Tiny, Rogue Strawberries

I’m grateful for a gorgeous sunrise. I’m grateful for seeing how things change. I’m grateful for patience and for being myself. I’m grateful for cutting myself a break. I’m grateful to be sober today.

Mystery ?? Button

song of the week:

There’s not really an explanation for today’s choice. Mac Miller was one of us, died of a Fentanyl overdose not so long ago. When I listen to this song, I’m back on the sidewalks of the Nation’s Capital. Back then, I haunted the Logan Circle neighborhood and had a string of places I would where I would drink, bars that met my fairly exacting specifications: Cool looking, dark, busy, prompt service, easy to view televisions, comfortable bar seats,. decent to very good food, prompt service, appropriately chatty bar personnel, prompt service and carried a decent Sauvignon Blanc. And prompt service.

TBD, during the active drinking days, did not like to be “left on read,” when that glass was empty. There was a bartender training protocol; When I started drinking at a new place or a new bartender arrived at one of the old places, I needed to make sure they had a sense for the proper intervals for refilling that glass. When the glass was dry too long, I would often catch the new bartender’s eye, then look dramatically at my empty glass and then watch it be refilled wordlessly. This was surprisingly effective.1

In those days, big swathes of my days were spent sitting at bars, watching soundless TVs and listening to music. This song is a very DC song for me, it played a lot on my regret-fueled walks around the neighborhood and was the soundtrack for failed relationships. Like Anderson Paak in the opening scene, I was constantly mystified by that door shutting in my face.

One of the primary symptoms of alcoholism/addiction is that the alcoholic/addict begins using the substance to mediate their experience with the world around them. As Dr. Dorothy Fox put it in 1955:

The primary addict, from his first introduction to beverage alcohol, uses it as an aid to adjust to his environment.

Alcoholism: It’s Scope, Cause and Treatment (1955), p. 142

Hence, the importance of prompt service. In the bad old days, when I hit my peak (nadir), I would go into withdrawal after about 4-6 hours. My hands would shake, my thoughts would race, my stomach would turn flips and I didn’t know how or why I kept going. Until I had that third glass of wine, then things seemed to make sense, or at least become somewhat tolerable.

This gets pretty close to the end stages of drinking. The stories about people keeping vodka by the bedside and setting an alarm at 4am, to wake up and have a drink to prevent the onset of withdrawal symptoms, those are pretty tough stories. It might seem like someone who drank like that, knowing how much and when, pretty precisely, is just a really organized alcoholic. No, they’re actually pretty far gone and not everyone finds the way back.

In a stunning development, given present course and speed, I’ll celebrate five years of sobriety this Fall. Not that the cat is in the bag, by any stretch, but the old, active alcoholic me just gets a little smaller everyday in that rearview mirror. Of course, what made this possible, what makes this possible each day, is a Program that encourages me to see myself as part of a whole, that sets the objective as progress, not perfection and is built around the idea of integrity, self-honesty and acceptance.

Seeing myself as part of a whole, acknowledging the existence of a higher power, understanding that not everything is meant for me have been the keys to my recovery. I’ve built my life around these ideas and part of this worldview is believing that the Universe finds ways to communicate with me, to nudge me in the right direction, to help me realize how things really are or what they really mean. Of course, two weeks ago, there was this enigmatic example:

A few days ago, I was tending to my Pirate Balcony garden and made a miraculous discovery. I’m a bit forgetful, so it’s not unusual for me to plant seeds then completely forget what I planted or where. This is usually sorted out early in the plant’s life with few ill effects. A few weeks ago, in the Basil section of the garden some new plants emerged. The leaves didn’t look very Basil-y and I even harvested some of the leaves and cooked with them, the results were inconclusive.

Then, a few days ago, when taking a closer look, I saw this:

Miniature rogue strawberries. Of course there is a backstory. A few years I ago I had a fantastic meal at one of the very finest Italian restaurants of the Upper East Side. Old School Swanky. The dessert was these tiny Italian strawberries, very fresh and very tiny, in a delicious meringue. It was unbelievably delicious. At some point, I found a miniature strawberry plant and planted it in the garden. Last summer it blossomed and I had a harvest of 50-60 delicious, delicate strawberries.

I carefully transplanted it into a new pot that could be moved indoors last Fall. I tended that plant very carefully, it tried hard, too, but I guess we weren’t meant to be together like that. The wild strawberry plant didn’t survive the winter and sadly went into the compost bin to eventually fuel other plants.

I hadn’t thought about the strawberry plant too much, and then I saw those strawberries. They were not planted by me, they came from now-departed plant, left behind to ensure some kind of continued presence or connection. I laughed my machine gun laugh out loud when I spied them. Not because of the impending bounty of tiny, wild strawberries; it looks like I might harvest up to 8 or 9 in the near future. But because the re-appearance of the rogue strawberry plant kind of encapsulates my view of life these days.

Things don’t end. We continually have the chance to learn the things we need, the universe shuttles people in and out, events transpire and we end up being changed—which is exactly the point. I think the AA view that it’s about “progress not perfection,” is consistent with how the Universe works. Things are not static, they change, we change and everything takes a few more spins before it begins all over again.

My drinking grew from fearing what the Universe had in store for me; Sobriety has been accepting what the Universe has in store for me. Spoiler alert: While things are still unfolding, I’m finding life is exceptionally beautiful and groovy. Even in the hard moments. Especially in the hard moments.

Here’s another thing I think: When you learn from the people who pass through life, when you let yourself be changed (not in the bad way) by them, when you see that the point is often moving from Point A to Point B, rather than forever, well, those are actually the turn-by-turn directions for serenity and acceptance.

It’s Friday morning and while I have a pretty full schedule, in a broader sense, I don’t really know what’s in store for me. I don’t know what comes next. These days, this produces serenity, not anxiety. I’ve come to trust the world around me, I have built faith that if I accept what happens, it will be what needed to happen. The Universe is a very sneaky, subtle MFer sometimes, but I find that I always have what I need. Not what I want, but what I need.

I guess that includes tiny, rogue strawberries. We’ll see what they’re here for.

Happy Friday.