Cheap thrills versus a blessed life- emotional sobriety

Cheap thrills vs emotional sobriety

I was at a meeting today and I heard someone say that they were a little bored with sobriety. Real, emotional sobriety. This particular person didn’t say it was a terrible thing; that in fact, he welcomed the boredom, compared to the way he was living while drinking and using. But it got me to thinking, because I remember feeling that when I got sober, life was going to turn very flat, and very grey. Its hard to imagine a life that is so entirely different from the one you know. It is the unknown that is our greatest fear, collectively, alcoholic or not. And so, in the first throes of getting sober, there is the inevitable mourning period of losing a way of life that clearly doesn’t work, but is all one knows. I remember listing off in my mind repeatedly all the things I would no longer be able to do, or if I could still do them, wouldn’t enjoy without a drink. For example, never being able to have champagne on New Year’s Eve, or, being able to go boating on the lake- entirely capable of doing it sober- but not really enjoying the experience of it without being able to suck back cocktails with everyone else. I thought about never staying up until the sun came up talking with friends, fueled by lines and vodka. I wondered how I would be able to get through the challenges of life without having the blows softened by Xanax. I couldn’t imagine going dancing without being fairly inebriated. And how would I ever be able to hang out in cool little dive bars in the Valley, and shoot darts, without drinking? The list went on and on. Summers by the pool with no pina coladas? No wine and cheese at little outdoor bistros? Arg!

But lets get serious. At the end of my drinking days, I wasn’t going anywhere, or doing anything, except to the liquor store two blocks from my place. All of those scenarios happened at points along the way, but they were never as glamorous as they sound. Maybe, for one fabulous second, in between the second and fourth drink, it was all exactly as I wanted it. That window was very short lived but apparently it was enough to feed the lie my head was telling me. More than likely what would end up happening is a seemingly civilized glass of champagne with cheese during the Holidays, followed by more glasses, then the empty bottle and the run to the store for more, and maybe a bottle of Ketel One for good measure. Or head to the bar, the little dive bar in Burbank. Possibly wake up with blood on me, not my own, bruises, most certainly with a throbbing head and a tongue like sandpaper, with little or no recollection of the night before and a terrible sense of dread creeping over me that whatever damage I had done the night before was going to take a lot of work to set straight.

BLESSED LIFE

So back to the bit about being bored in sobriety. Boy, was I wrong. I have found that sobriety has been quietly epic. My life drinking and using was full of cheap thrills. It was predicated on novelty and drama. There is an adrenalin rush that goes along with that, which is also highly addictive. Many of us, when we get sober, put down the drink but not the adrenalin rush, the cheap thrill. I don’t mean the kind you get when you jump out of an airplane, but the kind you get when you gossip, or flirt, or shop or take risks with money or relationships, when you get angry and take things personally. I know that I indulged in these behaviors, at first. I only knew how to live on that perpetual rush. It took time to be able to be clear and present without that. The more I was able to let go of those behaviors, and the impetus to do them, the more freedom I felt. Serenity. Not driven to stir things up all the time, I eventually started wanting to make things better wherever I went. That became the new rush, the new sense of satisfaction and esteem that came along with paying attention to others. This is the quietly epic life I spoke of; so many adventures take place in one day, little deaths and ego surrenderings, new people who need help, overcoming challenges I didn’t think I could. Now my motto is not- “I am here to live out loud,” but “what is missing the presence of which would make a difference? How can I bring THAT?”

Releasing the cheap thrill has turned my life into something far more grand than I could ever have imagined. Identifying the cheap thrills in my life was the first step in learning to do things differently.

Surrender equals sustainable sobriety

Surrender equals sustainable sobriety

The more sober I get, the more opportunities I get to learn new levels of surrender. And seemingly, the more I surrender, the more miraculous life gets.

Monday night, I was about to start preparing for child support court the following day. My legal bag, chock full of both child support and child custody motions and proofs of service, orders to show causes and requests for discovery, was a hot mess and in need of organization if I was to be able to represent myself well. When I say chock full, I mean it weighs 12 pounds. That is how long and arduous this process has been; the weight of the paper trail is more than a newborn baby. It truly had taken on a life of its own.

As I was sitting there, looking at the dreaded bag, it occurred to me. I’ve been fighting and fighting. And fighting. I don’t have any more fight left in me. Not in a compromised or weakened state, either.  While its true that I have not received child support in two years, and therefore totally justified to fight, I just really wanted to let go of it and let it unfold the way it was meant to. I closed the bag up, so I could at least be prepared if called on, but I did not organize it, or panic, or try to memorize things I should say, or rally up any sort of defensiveness. I was calm. Surrendered.

Now, as I said, this is a totally justified thing to fight. Anyone would agree that a father has a responsibility to his kids, and that is true. Its a lot like justifiable anger- sure, there is a lot we could be justifiably angry about, things that are obvious outrages and anyone would agree with the ire provoked by said things. Ultimately, however, the anger poisons us. We are instructed in sobriety to let go of negative emotions and take accountability for how we feel and what we do. This is the same principle- it doesn’t feel good to be defensive, to prepare an offense, and all the little negative feelings that go along with ex spouses, and courts, and so forth. If it doesn’t feel positive, if it feels disempowering, it needs to be let go.

The following day, we both show up at court at 8:30 am. As luck would have it, at about noon, nature called loudly and I answered. And right as soon as nature called, so did the bailiff. Since I was out of the courtroom, we had to wait another two hours until after lunch. Even after lunch, we sat for another hour and a half. It was a long, long day. My ex was very angry and restless at having to wait and the fact that my running to the bathroom cost him his whole day. When the judge finally called us forward, he was ready to explode from frustration, and that is pretty much what he did. I didn’t say one word. Not one. The judge had his hands full and didn’t need to speak to me. Needless to say, things went well. Not for him, though.

I couldn’t have orchestrated it better if I tried, and the beauty is that I did not try. It wasn’t me. God timed it perfectly, sending me to the restroom at the critical moment, allowing him to stew in his own frustration for hours so he couldn’t possibly contain himself. If I had mounted a defense of any sort, I might have diverted attention away from what quickly became very obvious to all. This is the miracle. After two years of struggle, this surrender finally provided me what I hadn’t been able to provide for myself.

Surrender is such a critical part of the spiritual path of sobriety. This is not just true for me; this is true, period. Part of living a sustainably sober life means that we are willing, always, to let go of what we think is best and do things differently. To many, this feels too risky. That is where faith comes in. And that is the most important part of the spiritual aspect of recovery- what you put your faith in.

I have heard it said in meetings that it doesn’t matter what you call your Higher Power- it could be a doorknob, a lightbulb, a surfboard. If I had tried to surrender and put my faith in a doorknob, I would never have been able to do it. Not this surrender, or the hundreds that I have experienced in sobriety. It is also said that we should find a God of our understanding-  fortunately, I don’t understand mine at all. I do, however, trust It. Implicitly. I find it important to say that I don’t understand it because there are many who will not embrace any conceivable notions of God. Anyone can, however, trust something inconceivable,  a unifying, organizing principle that gives order to all that we know- be it energy as defined by science, or divine choreography, the mysterious forces of nature. Or simply the cohesive force of Love. I call it God. Because I have faith in God, I am also able to have faith in people. For me, God is the animating force of everyone I come in contact with. That means that no one is my Higher Power, they are just doing the bidding of my Higher Power, and that gives me a lot of relief in my life. I am able to accept the actions of others and not take them personally. It doesn’t have to be true for anyone else; its just the great fact for me, and I’ve abandoned myself to it. And I am happy.