I’m grateful for a meeting topic oriented around the phrase “sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly” and the resulting shares. I’m grateful for the fellow who was very vulnerable about where he’s at, reminding me how dangerous and how immediate our alcoholism is at any given time. I’m grateful for the greater levels of patience this Program has taught me to practice. I’m grateful for a super fun and tough run in the snow storm, especially cherishing the moments the sun peeked out to beautifully light the ground like a sea of tiny crystals. I’m grateful for the ever evolving, ever expanding definition of my Higher Power. I’m grateful for the fellow who has been sincerely proactive around getting me to open up, be social, and step outside my comfort zone. I’m grateful for my home keeping me warm and comfortable. I’m grateful for a podcast making me recall the awesomeness of The Lion King’s Circle of Life, particularly the intro which elicits such joy in me. I’m grateful for a sponsee who is already helping me without even knowing it.

Over the past week I got connected with a new sponsee who has been in my orbit for several years. We attended the same meeting and over time discovered that we had a fair amount in common. He finally reached out asking if I’d be willing to take him through the Steps. Of course I agreed.

After our initial conversation, I started ruminating on what the process was like for me slowly getting integrated into this Program. I think the operative word is “slowly” here because the moments I tried to fast track my recovery the results were hollow. “I wish you Slow-Briety” is a cute phrase I’d heard early on that has resonated more deeply with each passing year. The whole “design for living” concept as it pertains to AA is not something that suggests an endpoint to me. It’s a day in, day out practice that yields results through diligent, sincere, daily work.

When I first entered the rooms a big change for me was understanding how to stop judging and comparing my story, my pain, and my transgressions with others. By mentally separating I often found excuses to check out of everything that was shared, further reinforcing my self-proclaimed belief of being an alcoholic unicorn. Honestly it took a while for me to update my proclivities. I’ve been an innately guarded individual for most of my life. Isolating was a preservation tactic because it meant others couldn’t hurt me and therefore I wouldn’t feel bad about myself – even more than I already did. However pushing myself to keep going to meetings, accumulating powerful examples of people being super honest and vulnerable about their lives, taught me how to disassemble those walls I’d constructed. Even if I wasn’t always actively listening to every share or qualification, having the din of AA in my ear meant something was getting through by osmosis. Eventually it was easier to find points of identification with every story. Even if it was the tiniest of commonalities, I developed the muscle around connecting with others, which in turn rebuilt my capacity for deeper, genuine empathy.

Returning to the “design for living” concept, it took a little while for me to realize it’s found primarily in working the 12 Steps. Post-relapse when I restarted the Steps, I finally began doing them for me. Not as homework to get praise from my Sponsor. Not as a way to impress others on how guru-like I sounded. The work was for an audience of one and only I knew whether what I was saying or writing down was fully true. The Steps have become an indelible framework for how I analyze most everything in life these days. If I am honest in leveraging them, then their impact is undeniable. This past weekend I finished Step 5 with my Denver sponsor, who left saying I should now sit for an hour and meditate on what transpired. The old me would’ve been like I have too many chores to complete or I need to move on to XYZ thing to get my day moving. Ultimately my emotionally sober voice took over saying the only person I was hurting by not taking his advice is myself. So I did sit alone for an hour after and reflect on my Step 5, which unsurprisingly gave me the lightness I was seeking. Holding myself accountable to doing the Step work, even when nobody’s around, is a huge shift for me from only a few years back.

I’ve written about this frequently, but adopting healthy routines has been another slow and steady process. At first I didn’t realize that what I was doing, like running in the park, was even related to my sobriety. Then as time went on I started codifying in my mind what those healthy practices are. I discovered when I didn’t engage in them I felt queasy. Thankfully I was clear-headed enough to tie them back to my Program, knowing these activities were a part of protecting my peace. In doing that I realized I needed to be disciplined about them. Doing the math, I know by going through these routines my soul is nurtured.

One of the last points I’ll outline here around my “Slow-Briety” journey is being kind to myself by finding ways to take care of myself. It started off with small acts like lighting a candle and realizing how impactful odor can be to boosting my mood. Then it gradually transformed into bigger actions like setting boundaries. Boundaries with family in particular that had been in certain ways detrimental to my serenity. Nowadays self-care has focused on letting my inner critic voice speak in gentler, more constructive ways. Not simply reinforcing “Sean, you’re bad for doing XYZ“, but reframing the language to, “Well that was a misstep, which happens, so how can you learn and do better moving forward?”. Quickly being able to perform that shift with my inner critic’s tone ensures I’m not lingering in a dark place. Whereas before if even one harsh thought entered my mind it’d be a domino effect of retreading unrelated, super old negative memories reinforcing how bad, how unworthy a person I am. Today that process is less dramatic and more optimistically pragmatic.

I’m grateful that initial conversation with my sponsee sparked my reflection on how I got to where I am right now. Indeed putting myself in the shoes of someone still early in their recovery is reinvigorating. It reinforces old principles I’ve learnt, but have perhaps been lax on implementing, and it opens me up in new ways that I never realized I needed. It all is such a gift. I definitely wish him, myself, and everyone a beautiful journey in “Slow-Briety”.

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I’m so grateful to be sober today. I’m grateful for my family and my friends, for our home and our pup. I’m grateful to have 3 beautiful years sober, for my sponsor, AA and the steps. I’m grateful for heat on a super cold day, for reconnecting, for patience, tolerance and understanding. I’m grateful for a new era, and for all of the people walking into 2025 with me.

Good morning my friends (: I hope everyone had a lovely weekend and happy 2025 🪩💃🏻

I am writing this from bed on Sunday because during our regularly scheduled programming I will be doing something scary and to be disclosed at a later date. But don’t worry, yall have been through one of these with me so I promise it’s nothing bad and you’ll hear about it soon. I’m just under the impression that the world revolves around me and would hate for someone who I don’t want to read this to take the time to come on to Substack and find my posts because I mentioned that I write here one time like 6 months ago.�

^ Even without a drink I am indeed still a coo coo bird. Anyway, I am prioritizing myself tomorrow and I’m crazy anxious but have also been working on remembering that it’s all honestly out of my hands I just have to show up.�

And speaking of showing up, many of you may know that I am not a new year resolutions kind of gal. I feel like the word resolutions has this weird ‘how long is this really going to last’ undertone that I don’t love. So every year I do goals and intentions.�

Last year’s list was pretty long & included the typical “be healthier” “save money”…resolutions I know I know. So this year I kept it a little simple:�

• To live slower & be more present

• Call T (my sponsor) at least 3 times a week

• Get back into step work

• Find ways to be happier / focus less on the negative

• Less resentment

• More prayer

• More AA

• Enjoy life more

Overall I think these boil down to more gratitude. More little things, more enjoying the sunshine on my face and the small connections I make and the way the weeds grow in the concrete cracks. Somewhere along the way in 2024 I forgot to be grateful for every little thing I have because life got really big and that’s okay. But I’m remembering now. I’m centering again on what is the most important to me and I already feel better. Like I’m on the right path again.�

So if you’ve made it this far you’ve already seen my yearly vision board above and I’m choosing the theme of my 2025 to be small steps everyday.�

May we all take a small step today, whatever we need that small step to be.�

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Xx�

Jane�

I’m grateful for a lovely, quiet weekend. I’m grateful for getting caught up and rested up. I’m grateful for a cold, dark morning and a fire in the fireplace. I’m grateful for new chances and discoveries. I’m grateful to be sober today.

LAST WEEK ON TFLMS:

song of the week:

TFLMS Weekend: Where Sobriety Isn’t Just a Consequence…

(last weekend)

I’m grateful for a new year. I’m grateful for year-end deals. I’m grateful for unexpected adventures. I’m grateful for an open heart and a pirate-y outlook. I’m grateful for the life I get to lead. I’m grateful to be sober today.

Mystery ?? Button

song of the week:

I think if I were to do the work, the numbers would reveal that I’ve listened to this song more than any other over the last ten years. By a pretty wide margin. When I lived in DC for all of those years, a denizen of the bars in the P Street/Logan Circle neighborhood (Shaw, too and also probably Petworth), this song would be on repeat as I kind of drunkenly bopped around the neighborhood(s) looking for adventure and that next drink. Those things were inextricably linked for me back then. Getting that drink was the actually the thing that was connected to everything in my life.

It’s the first Friday of 2025 and things are feeling pretty good over here at Pirate HQ. I had this grand plan for this semi-holiday week that involved lots of relaxation coupled with checking off an unlikely number of projects, taking advantage of what promised to be a quiet week at the law firm. Well, a pesky naming rights deal that took until last night at 10 to get done, had an impact on my plan.1 But, it’s all good, very good, in fact. It’s been almost exactly a year since I got the chance to join said law firm, and I know everyone gets tired of hearing this, but when I let things work out the way they’re supposed to, instead of how I think they should go, well, things work out the way they’re supposed to.

I could try and do the happy, slappy thing where I talk about finding gratitude for even the shitty things, put a creepy/happy clown face on tragedy, but I’m going to take a slightly different tack: This approach works better because you really don’t have that much choice. I spent a lot of 2023 trying to find the next gig and it was not an easy process, we’ll just leave it there. I had lots of ideas that I pursued very diligently, put my full persuasive powers on display, and it took me roughly nowhere.

Things changed when stopped trying to evaluate how I would feel about the outcome, and focused instead on what I was feeling at the moment and expressing that authentically. This sounds pretty basic, I know, but the thing is that us alcoholics don’t really have a great or very accurate sense of ourselves. That’s a big part of the reason this alcoholic became one, the false belief that I wasn’t funny enough or smart enough or appealing enough to be enough for anyone. When I discovered alcohol, it was like standing on the prow of a ship and spying a vast undiscovered land for the first time. I had found the missing piece—the thing that made my life manageable and made me palatable to the world at large.

Well, maybe not always so palatable. There were a lot of years I would have told you that I liked the SOTW for the music only, that the lyrics had nothing to do with it. I’m sorry to say that I’ve put more than one person through the realization expressed in this song. I’m just going to say that my 5th Step and 8th Step and 9th Step, well, those are pretty long lists and kind of daunting endeavors. Being somebody else’s guy was something of a common denominator.

I’m going to tell you from personal experience, this is a dangerous song to have on a playlist that is not completely private.

There might have been a fairly epic Ex- vs. Next situation a number of years ago, where both parties discovered that you could follow people’s non-private playlists on Spotify and both parties knowing my proclivity for expressing myself through music, decided to do just that. It was then discovered that you could see who else was following said playlists and then stalk their social media posts to see whether they were posting links to said songs with either hopeful sunrise-type pictures or bare branches in winter.

This hypothetical situation might have escalated fairly rapidly and might have generated lots of wtf-type comments in texts, emails and even phone calls. I guess there might have been a view that having this song on a playlist was expressing a deep but smirking view of myself. I would scoff and say super-inflammatory things like, “Lighten up, it’s just a song.”

Like I ever think that way.

For the record, I was in rehab again during this hypothetical episode and, at some level, it did provide a much needed distraction from the nonsense that attended being forced to repeat rehab again. In rehab terms, I was the kid who had to repeat the 4th grade at least three times. That sounds terribly callous when I look back on it, but it’s emblematic of where I was and who I was back then. I think my worldview was summed up this way:

No one got access to the real me, that was kept strictly locked-up, even from myself. I’d get involved in a relationship and begin playing the part that I thought was appropriate and that would often work shockingly well, for a while. However, playing whatever role I thought was necessary for the sustenance of this particular relationship would start to chafe. I’d start to feel resentful and unseen and start to blame my relationship counter-party for not being more insightful or intuitive.

That was usually enough to change the trajectory of the relationship; From an orbit that was circling the globe with surprising little friction and stunning views, to one that started to dip down into the flame-producing gravity until the whole thing just ceased to be, burned to a cinder. Alcoholism is a malady that afflicts the capacity for self-honesty. I began drinking as a consequence of a lie I told myself: That I wasn’t ever going to be able to manage the world without it, that the change wrought on me by drinking was necessary preparation for interaction with the world at large.

Later on, alcohol supplied the lies without even really needing to be asked. Alcohol let me say “f*** it,” to just about everyone and everything, whenever necessary. Alcohol let me ignore the consequences of my behavior, let me pretend that nothing really mattered or could affect me. Alcohol created a cocoon where I didn’t have to care about the world or anyone else, a place where I could safely hide. Of course, it wasn’t so safe for everyone else. Their experience was nothing short of bewildering: Falling for someone, things seeming effortless and fantastic and then suddenly nothing’s quite right, doubt and uncertainty replace the weightless feelings and then comes the sudden, blindsiding crash. The moment when they realized I wasn’t really their guy.

I’ve done a couple of 8th and 9th Steps and have started on another one. I know there are people who believe you can knock the Steps out in 30 or 60 or 90 days, and if works for people, that’s very cool. For myself, five years in, I find that I’m still coming to understand what I did and why, and still coming to understand the consequences for everyone else. I know I have perfectionist tendencies that lead me to procrastinate, but I do think that what I owe people and myself as part of that process is some understanding of what happened and why. Not like this:

I tell people that the ultimate beneficiary of the 8th and 9th Step is the alcoholic. I don’t think it’s necessarily connected to being forgiven or absolved; I think the value comes in the self truth-telling and acceptance. A proper 8th and 9th Step requires being honest with oneself about what really happened and why. I don’t think you can seek to make amends to someone else until you’ve taken yourself to the woodshed and had your own “come to Jesus” moment.

The other consequence of conducting a self-honest 8th and 9th Step is discovering the true nature of love. Maybe the rest of you know all of this, but I was an alcoholic since I was 15 or 16 and I have a lot of catching up to do. It turns out that the essence of love, the thing at the very bottom, is acceptance. I wrote this last week and have been thinking about it since:

I see those magical people, and my grandfather is the leader of that particular pack, as the people who helped me find the person I was meant to be. The way they did this?

They were themselves and they accepted and loved me for who I was.

The most damaging lie I told myself was that people couldn’t love me for who I was, that it was necessary to divine what they wanted and play that part, instead of just being myself. Unfortunately, that’s not a path to a sustainable, happy life. I had to learn that the hard way and too many times. What I’ve finally learned over the last five years is that acceptance, along with gratitude (they are linked) is an unbelievably potent force. It’s acceptance and gratitude that is at the bottom of real love, I believe.

I’m glad it’s 2025. I typically don’t relish odd-numbered years, but this somehow feels different. It’s possible I’m living in a bit of a cocoon these days (the word keeps coming out of my mouth), but it’s very different than the alcoholic faux cocoon I once inhabited. That was more of an escape vehicle, something I could jump in and speed away from the scene of a crime or a heartbreak. These days, I’m trusting the process, believing in myself, accepting myself for who I am, accepting others on the same basis and letting whatever it is that is supposed to happen, finally happen.

I’m hopeful, happy, hungry and ready to get after it this year. I have no idea what the year has in store for me, but I know this, I’m my own person these days. I finally have a sense for who I am and what I’m supposed to be doing and it’s completely liberating. I spent a lot of wasted years trying to be somebody else’s guy. You know the song I can’t stop listening to these days and how it ends.

I’ve done a lot of foolish things, that I didn’t really mean, I could be a broken man, but here I am, with the future in my hands

Happy Friday.

I’m grateful for ordering Indian takeout just for me, which ensured I could make everything extra extra spicy. I’m grateful for a wonderfully calm last day of 2024. I’m grateful for how Harper reacted to the two new stuffed squeaker toys he got. I’m grateful for how much I’ve experimented with my running routes over the past week, it has made exercising feel more invigorating. I’m grateful for spending time writing long-form, an activity that feels daunting when I start, but ends up being incredibly rewarding once I finish. I’m grateful for leading a meeting twice in one day and hearing some pithy and poignant shares from several fellows. I’m grateful for reflecting on “Seeking Guidance”, page 55 of “As Bill Sees It”, which I found to be chock full of practical advice about how I should tackle quagmires in my life. I’m grateful for ending another year sober.

I’ve recently had the privilege of leading meetings a little more often than usual thanks to December being my anniversary month. Honestly I am not the most adept public speaker. I find the attention quite uncomfortable and the words coming out of my mouth during qualifications overly ornate. That being said it feels positive having these opportunities as they encourage me to pause and reflect on how sobriety is progressing. Having an external trigger pushing me to dig internally is always a welcome boon.

In my latest little anniversary spiel one phrase I said in particular during the meeting seemed to resonate. In fact an old-timer harped on it afterwards, which gave me further validation. Don’t leave “until it clicks” was what I shared. It being AA of course. I like thinking about the phrase fairly regularly, especially as it pertains to my journey post-relapse.

I joined AA in February 2021, remained sober till November of that year, had a few weeks where I went back out, and returned for (hopefully) the last time on December 7, 2021. The months between February and November were kind of a whirlwind. I was meeting more new people than I had in a long while. I was getting presented a ton of information about how I needed to totally change everything about me. In retrospect it almost feels inevitable that I relapsed. I was very likely overwhelmed so I began treating AA as a homework assignment. I knew how to do homework. In school I was good at it. So I did AA while at meetings, in conversations with my sponsor or another fellow, but afterwards I checked back into doing life the usual, directionless way when I was away from those sober spaces.

By the time I relapsed I thankfully had a small, but amazing network of sober people who showed me nothing short of kindness and generosity upon my return. I hadn’t had this reaction to my drinking ever. That new development along with feeling utterly fatigued from drinking – both physically and mentally – ensured I found the grace to return. This time however I wanted to do AA for me, regardless of the “grade” others might prescribe.

So I stayed. I don’t know why or exactly when, but the language of the Big Book started to feel less antiquated and bland and more current and vibrant. The open-ended, “choose-your-own-adventure” definition of what a Higher Power means wasn’t daunting anymore, but rather liberating and exciting. The discovery of certain harmful behavioral patterns I had practiced throughout my life were realities to no longer run away from or ignore, but instead to understand and work on reforming. Eventually enough time passed such that AA concepts simply started clicking. It started clicking around things well beyond my obsession with drinking. When I felt anger at a stranger for walking too slowly on the sidewalk, I tapped in to AA. When it was too cold outside and I didn’t feel like going on my daily run, I tapped into AA. When conversations with my parents were veering into unhealthy territory, I tapped into AA. When deciding on whether to move to Denver or remain in NYC, I tapped into AA. AA became integrated into my life and my life started clicking. By clicking I definitely don’t mean I was going from one success to another, it simply means I was collecting emotionally sober life experiences that served as vital proof points around how I can reengage with the world without finding ways to implode.

I realize “Until It Clicks” is analogous to another phrase we use, “Don’t Leave Before The Miracle Happens”. Both are great. I simply find “Clicks” is personally less pressure-inducing when it comes to acknowledging changes whereas “Miracle” leads me to believe only huge events can be transformational. Whatever the phrasing though, I’m excited for a New Year approaching. 2024 proved to be quite momentous for a plethora of reasons, not the least of which involved moving to a new city, making a house a home, and finding a brand new sober community. I’m confident 2025 will bring with it a whole host of new sober experiences, many of which I hope will teach me how to keep on clicking.

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I am so grateful to be sober today. I’m grateful for doing service, for sharing my experience and for being able to help others. I’m grateful for a beautiful day today and time outside. I’m grateful for the lessons I’ve learned, for being loved and supported and for AA. I’m grateful for music, comfy hoodies, coffee, our home and for this big beautiful life I have.

Gooood afternoon my friends! Been a while since I’ve said that (;�

Despite the time of day I hope everyone had a lovely weekend as per usual AND that everyone had a beautiful holiday (:�

I am a little delayed here today because I got to see a dear friend of mine and speak at an IOP which was just what I needed to shift into 2025. Whenever I speak at an IOP, or a rehab or an institution I always out qualify myself in my head because I myself have never been to any kind of treatment or institution or jail. I was pushed into AA by a power greater than myself and while I have never done any of the above mentioned things (yet) we all share the same disease. We’ve all felt the same feelings and THAT is why I am qualified.�

And it was such a nice meeting where I got to be more candid than usual and answer some questions and remember what it is I love so much about this program.�

A family member said to me on Christmas Eve that she’s so happy for me because so many beautiful things have happened to me this year. And oh my god did that hit me like a ton of bricks. She’s right – so many beautiful things DID happen this year. We moved, we grew closer to some really great friends, we got a puppy. We stayed sober for another whole year and that is really fucking beautiful.�

I have been so lost in all the negative, all of the life on life’s terms which has really sucked that I totally forgot to acknowledge that this year has been huge.�

So with three years upon me I’d just like to say thank you to this community who has bared with me through a whole year of sob stories. To my family who has never stopped loving me. To my friends who have never stopped supporting me. To my partner who has never stopped listening to me. And to my sponsor who has never stopped guiding me.�

This year my defects got the best of me. But awareness sometimes is the best solution. I am so grateful to see another year sober surrounded by the people I love with the chance to help another person stay sober every single day. The beauty of this program is one thing that is not lost on me but what I can do in 2025 is focus more on the beauty and less on the pain.�

So here’s to 2025. Wishing everyone love, health and strong sobriety and I will talk to you guys next year.�

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xx �

Jane

I’m grateful for an entire foggy weekend. I’m grateful for the swanky umbrella. I’m grateful when things come together. I’m grateful for new discoveries. I’m grateful for two fantastic children. I’m grateful to be sober today.

LAST WEEK ON TFLMS:

song of the week:

TFLMS Weekend: Where Sobriety Isn’t Just a Consequence…

(last weekend)

I’m grateful for a lovely Christmas with my parents. I’m grateful to be home. I’m grateful for a cold, pretty sunrise. I’m grateful for a Friday and what’s ahead. I’m grateful for the amazing opportunities that happen by. I’m grateful for new glasses and my same old coffee. I’m grateful to be sober today.

Mystery ?? Button

song of the week:

Just fyi, this is not officially the song of the year (yet). However, since Spotify brought this version to my attention, I’ve had kind of a hard time listening to anything else. I kind of thought that’s where I was going to be headed today. I had this thing worked out in my head where I was going to tell the story of my year by just putting in links to a bunch of songs. Then I lost focus for a bit, mostly on account of Christmas, but also because of a pirate-y discovery.

Q: What do pirates love most? A: Booty.

Oh, come on, not that kind of booty. Eyes up here! The treasure chest kind of booty. I was in Iowa City with my Mom (85) and Dad (86), and my Mom casually asked at some point whether I’d be interested in my grandfather’s “notes?”

Ummmmm. Yes. I am now in possession of said notes, it’s actually about a hundred pages of typed and handwritten manuscript: He was writing the book of his life. It’s divided into sections that are neatly numbered and it’s amazing. I started reading it in the Cedar Rapids airport on the way home and was alarming my fellow passengers by laughing out loud at some of the passages.

My grandfather was born in 1911 and lived on a farm about a 40 minute drive from Madison,Wisconsin. The narrative picks up in about 1916. There are stories about riding a horse-drawn sleigh to church at Christmas and a neighbor named “Fatty” Bernander, who of course played Santa in the Christmas program. There are stories of my grandfather prompting a semi-frantic search as a 3 year old, when he was discovered missing from his room late at night. His mother rousted everyone to help find the missing boy, including the Norwegian-speaking hired hands.1 My grandfather was discovered walking back up the drive to the farm, a freshly-picked watermelon triumphantly under one arm and his trusty bulldog trailing behind.

When you want watermelon, you want watermelon.

There are stories of bicycles purchased from the Sears, Roebuck catalog, of “Pa,” (my great grandfather) reading to the boys (he had two brothers) “after the milking was done,” by the light of a gasoline lamp. There is a long account of a clandestine ski jump that was built on a hill on the farm, which drew crowds of spectators and resulted in a fairly spectacular crash by my grandfather that was unfortunately observed by his father. “Pa” cooly dealt with this risky abomination Viking-style (we are Norwegians, after all), chopping it down with an axe.

And then this story:

We got married on a very hot day in August. We had decided to go to Yellowstone Park on our honeymoon. I had a 1932 four cylinder 2 door sedan. I had hung up some curtains that could be pulled closed so we could sleep in the car if we had to. When we got to Yellowstone, there was not a cabin to rent. We parked the car crosswise to a picnic table. That evening we thought we would get dressed up and go the dance at the dance hall. It was kind of hard getting dressed up in car, but we made it.

Later, we went back to the car and went to bed. We had the curtains pulled and went to sleep. Along in the night, Bernice (my grandmother), woke up and pulled the curtain open and there stood a bear on the picnic table, only a couple of feet from the car window, looking right at us. Bernice would like to have died, so she cuddled up real close to me.

I was hoping the bear would stay longer.

I laughed out loud when I read that, and then a wave of emotion washed over me, I almost felt like I was going to start crying there in the airport.2 It was so real, I could almost hear the story in his raspy voice. To be honest, as I read it, it sounded like the way I would tell the story. Also, it was hard not to note that my grandfather was writing this for an audience. And one thing I very much remember about my grandfather was that he never let the actual details of what happened get in the way of a good story.

Every time I go back to Iowa City, or read my own journals, I feel like I uncover more evidence about what happened to me. I’ve always been drawn to spy and detective fiction and movies, and I feel like I’m trying to solve a bit of a mystery sometimes. Here’s a summary of the open questions in the case I’m trying to solve:

How did I become an alcoholic? Why was it so nearly impossible for me to stop? How on earth did I stop? Why did it finally work? What changed?

I’m not looking to do any finger pointing or justifying, I really just want to understand myself and the journey I took myself on. The Big Book repeatedly warns that “self-knowledge” is not sufficient to cause sobriety, that a “spiritual awakening” is also necessary. Make no mistake, I think self-knowledge and self-awareness are critical elements of recovery, but in my own story, the years of therapy and treatment were not enough for me to stop drinking. To bring it down to Boy Scout terms, self-awareness is like gathering kindling and pine boughs and dry wood and carefully building what will hopefully become a fire.3 Sure, that thing with the sticks rubbing together can produce a spark after about 5 hours of frantic effort. So long as it’s not raining.

Think of the Big Book’s spiritual awakening like pulling a contraband Bic lighter out of one’s backpack and touching it to the carefully stacked self-awareness and self-knowledge (hopefully with lots of really dry pine needles and branches in there).

The more I see myself, particularly the more I see my younger self, the more I come to understand and accept what happened: The more I can accept myself. When I read my grandfather’s “notes,” I get a strong sense for how some aspects of my personality developed, how I think about things. I’m not sure how this happens or works, but I think as we bounce and vibrate our way through life, we encounter other people who bounce and vibrate in a complementary way. The combination with these people can be kind of musical and definitely magical, as we unconsciously create new notes, maybe even change keys.

These people tend not to stay, unfortunately. I think these special people are meant to help us from Point A to Point B, whatever that is. I think they help us become who we are meant to be, companions sent by the Universe to walk with us on parts of the trail we might not have found on our own.

I’m lucky to have had people like that in my life. It took me a while to understand the loss and emptiness I felt when they inevitably left. Maybe I was even angry sometimes. But my eyes have been opened and I see the world differently. I see those magical people, and my grandfather is the leader of that particular pack, as the people who helped me find the person I was meant to be. The way they did this?

They were themselves and they accepted and loved me for who I was.

I know now, I wasn’t ever meant to spend my life with these people, we were meant to accompany each other for only a part of the journey. We were meant to learn from each other and what happened. But that doesn’t mean it was temporary or that those connections ever really end. As I was reading my grandfather’s notes in the airport, I knew he was still with me, that I still carry what I learned from him, what I gained by being around him, everything that rubbed off on me in that garage or that magical basement.4 I realized that I carry those other people with me, too.

The feelings of loss and sadness when those people leave are just reminders of how deeply I felt them; How far they helped me go and what they helped me see.

I have a pretty good sense where all of my pirate-y ideas come from. I was recounting some of the hi-jinks of my youth over the last few days. I felt like the statute of limitations has probably run on most of it. My mom commented that it seemed like I had been more of trouble-maker than they had suspected and could have probably used more effective supervision. I think I was doing just what I was supposed to (not from a rules perspective), taking in the lessons I was being taught by an actual pirate. It turns out these pirate-y lessons were what I would need to take me through life.

My grandfather taught me that it was ok to imagine and dream. Maybe we were never going on an actual safari in Africa, but we could shoot a shit-ton of imaginary wildlife in that basement from the tall metal stools at his workbench—using actual guns (always unloaded). He taught me that it was ok to think about things differently, that it was ok to take charge of amusing myself, not to take myself too seriously, definitely don’t take other people too seriously, how to maybe get away with minor indiscretions with funny stories and a little charm and really important things like:

Never draw to an inside straight.

When I did my first Fourth and Fifth Step, with a janky-toothed monk at a monastery in Dubuque, Iowa, he listened quietly and patiently to my litany of misdeeds and wrongs. The things I was most ashamed of and regretted the most. The terrible ways I had hurt the people who loved me. As I finished, and sat sobbing in the big chair across from him, he looked at me with incredibly kind eyes and asked me only one question:

Do you think there is anyone in the world who could hear all that, know all that about you and still love you?

I knew that answer immediately.

We went to the 10pm service on Christmas Eve in the church that I grew up in. Things are remarkably the same and having spent a lot of time in that church, there were a lot of memories dancing in my head as we plowed through all of the Christmas carols. Our Lutheran church, like many in the midwest, was divided between Germans and Norwegians, and this was recognized by first singing “We are So Glad Each Christmas Eve,” in Norwegian. Then, the lights are turned off, the congregation lights the little candles that were passed out and we sing Silent Night, the first stanza auf Deutsch.

As a kid, I always tried to maneuver so that I was sitting next to my grandfather on Christmas Eve at church. There were discreet thumb wars to be fought, butterscotch candies in his pocket, the twinkling eyes as we played our necessarily secret games, the knowing glares from my grandmother and my grandfather’s shoulder shrugs. But the absolute best part was when we sang Silent Night.His raspy voice and feeling his carpenter rough hands on my little boy head as we sang about the miracle of Christmas in the dark. I knew it was special to him, too, because you could see the tears in the corner of his eyes glinting in the candlelight—just like I had on Christmas Eve this year in that very same church and I think probably the very same pew.

I’m pretty confident that my grandfather didn’t listen to a lot of Stevie Wonder, and this version probably wouldn’t be his chosen musical style. But I think this kind of a pirate anthem and he would have completely agreed with me on this part:

I’ve done a lot of foolish things, that I didn’t really mean, I could be a broken man, but here I am, with the future in my hands

Complete with the “Hell, yeah” at the end.

Happy Friday.

I’m grateful for randomly rewatching “Noelle”, a truly fantastic Christmas movie. I’m grateful for taking it easy during my run and enjoying a different mountain view from a park I don’t frequent. I’m grateful for how much effort my partner put into making some delicious pistachio cake. I’m grateful for slowly learning how to wrap presents a bit better. I’m grateful for the Snoopy Holiday-themed screensaver that make me smile. I’m grateful for taking the time to stick to my healthy routines despite the welcome upheaval that has been introduced into my schedule the past few days. I’m grateful Harper eventually got used to the sweet German Shepard after an initial bit of anxiety. I’m grateful for a lovely Christmas Eve dinner with lots of chatter and delicious food.

In Appendix II of the Big Book, “Spiritual Experience”, it reads towards the end of the chapter:

“Willingness, honesty, and open-mindedness are the essentials of recovery. But these are indispensable.” (Page 568)

I love this part and hear it often repeated at meetings – the “H.O.W” of the program. As long as I am Honest, Open-Minded, and Willing then I have the opportunity to remain emotionally sober. I have found myself over time applying this tenet to other areas of my life. Since it’s Christmas today it felt fitting to reflect on the way I’ve leveraged H.O.W. in relation to the Holiday.

To start off, I didn’t really celebrate the season much growing up. We were a first-generation South Asian immigrant family so the whole time period isn’t quite part of our culture or my childhood. When I joined my partner’s large Italian/Polish family who are very into the Holiday – less religious and more festive – I was initially a bit aloof to all the joy. Why? No good reason except I wrongly figured myself to be “too cool” or whatever for any sincere merriment. Since I’m in this Program I thankfully worked to put my warped thinking through the H.O.W. filter.

Honesty

When authentically reflecting on why I initially felt cringy around my partner’s Christmas events, I was a bit jealous of how communal and communicative their large family is. Mine was like that at one point, especially during my childhood, but for a host of tragic reasons fissures developed. I also quite consciously separated myself from them for my own self-protection. Seeing my partner’s extended family (mostly) getting along I felt slightly envious, sad, and nostalgic.

An additional, more meta, layer is that I miss my South Asian culture. I miss the traditions we used to practice as a kid. Being alone in Denver I don’t quite do them anymore except with myself so I kind of feel like I’m losing that part of my identity. Engaging in my partner’s Christmas traditions makes me yearn for my own.

These complex concepts are not something I could’ve identified without learning how to be honest with myself. Drinking allowed me to continually inhabit the delusional space. Now that I don’t do that anymore, I can truthfully pinpoint what it is I’m feeling and thinking. From those realizations came the next step in my Holiday evolution.

Open-Mindedness

Unless I wanted to remain miserable, I couldn’t simply wallow in my awareness. I had to become open-minded around what was available to me in order to change. When my partner’s parents or his aunt or his cousin shared a tradition or task they regularly did for Holidays I needed to be receptive to that messaging. Being receptive in those early days meant listening in as non-judgmental a fashion as possible. Certainly not interjecting with how I felt about what was happening or how it should be happening. Simply listening and putting myself in their shoes to understand why what they were doing brought them joy.

Just like I don’t always relate to the specifics of a fellow’s share at meetings, but I almost always relate to the emotion behind their story, this fell into a similar bucket. I didn’t have ornaments growing up, but I had other keepsakes our family gave one another. I could use that memory and the feelings I got from it as a way to connect with why decorating a Christmas tree would be special. All I had to continue doing is remain open to whatever was coming my way.

Willingness

Finally willingness for me in this context involves actively engaging in the Holiday with my partner’s family. Listening is great, but at a certain point I have to be activated. I needed to get gifts, help with the cooking, decorate the tree, drive folks to various destinations, volunteer my home to those from out-of-town, be cheerful and talky in larger groups, etc.

Even if I initially felt a little outside my element, I leaned on what I learnt during the “Honesty” and “Open-Minded” phases to help energize myself into action around participating. With regular practice in exercising willingness the grinch-like elements of my mind started subsiding.

After a few years of engaging with H.O.W. I’ve discovered something surprising. I have shifted from being the sullen, jealous, somber person when it comes to the Holidays and instead found real joy in the season. By slowly setting aside my preconceptions, my prejudices, my own personal baggage, and genuinely opening myself up to new ways of doing and thinking I understand the the joy of what my partner’s family feels during this time of year. I like getting gifts for people. It helps me get out of self and pushes me to research what somebody else would find happiness in receiving. I like catching up with an aunt about how her life has evolved over the past year and hear how she used to celebrate as a child.

H.O.W. has empowered me to embrace a whole new way of interacting with others during the Holidays. I have even been able to find my individual joy in the experience by engaging in brand new actions that I hope over time can become my own Holiday traditions. I’m incredibly grateful for applying the wisdom of AA to problems well beyond drinking. I would go as far as saying that broadening my application of AA to other aspects of life is not only an invaluable gift that I have received, but also a true Christmas miracle.

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I am so grateful for my sobriety. I am grateful for a tiny change in perspective. I’m grateful for my family, my friends, the holidays and getting to spend some time out of the city. I’m grateful for Christmas lights and music, for hot coffee and a warm apartment. I’m grateful for my relationship, my puppy, my higher power, my home group and my great big sober life.

Good morning my friends (: I hope everyone enjoyed the weekend but above all else I hope everyone is able to spend some time with their loved ones this week for the holidays.�

The holidays are hard whether you are new or have been around for 40 years and this morning id like to remind everyone that you don’t have to drink. For anyone here in NYC the 79th street workshop is having an alcathon on Christmas and on New Year’s Day, there are zoom meetings ALL THE TIME and nothing – not even Santa shoving his ass down your chimney, is worth drinking over this fine holiday season.�

I had my office Christmas party last week and if yall read my post last week you already know I was not in the greatest frame of mind to spend 3-4 hours with my colleagues. Last Christmas I was SO nervous to go to the holiday party and look like a weirdo with my seltzer but this year a seasoned seltzer veteran I held my seltzer with pride and when a colleague was insisting I take a tequila shot I said no.�

I actually said ‘I can’t.’ After a few more oh come onnnnsssss I think it hit them what ‘I can’t’ actually meant and I have to say guys — that tequila shot looked pretty fucking appetizing. Last week was pretty fucking shitty and I absolutely wanted to drink because I absolutely did not want to deal (and quite frankly I still don’t) with the volume of uncomfortable emotions I am feeling.

But when faced with a tequila shot I still said I can’t. I can’t even though I want to because I have this big beautiful life that I haven’t really practiced gratitude for in a while. I can’t because losing my time over you people (aka work people) just simply isn’t an option. I can’t because despite how good that shot looked I’m an alcoholic, I have an allergy and I just cannot have alcohol very much like someone who is allergic to peanuts that cannot have a peanut butter cookie despite how good that cookie looks.�

And so I’m pretty proud of myself. Proud that I’m just a few days I will be 3 years sober. Proud that this year has been shitty but I have learned a TON about myself, about what I want, about who I am. Proud that I still love AA with every fiber of my being.�

I am so scared in the face of so much uncertainty. But I have an army of people who are there to help me even if helping me is just sitting with me and talking to me about nothing. And I am a part of an army who is always willing to help someone else. Whether that help is just reminding someone that they don’t have to drink today.�

So friends, Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukkah. Here’s to the New Year. I hope everyone’s holiday is filled with love and light and laughter and good health and if you are sitting with uncomfortable emotions you can be both – happy and sad, jolly and scared. But don’t let the uncomfortable steal some of your joy and definitely don’t let it steal your sobriety.�

Just say you’re allergic to potatoes or something (;�

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Happy Holidays.�

Xo�

Jane