What have you been up to? That's what people always ask us. We always say, "Not much. Mostly work."
Somewhere out there there's another me that has done all I feel I should have done. And he's just as dissatisfied. He's been to exotic surf spots, had books published, married a wonderful woman and has wonderful healthy kids. A nice car and home. Maybe a jet ski. He lives in California, Hawaii, Hossegor France, Okinawa, or Australia maybe. He has never had an issue with addiction.
Still, he wonders what life would have been like if he had managed to stay single longer, and without children. He can't help but feel in the back of his mind, on occasion, that that would be a better life. And the grass remains greener, no matter where we stand, in all seasons...over there. He long wondered about being a cop or a soldier since childhood, but somewhere over the years dismissed those thoughts as overly romantic and misguided, but he can't be for sure. That road left untraveled. Maybe if he had just tried more and different areas in school, he wouldn't feel so locked in. He stuck to the requisites like a robot. He feels he should have spent more time on art and music. Now he hates the books he's published. The voice of a stranger as he reads his own work. He should have written at least something more free and expressive in his prime, but only these happy publisher kept deadline hunks of paper that he secretly loathes. Wait, am I still painting a picture of the me I might have been? Or am I just analysing his imaginary discontent?
Is there satisfaction in imagining the probable dissatisfaction of another? And even better the ennui of the other Me - the one who took all the right turns and made the best choice at every fork? What's he doing right now? Taking the kids to soccer? Reading a book on his back porch? Sleeping in on a Saturday morning with his wife and the kids at grandmas? We look the same. We started out with the same biological package, only I imagine he made better choices. But somehow, he is malcontent as well. Perhaps my life is now somehow better. Maybe if he gives himself this same assignment, he sees himself in a denim jacket, on a day off, in a coffee shop, single, at a laptop writing freely on a blog, as an unknown, in public, an army medic, a few bills, but no heavy mortgage, never having kids so...not missing them? He sits, writes, and thinks about the liquid day. Buy another cup? Go see a movie? Mountain biking. Go Back to my room and play guitar? Well. Since he can't. And I can. I will. I hope we both find some of the greener blades within reach today.
I've come out of my fog and but for an occasional undramatic slip, I've been sober. I'm not sure why it was getting so bad this past summer. I was feeling incredibly trapped in a loop of self loathing and self medication that I never fully realized then. As well, I've listened and noticed others and lessened my envy. I've become precocial and opened my ears, eyes, and arms, all as wings, and left my shell. It's almost as if alcohol had less to do with my state than some other hidden factor. I know a guy, in the army. He's happily married with kids and would seem to be free of having a single sleazy bone in his body. But he manages his family, and an affair, and seeks more. What's he really looking for? For some reason it has bothered me, like a jealousy. Beyond this though, my own married, father of two brother says I take my single life for granted. Someone might say we all take life for granted.
I haven't worked the steps. I don't have a sponsor. This is recovery sacrilege. I've allowed myself an occasional drink and I haven't had the landslide relapse that is dogma in the rooms. I'm not dismissing the organizations of rehabilitation. In fact I see a huge value in them and know the numbers of people who succeed when working the program. I haven't been to a meeting in a few weeks...and I feel better. I'm not denying I have a problem. Perhaps I needed to find another location. The spot where I have been going leaves me depressed and craving no less. I know it's wrong to think that an AA meeting or two will have an instant and magic effect. But the retro-whine of groups and constant dredging up of ol' drunken times and lost days and hours, and reading the same ol' intro and outros...it doesn't work for me. Not at this point. Not in this group. Not now. Maybe I'll come back to it later in life, or tomorrow. And though I believe in a higher power, it's most obvious in the ocean when I'm out surfing, and seems to have little to do with recovery meetings. But I'm not dismissing the idea. I'm sticking with what's working now. "Now" may be different later.
For me the return of craving lessens so far, only when I find positive (usually outdoor) things to do, and practice a mindfulness where forward right thinking is first and strongest, and renunciation of the "stinking thinking" is concurrent and equally as active. So, in context, I stop myself of thinking about the me I might have been. About the things I'm not. I take note of the value of being me. I don't dwell on making amends. I'm not anything other than well off. It's true. One day at a time, I'm physically healthy, and I'm making amends by focusing on maintaining that. Let the dead dogs lie and you can run with the horses. This is the mantra for now. I will allow it to change as needed.
Photo of my nephew Levi, Gainesville Florida October 2010
Art by Steve Kilbey
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