my late 30s and now I'm here at 40 writing Substack posts on recovery to lovely readers who, for the most part, I've never met. Sharing emotional truths about my weekly sober endeavors in ways I could never have fathomed just a few years back. It's funny how life transforms without alcohol in my system.
It's funny too that a gleeful podcast with 20-year olds speaking in English-adjacent verbiage makes me healthily reminiscence about a former chapter of life, one laden with some deep-seated sadness. In writing this however I'm realizing the poetic impact of one of the 9th Step Promises: "We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it". Listening to Jake Shane on Therapuss has shown me I can recall my past self, all versions of it, with greater peace and comfort. Access to life tools provided by AA ensures I stay on stable ground versus continually unraveling because I refuse to learn from former traumas. My current assuredness has made looking at my tumultuous 20s and 30s with a sense of compassion. I was a hurt person hurting others. I am no longer that at 40. To believe this is immensely liberating. To believe in my transformation is heartwarming. I can let go without forgetting. I can recollect without spiraling. I can learn without tormenting. I remember the past all too well nowadays and that's not a dealbreaker for my sobriety.
