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

I’m grateful for a day spent getting ready for xmas. I’m grateful for recharging batteries and hot chocolate. I’m grateful for walks in the cold and snowy mornings. I’m grateful for new starts and the chance to make things happen.

LAST WEEK ON TFLMS:

song of the week:

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

(last weekend)

I’m grateful for a cloudy Friday morning to write. I’m grateful for wrapping things up (literally). I’m grateful for little adventures and seeing things differently. I’m grateful for pretty excellent coffee and iPhone memories. I’m grateful to be sober today.

Mystery ?? Button

song of the week:

I think all of us dodged a bullet this morning. I was listening to music earlier in the week and trying to get my shit in a can.1 I was listening to the Doobie Brothers’ masterful “Living on the Fault Line” album. I wore that album out in my youth and it is the height of the Emo-Doobies featuring Michael McDonald, with whom I have a complicated relationship. I was listening to this song, which I’ve always loved:

I was deciphering the lyrics, as I like to do. And this is a very complicated story about a very complicated relationship. It starts out talking about how miraculously “she” came into his life, how badly he needed a drink of water, how he would gladly drown in her, how she was just what he needed, how through all the disappointment, love still remains, you’re a just lonely man living in an empty land. I know you’re made that way.

But then you get to the crux: “Say it please, Say you will, come back and be in my life, girl, if you just put in your heart in….” It’s another song emphasizing the importance of ex-girlfriends to the creative process.

I was thinking through Michael McDonald’s side of the relationship and it doesn’t make a ton of sense and then my blood ran cold and I had one of those realizations that feel like an icy knife in the gut:

What if Michael McDonald and I have the same attachment style in relationships?

That was what I was going to write, had I selected “You’re Made That Way,” as the song of the week. Fortunately, I spared us all of that by selecting, “I’m Your Boogieman,” instead.2 This is my favorite K.C. and the Sunshine Band song and you can see from the frenetic on-stage performance what the “C” in K.C. probably stood for. There’s another video (from the Midnight Special) where K.C. is dancing so hard he’s a good two measures late getting back to the piano for his solo.

I didn’t have a drivers license when K.C. and the Sunshine Band hit the airwaves. I was still spending a fair amount of time being driven in my mom’s Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser station wagon (with the swanky moon roof and wood panel decal on the side). The first big hit, “Get Down Tonight,” provoked a lot of uncomfortable Oldsmobile moments:” The line, “Do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight,” had my mom wondering if I liked the song (and I clearly did) because it was about sex and me wondering if my mom was listening to the lyrics.

It’s the Friday before Xmas, so why spend it Michael McDonald-style, gazing at the sad, complicated navel of our lives, when you could be wearing super cool Elvis-inspired outfits and dancing like someone who will one day claim a folding chair at a CA meeting?3 This song is on the “Basketball” playlist and I think pretty accurately soundtracks my playing style. This is a Friday song, so go get all Friday with it.

But then that leaves us with this uncomfortable void, the awkward silence that comes when maybe you’ve run out of things to say.4 But never fear, that’s a very unlikely result here. I’m winding down a pretty improbable year, and, to be honest, when I start to do the year-end look-back, that is kind of obligatory, I’m amazed at what’s happened.

You might ask, “What happened?” Well, what didn’t? I still live in the same lovely place and have the same views and settings that propel my day. I’m spoiled to live where I live, and I know it—it’s my cocoon, a safe place, a real home—and I’m very attached to it because I don’t think I ever had one that I could call my own before. My life feels so different now—sure there are anxieties and fears and sadness and all of the normal stuff that attends life. In the olden days, it was necessary for me to drink to handle all of the normal stuff that attends life. I’ve always been very independent, very self-reliant—that was largely out of necessity and it always propelled the fear that I couldn’t manage this on my own. By “this,” I mean living a productive, happy, sustainable life. Well, it turns out, I can.

The greatest gift of recovery has been developing the sense that I can do just that—live a happy, productive and meaningful life without needing the help of my friend, Kim Crawford.

I started co-chairing an AA meeting on Monday mornings near Madison Square Park here in NYC. It’s actually at an IOP—that’s “Intensive Outpatient Program,” for those who aren’t familiar. It’s a therapeutic setting, wherein you go to group sessions, AA meetings, individual counseling sessions on an intensive basis for 60 days—often accompanied by prescriptions for Antabuse, to help recreate the sober environment one finds in sleep-away rehab.

This is a beginner’s meeting and it’s really fascinating, a lot of the people are just sorting out some of the very early questions, like “Am I really an alcoholic?” “How long do I have to call myself and alcoholic?” I see it as a huge opportunity to introduce people to the Big Book before the “Recover like me or die” crowd gets their hooks into them. I tell them that the Big Book isn’t about getting religion or worshipping anything—it’s simply about recognizing where you really stand in the Universe and answering some very personal questions about how you got here, where you’d like to go and the things that would need to change, to make that possible.

We read Bill’s Story together last week and I got to give my usual preface to establish what an insanely brilliant con-man/salesman Bill W was. That being able to lay claim to the elements of Bill’s story as my own, was what jump-started my recovery. When you read the story aloud, there are lots of details that jump out—Bill W renting a plane once to “complete a jag,” or setting out to find fortune and fame with his wife, Lois, riding in a motorcycle side-car, the time spent “working on a farm,” which really meant he and Lois were living as legit hobos for a while.

Anyway, its really rewarding to get to spend time with people at the very beginning of their journey. I mentioned at one meeting how familiar the setting was to me, how I’d done time in several different IOPs and how I’d been kicked out of several IOPs. One young man, got wide-eyed and asked, “How do you get kicked out of an IOP?”

It’s pretty simple, actually—you just keep drinking.

Let’s just say I got pretty familiar with the half-life of Antabuse. I had graduated from the 60-day intensive program and was in the after-care program, which involved regular counseling sessions and a once-weekly group session. The nights of the group sessions were great for drinking, because I knew that I had roughly seven days until the next possible test—and they tested randomly, so it wasn’t for sure that I would even get tested. To me, that meant I was free to drink.

I developed an insane regimen that involved multiple Bikram yoga sessions, steam room time at the gym and pretty intense, sweat-inducing workouts. That’s how I was going to beat the IOP testing protocols and keep drinking. The insanity of the plan was revealed by the fact that it’s not possible to “sweat away” the evidence. The test that is commonly used, doesn’t try to detect alcohol in the blood, it simply looks for a protein that is produced when one metabolizes alcohol. My plan was doomed from the start, and crazily, I knew that.

Right there, I can see how different my thinking was. The crazy places I was sent by the deformed, wrong messages my addicted brain generated. I like to think I’m occasionally clever, and have definitely gotten away with things over the years. This is mostly the consequence of careful planning and a little Ferris Bueller-style luck here and there. This was a fundamental difference. When drinking, my alcoholic brain produced plans that had no chance of success, that were as doomed as a WWI-style trench assault.

When I see that now, remember those days and the way I thought about the world, all I can do is exhale and shake my head. I just can’t believe I walked through the world that way, and for so long.

I don’t have a lot of words of inspiration as the year ends. I’m pretty tired and my re-appearance at a law firm for the first time in nearly three decades is a big reason why. But I’m exhausted in the good way: I’ve been given a chance in my sixth decade to build something brand new and a pretty swanky perch to do it from. Is there a fair amount of fear and anxiety that attends this enterprise? Yes. Does it require a nearly daily effort at self-invention and excruciating levels of “showing up?” Yes. Do I feel more alive and vital than nearly anytime in my life? Yes.

Finding myself, which I think is the ultimate goal of recovery, opened doors that I couldn’t have imagined and has led me to a new approach to life that produces profound satisfaction and excitement. I learned that all that is necessary to unlock this wondrous treasure is to accept life moment to moment, and as the Big Book says, approach those moments with willingness, honesty and humility.

On some personal notes, I am heading to Iowa for Xmas and will be compiling something for next week—and it may very well include some selections for song of the year and some of my favorite essays. If you have thoughts on this, you know I would be delighted to incorporate them. I do want to say that this is maybe the most improbable part of my life. I have wanted to write for pretty much my entire life. My hard drives and notebooks are littered with failed attempts at profundity and notoriety.

It turns out, I was writing the wrong things. Starting this newsletter and getting to write about how I recover and how I live—and share it with all of you. Well, I can’t tell you exactly how much that means to me and how important it’s been to my recovery. It’s been writing this, and getting to share it with you, that has helped me find myself. So thank you for that—you don’t know how much it means to me.

Last thing. You may know that my son is in the Navy and his ship deployed earlier this Fall.

I learned over the weekend that his carrier strike force (he’s on the USS Gettysburg) transited the Suez Canal and is now on station in the Red Sea. That’s where a certain young Lieutenant, the apple of my eye, will be spending the holidays. I don’t think it’s possible to send too many positive thoughts or prayers and that’s how I’m approaching it.

My wish for everyone, and especially that brave, young Lieutenant, is that this holiday be full of peace and calm and good tidings among us all.

Happy Friday. Merry Christmas.

I’m grateful for logging higher than average elevation gains during my run where I also got to wear short sleeves. I’m grateful for overstuffing on tasty Indian takeout that was made extra spicy especially for me. I’m grateful for how much of a relief it has been seeing Harper’s new home alone regimen working – much less stress on both of us. I’m grateful for receiving a lovely painting of Independence Pass, a place that holds special personal significance, from a NYC AA friend who has helped me a lot over the years. I’m grateful for a meeting where we covered a unique reading from “As Bill Sees It” speaking to the significance of AA’s circle + triangle – a concept I hadn’t dwelt on much, but am glad I did last night. I’m grateful that despite moving from NYC to Denver I’ve found the beautiful ethos of AA to be quite consistent, which feels like such a miracle given how autonomous each group is. I’m grateful for how much of a better mood I am in when I also experience solid sleep. I’m grateful for how many gifts I’ve been showered with in this life – a warm home, a nurturing partnership, my health, my mind back, people who love me, “free” membership to a Program that teaches me how to be a better human every day, an adorable dog, a functioning car, funds to pay my bills, easy access to nature, routines that keep me serene, ancestors who broke their backs ensuring I get the freedoms I have today, and so much more. I feel truly and utterly blessed.

Last week I was hanging out with a fellow who recently moved here from Chicago. As two big city kids (me from NYC) we were commenting on the relatively smaller scale place we both had landed. I’ll be honest I have been slightly bearish on Denver for the past week for a variety of reasons. A major one, sort of orthogonal to any locale I suppose, revolves around building community. I know that comes with time and based off of my San Francisco experience it can take nearly two years. However I miss other key elements of big-city living like the diversity, the energy, the culture, the overall cosmopolitan feel, especially during the Holidays which is my favorite time of year in New York.

I’m not proud to admit, but my conversation with this Chicago fellow too often veered into overly critical territory. After we parted ways I felt uneasy about my demeanor so I became inspired to put into practice a crucial component of my emotional sobriety: Acceptance. I know I’ve written about acceptance a few times already, but embracing it does serve as an important gateway for letting me inhabit a calm, content mental space.

To allow my mind to even be open to such thinking though, I first need to take a step back and be reminded of my Higher Power. When I let my HP in it puts whatever I’m going through into perspective. That perspective permits me to analyze matters more holistically andmore realistically. As a result any extremes in my thinking eventually subside. The final piece involves Gratitude. Particularly for cases where I’m processing negativity, gratitude helps reframe my thinking towards the myriad of things going well in life that I can frequently overlook. To summarize, the sequence of actions for me to healthily internalize acceptance involves the following:

So how did I apply the above when it comes to Denver? First I took a long walk to the east side of Cheesman Park where I could see the majestically snow-capped Rockies. Staring out at those imposing natural wonders gave me pause. In that quiet, pensive state my Higher Power arrived. The sheer enormity of my surroundings, the realization of how tiny I am in comparison and how fleeting time is served to humble me enough to get me out of self-pity and petty griping.

Soon other thoughts began cascading into my mind. I acknowledged I came to Denver because I wanted to come. I had a choice and I made it in a thoughtful, sober manner. I wanted to challenge myself in new, positive ways. I wanted to experience the lifestyle in a part of the country that was quite foreign to me. I wanted to be closer to some epic nature. I wanted to walk down streets where I had no history. I wanted space. I wanted to build a home with my partner that is ours – together. I wanted to move not because I was escaping from something, but because I was looking to get outside my comfort zone. I wanted to adopt fresh routines.

Has all this been happening since moving here in February? Yes, it most definitely has. Knowing this I can do more than simply accept Denver, I can thrive here since I have so much to be grateful for these days. I am slowly building a cool, new sober network of people. I’ve visited more breathtaking National Parks in nine months than I have in over the past decade. I am in a wonderfully cozy, comfortable home in a pretty dynamic part of the city. I’m surrounded by a bevy of AA meetings. Thanks to smart saving, I usually have the financial means to do what I want. I live right by my favorite park that proves to be a challenging running route and provides breathtaking views. I have a garage in a neighborhood where parking is notoriously difficult. I have some delicious restaurants, quality coffee shops, and two well-packed grocery stores within walking distance. I have fairly easy access to the mountains given my proximity to the highway that gets us there. Honestly, I can keep going but it’s obvious there is a tremendous amount for me to be thankful for in the life I’ve built in my new surroundings.

What I’m arriving at ultimately is that I am glad Denver is my home. I am also glad AA is such a vital stopgap for me when it comes to conflating negative ideas or wallowing too much in pessimism. The Program has granted me the training to look at my situation in ways that ensure my defects don’t overwhelm me. It certainly doesn’t mean I have become some kind of pollyanna. Honestly I’d find that quite inauthentic to who I am at my core. However it does let me reflect on the good and bad, with Acceptance being the foundation for whatever analysis of my current circumstance. Always building on top of that foundation ensures I remain clear-eyed as I continue trudging along the path of recovery.

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I am so grateful to be sober today. I’m grateful for the support of my family, Timmy and my friends. I’m grateful for Christmas lights, only 5 more working days, for AA and doing service. I’m grateful for my sponsor, for my pup, for coffee and writing and rainy days that end up being pretty cozy.

Goooood morning my friends! As always, I hope everyone had a nice weekend for those who celebrate Christmas…that you’re gearing up for a holly jolly holiday ahead.

I received some pretty shitty and unclear news on Friday at 5:45 pm roughly 10 days before Christmas and have been feeling a lot of things these past few days.

Friday night I cried, Saturday I was full of motivation, Sunday I was angry, today I feel a bit defeated.

But I think in a way God is doing for me what I can’t do for myself. God is reminding me that I have so many people in my corner. God is reminding me that just because someone says x about you, that doesn’t mean it’s true. I honestly think HP is reminding me how to turn it over.

I don’t always think it’s fair to lean on HP exclusively when you’re in pain. It’s easy for me to be like ‘oh yes well HP is always there but I got this for now’ when things are relatively okay and then to fully turn into HP when things are not okay. But I think in this moment it is pretty clear that the signs have been there all along. Or at least in the last 6 months. In my body, in the back of my mind and all of that has always been HP.

So, a good friend of mine told me it’s all about how you recover now. And so here to all of you guys I will say that I am pissed off, that I am sad and that I am scared. That I feel utterly defeated. That I also feel for the first time in a really long time that I will not let someone else say I am incapable when I in fact am. I will take accountability when appropriate, but I will not eat shit for someone else anymore. I have a plan, and I have faced scarier things. And for the first time in a really long time I genuinely do believe that everything will be okay.

Outwardly to the rest of the world, I’m doing just fine. The boat is not rocking, my head is held high, and I will proceed as regularly scheduled until the above said plan gets worked out and then I will carry on with dignity and grace.

And again, for the first time in a really long time I genuinely feel that I do not have to do any of this alone. So perhaps the silver lining of this one thing that causes so many other feelings, is that I feel reconnected again. To myself, to my higher power. I don’t feel alone and that’s all I’ve wanted for a really long time.

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Xx

Jane

I’m grateful for a day of adventure and intrigue. I’m grateful for feeling free and happy. I’m grateful for clearing away what was and making room for what is. I’m grateful for a morning full of of light and coffee. 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 sunny Friday morning and for a fairly dramatic sunrise. I’m grateful for standing where I am. I’m grateful for what I’ve built and for the chance to feel proud about it. I’m grateful for things coming together and for letting them. I’m grateful for the people who do have my back. I’m grateful to be sober today.

Mystery ?? Button

song of the week:

I knew all week that it was an old-school week. I flirted with a lot of songs, married none. As I climbed into the saddle to choose the sotw, my mind was still kind of blank and then into the void, this song began playing. I know I say this every week, but I really love this song.1 I know where I was when I heard it the first time.

The scene was Moline, Illinois in 1973, I was ten years old and in the cavernous garage behind the house my grandparents lived in. It was set on an alley and several houses in the neighborhood had once shared it. There was room inside, behind the big-stable like doors, for at least 4 cars. Over the years, Most folks had opted out of the communal garage over the years and had constructed small garages or carports that they could call their own.

This was fine with my grandfather, who was semi-retired, but had picked up a side hustle restoring wrecked rental cars and then reselling them. He and his friend Hank made bank on this enterprise and it also resulted in my brother getting to drive a rescued Chrysler Imperial for a bit.2 This particular summer day, we were working on Project X—the secret go-cart project.

We both understood that the power and capabilities of the go-cart had to be carefully masked. This was owing to the fact that we were building a really lethal, lawnmower-engine powered death missile, with a gigantic steering wheel from a wrecked Ford Galaxy 500.3 If my grandmother, or worse, my mom, saw this thing, that’s the end of Project X. When my grandmother was out getting her hair set on Friday mornings, we’d roll out the go-cart, I’d climb into the plywood death missile, grasp the oversized steering wheel and prepare for launch in the alley.4 My grandfather stood by the mouth of the alley to try and prevent me from being run over by a car.

The go-cart had no brakes, only less acceleration. We did a real astronaut-style countdown and he pulled the starting cord, got the engine going and then engaged the gears he had built and it was go-time in the go-cart. When I took my foot off the gas pedal, the go-cart still moved forward, but at a semi-manageable speed. I could actually complete a big looping turn and head back up the alley—the din of a 2.5 horsepower Briggs and Stratton lawn-mowing, beast engine roaring in my ears.

If you read, “My First Alcoholic,” you get the rest of that story. Not our point today. I was at the workbench in the cavernous garage and my grandfather had a portable am-fm radio there—he liked to listen to easy listening or country music while he worked on the cars. There were times when I was left to supervise the garage, while he smoked in the alley or ran a quick errand. I’d immediately change the dial on the radio to an FM station in Davenport that played songs like “She’s Gone.”

It was on such a day that this song began to play, from the very first, very spare chords, I was entranced. This was the start of a real love affair with Hall and Oates. I loved the plaintive, soulfulness, the wretched realization in this line:

One less toothbrush hanging in the stand, yeah

Oh man, that sounded so sad, and letting all that sadness get choked away by the carbon and monoxide sounded even better. I loved the sense of desperation and the looming need to accept the monstrous reality,

She’s gone.

As I listened to this song for the very first time, I realized right away that there was something missing from my life, something that I really, really needed:

I needed an ex-girlfriend.

I realized the logistical problems involved. I was ten and didn’t have a girlfriend or really have any prospects of a girlfriend. I knew that having a girlfriend was a prerequisite to having an ex-girlfriend—and therein lay the rub.5 Ok, so I couldn’t really identify with the storyline, I didn’t have any friends named Charlie, and none of the friends I did have were allowed to pour me a drink, much less help with any quick decisions.6

You know what I loved about this song? I loved the sad feeling; the beaten, lost feeling I got when I listened to it. I know that sounds super odd, but really letting myself feel that song, imagining the living room with the rumpled blanket still on the sofa, where he slept the night before. It was the 1970’s, so he might have been smoking a cigarette to steel himself before heading to the bathroom to make the realization about there being only one toothbrush hanging in the stand and gazing into a mirror that isn’t making him look any younger.

Somehow we were all vibrating on the same frequency, and somehow I had already adopted a worldview where I kind of knew that I was going to be alone and kind of lovelorn. That’s why I liked all of the Burt Bacharach stuff. I know a lot more about neuroscience and epigenetics than I did in the 4th grade, and understand how a young brain can get wired to experience the world that way.

And that’s an incredibly windy and unnecessarily long path to this idea: Lots of things that get lumped in the mental health bucket these days—including addictions—are not entirely conscious adaptations. We might call them brain hacks today. When Dr. Ruth Fox wrote “Alcoholism: Its Scope, Cause and Treatment” way back in 1955, she recognized this:

Alcoholics are just people who learn to use alcohol to manage their lives. Alcohol is the thread that holds together the quilt, helps generate the brain chemicals that some people produce on their own. For me, it stilled the intense social anxiety I felt, the very strong sense that I was different, not like other people. The sense that I didn’t understand other people and foreknowledge that if they knew the real me, they would probably not like me.

I have no idea where all of that came from. I have no idea why a song like “She’s Gone,” would hit such a sympathetic vibration. I’m not sure it was meant to prepare for a semi-tragic life-to-come. No, I just think that I already felt a big pool of sadness, even at that age, and songs like that felt like understanding and empathy to me. When I think back to those days, when I discovered alcohol around 15 or so, well, that might have been the first time I fell in love:

The flood of chemicals that newly-discovered miracle elixir unleashed in my teenage brain are what literally generated that “white light moment.” The moment when I realized that alcohol was like making an incredibly cool, all knowing, all accepting friend. “Someone” who would literally make everything feel better. The “pool of sadness” might not have been sourced in terrible, violent trauma, but a simple shortage of the brain chemicals that provide feelings of happiness and motivation and overall well-being and satisfaction. Alcohol provided a super-convenient solution.

My mind went 800 mph, even in the dark. I was able to instantly see the tragedy that could attend every course of action. I was fearful and did not believe that I possessed the wherewithal to face the world on its terms. I was already unable to sleep most nights. When I finally got enough alcohol in me, enough to move the meter, it was revelatory. I was funny and slightly and unpredictably dangerous; people were drawn to me when I drank. I embraced the role and soon became the person who never faltered, never refused a drink, never waved off a flaming shot dropped in a beer glass.

I didn’t set out to be a bad person or to hurt other people or try to sabotage and ruin my own life. I started drinking because it helped me manage the world around me in a way that nothing else could. It let me leave behind the shackles of the world, but in a way that felt real and still connected. Drinking helped create a mirage of a normal life, like everyone else led. I could be like everyone else, too, I just needed to drink quite a bit so as to get adjusted properly.

At some point, after you’ve been doing this for a while, it is what is normal. The daily trip to the Logan Tavern was not because of the excellent wings (they were terrible and often left over from the day before—I recognized them). It was a fueling stop, a necessary re-attunement that would allow me to continue to exist in this world. Or just restore the chemical stasis that alcohol helped provide my brain.

The Steps do not function as a way to secretly instill religious belief, or to shame alcoholics into not repeating their evil deeds. The Steps were a form of cognitive therapy that helped me see the set of beliefs, the set of imagined needs that drove my need to drink. And it was an actual, real chemical need; when things were bad, the withdrawal symptoms came on very quickly.The first phase of recovery is the dark hard part of learning to live without the thing that you have believed is necessary to live. There are drugs that can help with these symptoms, but ultimately, it is the chance development of hope that makes the difference and sparks recovery instead of relapse.

The first three Steps are meant to inspire that hope, the hope that things could be different and that we could recover, with a little faith to help fan the flame. The hard work of Steps 4 through 9 are about clearing the underbrush from all of the synapses, wiping away the regret, shame, guilt, fear and selfishness that attend addiction, that maybe generate the need for the addiction, at some level. I believe that what one finds when they work the Steps is this:

Themselves.

I finally spied the real version of myself, the one that I had buried way back in 1978 or whatever. As I became more familiar with this person, as I read the words on page 417 for the ka-jillionth time, I began to make peace with this version of myself. It’s not like a “Freaky Friday” plot,7 there’s a lot of water under the bridge and the person I am is a consequence of all of that water flow and it can’t really be undone. That’s not the point.

The point is to discover what was lost and then recover it.

That’s what the Steps helped me do. Maybe not everyone is helped by finally seeing what happened, but for me, it helped illuminate the path back to what I needed to find.

Sometimes, even when things are good and the world is bright and I’m brimming with energy and all-around happy thoughts, it stills feels good to feel sad. Is that weird? It feels a little like going into a room in the house where you’re not really supposed to be; there’s a sort of dangerous, unhinged possibility in sadness, and it often creates exactly the right climate for change.

Now, I get goosebumps listening to “She’s Gone,” because I have seen the empty toothbrush holder and there was that period of time as a young lawyer where I was imposing on my friend Steve’s hospitality and basement mattress. But I can see now that there is no part of myself that is off-limits and when I touch that pool of sadness, I’ve started to feel the love that attended all of those lost moments instead of regret.

I know there are more sad times ahead, more happy times, too. The Steps helped me finally see what was real about myself and helped undo the terrible knot all of the self-lies tied: The lie that I wasn’t enough. What’s ahead is less important than what is now and what is now is pretty groovy. I don’t need the carbon and the monoxide to choke my thoughts away, yeah.

Happy Friday.

I’m grateful for cozy Christmas home tours because they inspire inventive decor ideas and also make me feel like a part of the Season even more. I’m grateful for my car’s annual service checkup going smoothly. I’m grateful to have the mental capacity and financial means to take care of things like this because in the depths of my alcoholism such seemingly basic adult tasks were uphill battles. I’m grateful for a beautiful early run in the park where, as the sun rose, it made the fresh snow on the ground and tree branches glisten like millions of tiny white crystals. I’m grateful for the winter clothing I have that enables me to be outdoors comfortably. I’m grateful for a new antique shop I popped into where I found some cool, old-school arithmetic and comic books. I’m grateful for a meeting focused on how we manage through the Holidays, especially getting to hear the powerful perspectives from newcomers. I’m grateful loneliness is not unique to me, which is also a good reminder to not dwell in self-pity. I’m grateful for Harper’s “Bambi-hop” while we play catch – seeing it is an adrenaline shot of happiness straight to my heart.

I’ve been on a bit of a buying spree recently. Most of it is for stuff to make our new(ish) Denver home comfortable, cozy, and utilitarian. The Holiday Season is also influencing me with the myriad of deals that entice me to splurge more than usual. While I wouldn’t categorize my behavior as a major problem, the spike in expenditure is nudging me to take a few beats to ask “Why?”.

The initial fleshed-out question that comes to mind is what purpose does buying stuff serve? Some of it is truly necessary to make our home better: boxes to hide the chaotic wires, entryway hooks for our winter coats, lamps to improve dimly lit areas. Some of it is blatant splurging: artwork for already well-covered walls, another armchair in the office, another vintage book to add to my side table collection. Both purchase categories for me fit into the bucket of “self-care”, which was such a foreign concept for a long while. I don’t think it was ever part of my vernacular except when it came to ensuring my supply of vodka was constant. Towards the end of my drinking, when nobody wanted me in their homes, I was simply moving from apartment to apartment lugging a few drab possessions, mostly worn out clothes and for whatever reason a small office filing cabinet. Due to where I was only a few years ago, I think that’s how I justify my increased spending spree. An investment in stuff is an investment in me like never before.

However AA’s emphasis on regular internal reflection has helped me look at my recent actions more honestly, more like an objective third-party observer. To inhabit that role, I have to start by reminding myself that whatever the potential misstep, valid or not, I must be kind to myself, I must veer away from excessive self-chastising, which is a recurring tendency of mine. After I embrace a gentler mindset, I can search for the root causes of my behavior.

Looking at my past, specifically my drinking, I can safely say my shopping endeavors don’t fall into the addiction bucket. I am not harming my bank account to a noticeable extent. I am not harming those around me. I am not making our home unlivable through hoarding. Yet I do feel slightly on edge because I see my mind making logic leaps like, “If you just purchase that cute little footstool, it’ll make our home all the more complete and therefore you slightly more content”. Without vodka in my system, I recognize the dangers of this thinking and it immediately reminds me of a common AA saying: recovery is an inside job. It’s a catchy turn of phrase that encourages me to look within. When my actions showcase I might be using external people/places/things to derive peace that’s when a mental red flag is raised.

But hold on a second. I can find another justification for my purchases beyond the aforementioned “self-care” rationale. I’ve actually found a new passion: interior design. Not to be braggadocious, but I’ve garnered an aesthetic sensibility that certain people find pleasing based on unsolicited feedback. That said, I have to question when does a passion become an addiction? Am I justifying these purchases by telling myself, “Oh, you’re building your skillset by ordering that footstool”. To a degree I am nurturing a passion, but it can segue into tricky territory. I don’t want to get to the place where I even come close to pushing my boundaries. I recognize I am currently acting on impulses, on those quick dopamine rushes, when emptying my checkout cart.

So after all this rumination and diagnosing what is the solution? I mean ultimately I’ll take me being a lightweight shopaholic over being an expert alcoholic any day of the week. It’s certainly less toxic. As stated earlier, gaining true satisfaction, true healing, is always an inside job. I have to tap frequently into my spiritual connection with my Higher Power to feel whole. I have to practice PAUSE (Postpone Action Until Serenity Enters) before hitting the ‘Complete Purchase’ button. I have to step away from perusing online stores and engage in other, more meaningful activities – attending a meeting, going for a run, focusing on service/volunteer work, utilizing my interior design eye to help somebody else build their home, diversifying my interests/hobbies (painting and knitting rank high at the moment). For now though awareness of the “shopping issue”, reflection on the “shopping issue”, and incremental course corrections are what seem necessary. Should I start spending to the detriment of my credit, feel like I’m becoming a storage facility, or creating a less comfortable home environment then the real intervention may need to happen.

Frankly the fact that I can do the above analysis is a miracle. During my alcoholism I operated purely on instinct. Whatever felt right that instant, whatever would get me the quick resolution, I’d do it and maybe deal with the consequences down the road. There is much more deliberation now. It’s a testament to absorbing what I’ve learnt in AA and translating it into thoughtful action. That action is shifting my focus on developing a strong spiritual backbone to attain true, lasting peace. Because of this change I know, at least for today, I’ll shy away from purchasing that cute little footstool.

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I am so grateful to be sober today. I’m grateful for a slow weekend, for the holidays coming up, for 3 years on the horizon and for my friends. I’m grateful for my family, my pup, for my service commitments and for AA. I’m grateful for the $62 printer I bought clearly on sale, for my sponsor, for coffee, for heat when it’s cold and AC when it’s hot. I’m grateful for the sober life I have, for all the lessons I’ve learned and all the lessons I continue to learn.

Goooooodd morning my fellows!

As.per.us.u.al!!! I hope everyone had a lovely weekend and that you are feeling rested and rejuvenated for the week ahead. For all my friends who just have to make it two more weeks & then we get holiday break – we got this.

I chatted with our very own T.B.D last night and we were talking about just different ways to spruce up my writing and one thing that came up was going back into my older posts and seeing what’s changed. Given the yearlong funk I’ve been in I figured that would not only do wonders for today’s post, but also my brain.

So, I went back and naturally wanted to see what I wrote a year ago today. Well, I didn’t write on December 9^thlast year, but I DID find this post:

https://substack.com/@misssoberjane/p-139427918

which was on the 4^th so close enough. When I tell you I read that and genuinely thought to myself, who even IS that person. That person obviously was me but clearly in a much better headspace. Someone who believed I was worthy, who believed I was capable and valid and was SO excited over flowering Aloe (that still is pretty cool btw).

Today, I’m not feeling so capable and valid although I have upgraded caring for plants to caring for a dog who I do believe is very happy to have a mom and dad who love him so much.

I talk about God in that post in a way that I have forgotten. I can feel the trust that somehow, I have lost. I can’t pinpoint exactly when things started to change but oh my goodness that post what honestly weird to read.

Weird because I want to be that person again. Weird because a neighbor JUST told me it’s nice to see someone so positive in the morning…who, me?!?! Yes, apparently me and a perfect example is that post which is SO positive.

This line in particular is what I need to remember these days – ‘I am angry, and I have asked God for help, I am sad and I have asked God for help. I have never given up on myself or helping others and all of those things make me plenty worthy.’

I haven’t been asking God for help. I have forgotten that the most important thing I have ever done and will ever do is get sober. How much does the rest really matter if I am not sober?

How much does it matter if I am successful at work if I am not sober? How much does it matter if I am not helping another sober person? Doing service? How much does it all really matter if I am not doing the things that make me happy in the place that makes me happy?

The silly little social media posts will continue with or without me but none of it matters if I am not sober. If I am not finding that feeling of being capable, worthy and valid again.

So that’s what I am going to do today. No matter what happens I am going to remember that God is always there, that I am worthy and that I am capable because the hardest thing I ever had to do was get sober. If I can do that, I can very legitimately do…anything else.

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Xx

Jane