I was in England recently, where there is an ongoing debate about how much folks are drinking.  If you Google “binge drinking” and “UK” a depressingly long list of sites pop up.  The Brits are trying a number of things to curb the epidemic – physicians now ask their patients directly about their drinking habits, cheap booze prices are under threat, bars and pubs that stay open after 11pm will have to pay a “law and order” fee due to concerns over the levels of drink-fueled disorder, and a shocking (and rather good, I think)  PSA campaign is underway.

Poster from the recent anti-binge drinking campaign in the UK

Will all this work?  Probably not, I’m sad to say.

And here’s a good example of why — while I was sitting in the Cotwolds, sipping an excellent cup of tea, I saw a show on the telly, as they say.  In it, a British actress/personality was on a panel with three other women, chat-show style.  I wish I could remember her name, but I can’t…Jennie, or Janey or something like that.  I recognized her face, but that’s all I’m afraid.  (If anyone recognized her or the clip from reading this I’d be grateful if you’d let me know.)  She talked about how she had gone through a hideous divorce some years before and found herself drinking out of all control.  She was, she said, in complete denial about it and would never have told her doctor how much she was really drinking, not even if he asked her directly.  She was so much in denial she drank in secret, until she passed out, hiding bottles everywhere, even in boxes of clothes detergent powder.

I doubt she drinks for the flavor.

“Right,” said her panel-mate, “That’s precisely the problem.  Alcoholics won’t admit they’re alcoholics.  That’s part of the pathology of the disease.”

“Hold up, now!” said, Jennie/Janey.  “I wasn’t an alcoholic.”

Blank looks all round, including, no doubt, on my face.

“No, not an alcoholic” she said.  “You have to understand that.  It wasn’t as though I drank because I liked it.  I never liked the taste of alcohol.  Good heavens.  I want to make that clear.  I was NOT an alcoholic. I never drank because I liked it.”

More blank looks, until someone finally said, “Well, but if you were hiding bottles and drinking to oblivion…”

“It was a bad time.  I don’t drink that way anymore.  Honestly I don’t.  And I never liked alcohol.  I was drinking because I wanted to stop the pain.  I just couldn’t stand how much it hurt.  But I was never an alcoholic.”

Oh dear, I thought, is alcoholism still so little understood? Look, maybe Joanie/Janey isn’t/wasn’t an alcoholic.  Not for me to say.  But I will say this: Alcoholics don’t drink because we love alcohol, although some of us might.  We drink for the effect of alcohol, not the slight hint of blueberry under-note in that impudent little Cabernet.  Back in the day, I would have drunk pond scum if it got the job done.

Alcoholics drink because we want to be prettier, smarter, funnier, more confident, and alcohol makes us feel that way.  Deludes us, in other words.  We drink because we want to stop the pain, enhance those hilarious high-jinks (you know, like projectile vomiting and pissing ourselves, and tossing furniture about the room). I drank because once I took the first drink I couldn’t stop — or at least not for long.  I drank in part because I hated my life, and hated myself, and wanted to stop the crushing anxiety and panic and depression… all of which I had because I was drinking alcoholically.  But of course you couldn’t tell me that.  I had a list of justifications and excuses long enough to circle the graveyard.  Long enough to hang myself with, which is exactly what both my brothers did.  I don’t think they drank because they liked the taste either.

Alcoholics drink in spite of the consequences.  Simple as that.  And alas, for many of us, we won’t stop at all…drinking will kill us.  For others, we won’t stop until something unspeakable, something horrendous, happens … like the young woman I met who killed someone while driving drunk … or the man I know who beat his son to a bloody pulp while under the influence… or the woman who fell asleep drunk with a cigarette in her hand and burned down her house, with her three children inside.  (She escaped, but wishes she hadn’t.)  Or the countless others who ruined their marriages, the careers, their health, their reputations.

People with drinking problems don’t think straight.  We get into cars drunk, we hit our kids, we pick fights, we may even write obscene words on our fingernails when going to court for probation violations.

I'd say this photo would be considered a 'consequence,' wouldn't you?

The bottom line is — if you’re drinking in spite of the consequences, you’ve got a problem.  Get help.  You’re not alone.  Here’s the good news — You don’t have to feel this bad again.  I promise.

Derek Steele’s publicist at Synergy Books (a self-publishing outfit) approached me about this book, asking me to review it.  I agreed to read the book, but frankly, didn’t expect much.  I’ve read a lot of addiction memoirs over the years, and not many of them are any good.  They’re often poorly written, or clearly untrue, or full of self-pity, or some similar combination.

The author’s blurb on the back of this book tells me Steele is “currently pursuing his life mission of helping others to achieve success by sharing his experience, strength, and hope through writing and public speaking.”  Oh dear, I thought.  A book written to support the author’s real agenda, which is speaking fees.

Then there’s that forward by the President of the American Association of Christian Counselors. Okay, even though I’m a Christian, I worry about books about recovery endorsed by a particular religion, since the literature of 12-step programs clearly says they are spiritual programs, but not religious ones.  In fact, I have many friends who are atheists and agnostics who have successful long term recovery from alcoholism and drug addiction.

Well, this is a pretty good book.  Not perfect, and I have some serious problems with a few things, which I’ll talk about in a minute, but if you are someone just beginning to walk the road to recovery, you’ll find some useful stuff in this book.  It’s fairly well written, clear and concise without any of the sentimentality or self-indulgence one often sees in in these sorts of books.  Second, the narrative is, largely, compelling.

The first third of the book is taken up with the story — often grueling — of Steele’s own addiction and descent into drug-dealing, crack-using paranoia and life-threatening felony insanity.  Steele does a terrific job of communicating the addict’s pre-existing mental state: the lack of self-esteem, the early childhood traumas, the feeling he never fit in.

I desperately craved the sensation of being high or drink, and with pot I could escape without throwing up. More importantly, it took away that feeling I always carried with me – the constant worry about what people thought, the fear that I didn’t fit in, the inability to feel comfortable in my own skin.

The slide downward is rapid and alarming:

“I remember one night a stranger had gotten shot outside my apartment, and I ran out there and tried to do CPR on him.  I was freaked out, bawling and pumping the guy’s chest until I was winded and covered in his blood.  The ambulance showed up, but there was nothing they could do; he’d been shot in the face, which I hadn’t realized.  I got out of the paramedics’ way and looked to Jenny [his girlfriend] for comfort or sympathy, but she was completely cold about the situation and said, ‘People get shot and die all the time, Derek.’”

But although Steele gets himself into an alarming amount of trouble, and causes a considerable amount of pain as a result of his addiction, he eventually gets into rehab, finds God, gets and stays sober, going on to become a successful, and presumably useful member of society.  There’s a nice section at the end of the book, little essays about what it takes, psychologically speaking, to stay sober — things like open-mindedness, willingness, honesty, action, service, other people…

But here’s where I start to have problems.

First, the subtitle of the book is:  “How I overcame addiction, poverty and homelessness to become a millionaire by 35.”   Well, the point of sobriety is not to become a millionaire, is it?  Quoting from some 12-step literature, “True ambition is the deep desire to live usefully and walk humbly under the grace of God.”  So, please, don’t read this book thinking you’re going to become rich.  If you go to Steele’s website he says he will speak about addiction for a speaker’s fee.  Go to any AA meeting, people will do the same for free.  Or contact me.  I’ll talk about it for free as well.

Second, there’s nothing you’ll read in this book that you won’t hear at any of those meetings held in church basements by groups of people who are trying to stay clean and sober together.  And those meetings don’t cost you a penny.  Anything I found useful in this book is simply a restating of common wisdom gleaned from the literature of Alcoholics Anonymous and other 12-step programs.

Third, although Steele does talk about how his particular “higher power” happens to be Jesus, and mentions that everyone should find their own “higher power,” he also says, “These men [who were staying sober] were following the same spiritual path I was following, and we were all experiencing the same incredible transformation in our lives.”  Look, absolutely, if the Christian faith resonates with you, as it does me, then that can be your higher power, but if you’re a Jew, or a Muslim, or a Native American, or a Hindu, or an atheist you’re just as likely as a Christian to stay sober, providing you find SOME higher power.  As a friend of mine said, “the only thing you need to know about God is that you aren’t it.”  ’nuff said.

Fourth, anonymity.  Okay, look, I out myself all the time.  Anyone who knows me knows I haven’t had a drink in fifteen plus years and if I haven’t told them outright how I stay sober, they have only to read this blog to figure it out.  But Mr. Steele is, I understand, making money as a professional-addict-in-recovery.  He gets paid for this book, and he gets paid to speak.  That just doesn’t seem right to me.  There are many ways to help addicts/alcoholics without it being for monetary gain. In fact the eighth tradition of AA states, “Twelfth Step work is never paid for.”

All in all, if you want to read the book as a way to augment your journey in early sobriety, you’ll find a good deal of useful information here — but you’d do just as well to read the book “Alcoholics Anonymous” which is where, apart from his personal story, most of Mr. Steele’s information comes from.

Lent begins today, which is, in Christian tradition, the period leading up to Easter and is intended as a time of reflection, of going within to hear the small still voice, and to take stock of who we are, to face ourselves and not be afraid of our imperfections.

On the Explore Faith website I found this:

Rather than viewing Lent as a season of drab and dreary self-examination and sacrifice that waters down its spiritual potency, we might see it as a time offered to us each year simply to sort things out. It can be an intentional period of 40 days that can be used to realign the disorder in our life that keep us out of balance with our own soul and with the God who loves us boundlessly, unconditionally, and eternally. Using Lent to take an honest look at the disarray inside ourselves with an eye to discarding the debris leaves us renewed, with eagerness, enthusiasm, gratitude, and a readiness to offer ourselves to God and to the world.

And in a book I’m reading called, INNER WORK by Jungian Analyst Robert Johnson  on working with the unconscious, I find this:

Shadow moon

Our egos divide the world into positive and negative, good and bad.  Most aspects of our shadows, these qualities that we see as “negative,” would in fact be valuable strengths if we made them conscious.  Characteristics that look immoral, barbaric, or embarrassing to us are the “negative” side of a valuable energy, a capacity we could make sue of.  You will never find anything in the unconscious that will not be useful and good when it is made conscious and brought to the right level.

What part of you will be hidden behind this symbol, the thief?  Perhaps a lively trickster, with all sorts of surprising talents.  Perhaps a juvenile delinquent in you who has never been allowed to grow up and put his heroic urge into something useful and mature.  Perhaps is is Dionysus, who has had to hid out in the unconscious because you have no natural place for his ecstatic and lyrical spirit in the midst of your purposeful life.

For people like me, who choose to stay away from drugs and alcohol one day at a time, it is often suggested we make a moral inventory of ourselves.  Recently I had someone, newly sober, ask what on earth the point of THAT was?  Well, I think the point is that few of us really have a clue about why we do the things we do, or why we can’t seem to do the things we know are good for us and for others.  Some of us (in fact, every honest alcoholic I’ve ever known) has done some things they’re not proud of, and don’t want to admit doing, but which fill them with shame no matter how they try to ignore them. Making a moral inventory of ourselves is a wonderful opportunity to examine feelings of  guilt, resentment, fear, and anger; to examine unthinkable thoughts, attitudes toward sex, opinions of ourselves, as well as an inventory of our assets. In short, like Lent, it’s an opportunity look in our cupboards and see what’s rattling around in there, what we want to keep, what needs repair, and what we might have outgrown, or never needed in the first place.

Heck, when I took my moral inventory, I found out a lot of the stuff in my cupboard didn’t even belong to me; it belonged to my mother, bless her.

"Lit" by Mary Karr

I also just finished reading Mary Karr’s excellent memoir of sobriety, LIT.  In it she recounts a moment when her sobriety adviser suggested she chroncile the resentments chewing her up:

I’ve been looking at myself in therapy off and on since age nineteen, I say.

A lot of therapy is looking through a child’s eyes, she says.  This is looking through an adult’s.

I like that.  Looking through an adult’s eyes. I’m not big on the whole inner child stuff.  My inner child’s a bit of a brat and a whiner, prone to selfishness and tantrums. The Little Princess. Snort.

When Karr finally does make a moral inventory of herself, she shares the stuff she isn’t too pleased about with a Franciscan monk.  When she’s done Brother Francis says,

Leave all that stuff here with me. God wants you to put this stuff down now.  Go wear the world like a loose garment.  And be of good cheer.  If you let God in, He’ll take this shame from you.

Even if you don’t believe in GOD, as in the big old guy with a beard, sorta like Santa Claus, only a Santa Claus who’s occasionally (or frequently) pissed off at you, even if your belief runs to science, or mystery, or even just your very best self, you can switch out the word “God” for one of those, and the advice is still good.  Leave all that stuff here.  The part of you that’s mentally healthy and useful to yourself and others wants you to put it down.  Be grateful for what you’ve got, and never mind what you haven’t got.  If you let humility and wonder and love and service to others guide you, you’ll get rid of unnecessary shame.

Now me, I don’t quibble with words when I can help it.  God’s a good enough word for me.  What I mean when I say God is indescribable anyway, so what does it matter?

Keep it simple.

It’s been a difficult week.  The Best Beloved and I just got back Montreal where we’d gone for my father-in-law’s funeral.  Morris passed away on January 12th (which is, oddly, also the day on which my adoptive father passed away, back in 1993). My father-in-law, Morris, was a great guy. He owned a department store in Saint Georges de Beauce near Quebec City, a store that was the heart of the region.   He had friends right out of Damon Runyon with names like Joey Onions, Jimmy-the-Book, Big Phil,and Jack-the-Hook, among others. He liked to hang out at the track.  Loved the ponies and, when he went to Florida every winter, loved the greyhounds, too. Sitting in Ben’s Smoked Meat on Boulevard de Maisonneuve in Montreal at 1:00 a.m., with Morris sipping his 20th cup of coffee that day was like was like walking into a Mordecai Richler novel.  He knew all the insomniacs and gypsy hacks, as Tom Waits might say.  He knew the waiters.  He knew the salesmen. When he and my adopted father first met, they got into a conversation about Rockhead’s Paradise, arguably the best jazz night club Montreal ever saw.   His funeral was packed with people, who all remembered him as a guy who might not have talked much, but who made everyone feel comfortable.  He helped before you had to ask him, and made everyone feel like an equal – from the street cleaner to the business executive.  That’s a rare talent.

His partner, Louisette, told me she came out of the bedroom a few months ago and found Morris crying.  When she asked him what was wrong he said, “Nothing, nothing,” and disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes.  When he came out he simply said, “I’ve had a nice life.”  And that was that.  He may have been a man of few words, but he chose the right ones.

On the day we were leaving a friend of mine, who I’ll call Joe, came to see me at the hotel where we were staying.  I’ve known Joe for probably ten years, and I love him to bits.  He’s kind and thoughtful and smart and funny and creative as hell.  And he, like me, is a recovering alcoholic/addict.  We both got clean and sober about fifteen years ago.  Joe’s been through a rough time the past few years with professional issues and loneliness (which I can’t figure out since he’s all the things I said above, plus gorgeous).  And although things look like they may be turning around, it’s still not easy.  He looks great though, and I said so.

Ah, he said.  Well, I’ve lost some weight.

How’d you do it? I said (since I’ve packed on a few pounds myself).

I started smoking again, he said.

Oh, no!  That’s not a good idea.

No. And I’ve started drinking again, too.

He looked as though he was afraid I might send him to detention.  But the truth was I wasn’t completely stunned.  I saw Joe about a year ago, and he’d been complaining about not liking those meetings in church basements we go to. They brought him down, he said.  I said, You don’t have to like them; if you want to stay sober you just have to go.  He didn’t have a sponsor any more, either, and wasn’t helping other people stay sober.

So, I guess he didn’t want to stay sober.  That’s the bottom line, isn’t it?  He hurt and he didn’t want to hurt anymore and although he said his spiritual life was fine, that he still had a relationship with whatever he understood to be “God,” he didn’t seem to have much serenity.  Somehow he thought taking a drink would stop the hurt.

But as I see it, now he only has something else to worry about.  Will he be able to control his drinking?  Because he is ‘managing’ it, as he puts it. (Frankly My Best Beloved, who doesn’t have this whole addiction thing, has never ‘managed’ a drink in his life.  Doesn’t even think about it.  That’s how non-alcoholics think, which I grant you, from the perspective of a real drunk like me, is BIZARRE.)  Now that he’s started drinking, and admits to having had a joint, is he going to find himself back doing other ‘dry goods’ as well?  If he’s got money problems, where’s the money for booze going to come from?

He says he’s not drinking every day, but there’s booze in the house, and he admits to drinking at least every couple of days.

“I know how this sounds, but it’s not a problem,” he says.

Maybe he’s right.  Maybe he’s the one in a thousand who can drink safely again. I sure hope so. But the fact that he’s willing to experiment with something that once tried to kill him doesn’t seem sane to me.  Sure, maybe after all these years of sobriety I could start drinking like normal people again, but if I can’t, I’ll die a wretched death, or end up in jail, or a mental institution.  That kind of Russian roulette doesn’t interest me.

But watching a friend walk straight into a railroad tunnel, toward that nice bright light, is a horrible feeling.  I feel helpless and frightened and terribly sad.  So, having developed some healthy habits over the past 15 years, as soon as I got back home I went to one of those church basement meetings.  In the meeting they talked about the difference between what we want and what we need.  One man talked about his mum, and how she had endured three terrible bouts with breast cancer.  The last one finally killed her. She hung in there until Christmas day, which was her favorite time of year, and died, at peace, looking up at the Christmas tree.  Like my father-in-law she never complained.   A few weeks before she passed, her son asked her how she was able to bear the pain and the grief – wasn’t she angry, wasn’t she resentful?  A woman filled with faith, she smiled, patted his hand, and said, “I’m fine. This is where God has me right now.”

That got me.  My father-in-law wasn’t religious, but he had that same sort of acceptance, that same sort of gratitude for his life and the circumstances of his present moment, whatever they might be.  Acceptance doesn’t mean we don’t feel grief, or anger or regret, or even agony.  It does mean we just feel it, knowing it to be part of the experience of life.  Part of the human experience, equalizing, inescapable, mysterious.

The next time I am crippled by pain, either physical or emotional, rather than reaching for a drink or a drug to numb the pain, I hope I will remember the words of my father-in-law, and that man’s mother:  “This is where God has me right now.  I’ve had a nice life.”  Acceptance and gratitude – the best medicine.

Philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche once said “One must have chaos in oneself in order to give birth to a dancing star.” Well, that‘s a poetic and hopeful concept for those of us who come from chaotic backgrounds. However, I’m not convinced that the life of such a tumult-born star can be sustained and nurtured in the same environment. Certainly, as a writer and someone who wants to extend my 14 years of sobriety, chaos — either external or internal — is no longer my friend.

My younger years were highly chaotic and sometimes dangerous times, fueled by alcohol, irritability, restlessness and discontent. I found it hard to stay anywhere or with anything or anyone for very long. This was largely because that sort of stillness resulted in having the occupying landscape or activity lose its newness and shine, and therefore its ability to distract me from my deeper self, or what Jung calls The Shadow Side — which, according to Carl Jung, is the part of the personality one chooses not to see.

“Beneath the social mask we wear every day, we have a hidden shadow side: an impulsive, wounded, sad, or isolated part that we generally try to ignore. The Shadow can be a source of emotional richness and vitality, and acknowledging it can be a pathway to healing and an authentic life. We meet our dark side, accept it for what it is, and we learn to use its powerful energies in productive ways.” -”Romancing the Shadow,” by Connie Zwieg, PhD., and Steve Wolf, PhD.

Unacknowledged and ignored, The Shadow can pop up in all sorts of unpleasant ways, and psychoanalysts theorize it is responsible for all sorts of behavior we’d rather not exhibit, as well as depression’s black-crow swoop and the malaise which seems to arise for no apparent reason.

For me, twitch and run as I might, I inevitably came face to face with myself and that, being a highly uncomfortable reflection, meant I was on the run again. Eventually, however, when I became so exhausted I could run no longer and that old Shadow caught up with me. I see that now as a moment of grace, even if at the time it felt horrible.

I could no longer deny that my life wasn’t working. I was addicted to alcohol, I was depressed and I had writer’s block. Lovely. Left with no alternative I faced that old Shadow and, in the parlance of Alcoholics Anonymous — admitted I had a problem. (I find much of the language and symbolism of AA is compatible with that of Jungian psychology and, as it happens, Carl Jung corresponded with Bill Wilson, the founder of AA.)

It wasn’t an easy path, nor was progress made overnight, but progress was made, and continues to be made. Still, even after all these years, sometimes The Shadow pops up again, albeit in a new way, at a new level, and I have to sit down and make friends with it all over again.

So, the question is — how does, exactly, one do that? Well, running away from discomfort doesn’t work, so it will come as no surprise that sitting still and not avoiding it just might. Perhaps it sounds too simple, too unsophisticated, but I can’t tell you how much the gentle ebb and flow of regular habits and routines can comfort you during a rough time, and return you to your healthy, creative and productive self. When life-on-life’s-terms piles up round your door and makes it difficult to go on, the simple, uncomplicated, quiet things can be incredibly healing.

There are times when a retreat from the jagged edges of the world is required, when it behooves us to pay attention to the day we’re in, and sometimes the pain we’re in. There’s quite a good book called “A 12-Step Approach to the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius” geared to those in recovery, obviously, that provides meditations for staying focused on simplicity and The Sacred. I suggest you don’t need to be “in recovery” to benefit from it. I also like “Saint Benedict on the Freeway – a Rule of Life for the 21^st Century.” This book helps us formulate a “rule” for our days – which is to say a daily pattern of life arranged so that there are particular moment in the day when certain things are done.

“Typically, we rule ourselves with habits of serial behavior that make our lives flow more easily, and follow sequences that help us to remember what comes next.” – Corinne Ware (Saint Benedict on the Freeway)

It doesn’t matter so much, in my mind, whether you believe in any particular form of Higher Power or not; what matters is that you find a way to live safely and peacefully within the world in such a way that you maintain your creativity and your health, both mentally and physically.

I used to think drama and chaos were the twin muses of creativity. Now I try to keep them out of my life, for when my life is in chaos it’s very hard to focus on the writing, which is my form of spiritual practice, and my most healing activity. And so I try to keep regular habits of sleep, food, exercise and solitude etc. I lead a very quiet life, for I’ve found that’s best for me.
It’s not easy sometimes, since my thoughts can sometimes get quite snarled and tumultuous. When that happens I try naps, going for a walk, or, if it’s really out of control, I watch a film called, “Into Great Silence,” about a Carthusian monastery in Grande Chartreuse in the French Alps, considered one of the world’s most ascetic monasteries. (In fact, that’s not a bad metaphor for my creative journey — beginning with Nietzsche and ending with a contemplative monastery!) It never fails that after watching these men leading their quiet, simple, peaceful lives, I slip back into peace myself.

I have a coffee mug that reads: Peace. It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart. I agree, but sometimes I need a little help getting there.

In case you do as well, I’ll leave you with this clip:

It’s easy to slip into obsessive thinking. It’s easy to lose our perspective and think our problems, our opinions, our troubles, are more important than they are.

On my bad days, this is my view of the world
(Thanks to Rev. Allan King for sharing the image with me.)

I know that sometimes, when someone says something I find hurtful, or thoughtless, I engage in long conversations with them, outlining the error of their thinking. The problem is, they aren’t in the room. Heck, often they aren’t even in my city. The what-I-might-have-saids, the what-I-should-have-saids, go rolling around inside my head until my heart pounds and I’m sure my blood pressure goes up. Sleepless nights can result. General crankiness can result.

If only I’d said such-and-such, then surely so-and-so would see things from my point of view. Surely they’d change their mind about me. But the truth is, no amount of obsessive-compulsive thinking and/or behavior changes much of anything. People will think what they will. Some people will like me. Some people won’t. Just as, truth be told, I don’t like everyone either. There are some folks who just rub me the wrong way, just as I doubtless rub them the wrong way.

I’ve learned that if someone is running away from you, you really don’t want to run after them. And if someone has decided you’re an ass, there’s little you do to dissuade them, painful as it may be. It’s very hard to defend oneself against such charges. In the end, the best thing to say is probably, “Good heavens! You’re right. I’m wrong. I actually am an ass. How clever of you to notice.” And go your separate ways in peace.

That’s life. Get over it. Drop the irritation by the side of the road. Move on.

Years ago, somebody once told me that what other people think of me is none of my business. Really? I mumbled, but what about my reputation? What about how evil and corrosive gossip and rumor can be? Nope, my wise friend said, all that is none of your business. The only things that are your business are your own thoughts and your own actions.

Don’t worry, I was told, what other people think of you. Worry what you think about them, and whether your thoughts are kind or cruel, selfish or empathetic. Don’t worry about the hurts other people inflict on you. Worry about not harming others.

And after some long reflection, I concluded my friend was right. If I hope for mercy rather than justice, I must be willing to grant the same to others. (And really, when it comes right down to it, aren’t you glad we don’t all get what we deserve? I know I am.) In fact, I was told, if you want to get rid of a resentment, pray every night for two weeks that the person you resent might have all the wonderful things in the world– even if you don’t really mean it. Just keep praying for them. Trying to prove my friend wrong, I picked someone I thought I’d resent forever, so great was their trespass against me, or so I thought. But sure enough, after two weeks, I found not only had I been released from the bonds of resentment that tied me to that person, but I sincerely wished them nothing but joy and peace and good fortune in all ways. If that wasn’t a miracle, well, I don’t know what is.

As a writer, it’s easy to get sidetracked by envy and resentments–Another writer gets a good review, or a book contract, or a grant. A critic is harsh, a stranger says something nasty, an agent doesn’t return calls… And it’s easy to get sucked into that weird universe where it’s all about ME, and my pain and what I think I deserve but am not getting, even, perhaps a little justifiable anger. But I don’t like envy and anger, justifiable or otherwise, and although I sometimes feel like drama and anger is familiar and even a little exciting, I know I can’t afford that sort of familiar, exciting emotion. For me, such emotions means I may well be walking toward the sort of behavior I have vowed to stay away from — like drinking alcohol, like selfishness, like self-centeredness.

So, how, during those moments when my perspective is skewed, can I restore it to what it ought to be?

Well, I found this video on youtube, and it certainly helps. And here’s the gist of it in stills:

Not bad, eh? Yes, that’s us, the nice big blue ball on the left.

Well, that’s a bit disturbing. Seems like we’re not the biggest dog in the yard. Earth, front row, far left.

Good lord. We are a speck.

We are less than a molecule on the face of a speck.
That’s the sun, far left. How important do my problems seem now?

I don’t know about you, but after that lesson in perspective, I want to lay all my petty concerns aside and fall down on my knees in awe, amazement and gratitude. How amazing to live in such an extraordinary universe, and not have to be concerned about being at its center. What a relief. What a wonder.

Copyright 2008 Lauren B. Davis For permissions: laurenbdavis.iCopyright.com

As a writer, I have learned the benefit of regular habits. Although I realize some writers only scurry to the typewriter (oh, how I date myself!) when the inspiration strikes them, I am in agreements with March Heaton Vorse, who said, “The art of writing is the art of applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair.”

Implicit in that statement is the idea of consistency and discipline. I never used to think I had any discipline, but after I got sober back in 1995, I was startled to discover that, if required, I could muster up quite a bit of it.

Someone who helped me stay sober back then gave me a few simple things to do every day, and told me if I did them, thoroughly and completely, I would stay sober for the rest of my life. I was so desperate to stop drinking, and to stay stopped, that I did what she suggested. Discipline is often born from such desperation, I think. And so far, so good – I’m still sober. These are the same things I now tell other people who want to get and stay sober:

• Get together with other people who are trying to stay sober (you know, those folks who tend to get together in church basements),
• Spend some time with whatever I consider The Ineffable (I was told I could believe in any God I liked, as long as it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t booze.)
• Call another alcoholic, such as the woman who was helping me, every day at a prearranged time. And by this I was told that if I agreed to call someone at 7:00 a.m., that didn’t mean 7:06.
• Help somebody else stay sober.
• Don’t pick up a drink.

Because these simple disciplines have worked so well for me, I am always saddened when a woman I’m trying to help stay sober doesn’t get it. I wince when I hear someone say, “I’ll take this suggestion, but I don’t think that one’s for me.” I flinch when someone says “I’ll try and get together with other people trying to stay sober today, if I can fit it into my busy schedule.” Such a woman will check in one day, but not the next, or the one after that, because hey, she’s busy, or upset about something, or she slept in. Such a woman can’t find time to help someone else stay sober, because right now her own problems are taking up all her time, and besides, didn’t she already say her life is SO busy?

Apparently such a woman forgets how easy it was to find a few hours (or more) to drink every day. And that’s sad, because the odds are overwhelmingly in favor of such folks ending up at the bottom of a bottle sooner or later.

Imagine a writer who would sit down to write a book, only if it didn’t interfere with watching “The Bachelor” on television, or maybe she’ll start that first draft, but will give it up after a week or so, when it becomes real work. Such a person is unlikely to become a writer, just as the person cherry-picking their sobriety is unlikely to stay away from the booze.

Everybody’s life is complicated. Everybody’s life is busy. Everybody has problems. If something’s important to you, you make a priority. If something’s not important to you well, what’s that expression? He’s just not that into you. You’re just not that into sobriety. Maybe such a woman will stay sober by doing it her way. I hope so, but I think I’ll try and help that woman over there, the one who seems willing to try the only thing I have on offer.

Writing’s like that, too. Maybe you will be one of those rare writers who never have to learn her craft, who writes only when it suits her, someone Inspiration is willing to chase down in the shopping mall, on the living room sofa, or at the ladies’ lunch, but that certainly hasn’t been my experience. My experience has taught me that if you don’t actually get your butt in the chair and write and learn your craft and practice some creative discipline, well, you’re probably just not that into being a writer.

Lots of people want to be authors, but not many want to be writers, just like many people don’t want the lives they had when they were drinking alcoholically, but don’t want to do the work it takes to get and stay sober either.

With drunks, experiential wisdom says there are some things you need to do, if you want to stay sober. Staying out of bars is one. Not hanging around with folks who drink and drug is another. Developing a relationship with a higher power is one more, as is going to those inconvenient meetings and calling the person trying to help you when you say you will.

With writers, you have to show up at the page every day. You have write and write and re-write and re-write, even when it’s uncomfortable, even when you’ve hit a nerve way down in the broken central core of who you are, and discovered that’s the very thing you have to write about. You have to deal with your emotions, and not let despair, doubt and envy get the better of you. You have to put your faith in something greater than yourself – by which I mean, as a writer you have to learn to trust the power and worth of story-telling, as well as develop your talent, honor your inspiration, and keep your behind in the chair, consistently.

I think I’ll give some thought as to what the Twelve Steps for Writers might be. Look for it in a future post.

Copyright 2008 Lauren B. Davis For permissions: laurenbdavis.iCopyright.com

Looks attractive at first glance, yes?

Earlier this week, a man called me from another city, a friend of my father’s. I’ll call him Joe. Joe has thirty days sober — made it through the holidays — but was having a bad day, full of anxiety, and was afraid he was going to drink again. He couldn’t find my father, who has been helping him, and felt too nervous, he said, to call some of the other people who might help him, but who he didn’t know very well. For some reason, although we’ve never met in person and only spoken once before on the phone, he thought he could reach out to me. We talked for a while, and I tried to convince him to call a man we both know who lives in Joe’s town and who had offered his assistance in the past. We talked about what alcoholism had cost Joe in the past — it was a long list, as it is for all alcoholics. And we talked about what he thought he’d find in the bottom of the bottle this time, and what he’d feel like when he woke up, IF he woke up, tomorrow morning after having lost his sobriety.

And now?

We’d been on the phone for maybe fifteen minutes when Joe’s daughter’s voice called out in the background. She needed her dad to drive her to work. She needed her dad. Joe said okay, and then talked to me for a few more minutes before she called out to him again, and he said he had to go, but could he call me back. I said yes, but that I wanted him to call our local friend first, and arrange with him to get to one of those meetings where people with similar problems help each other. He said he would. He never called back, so I don’t know whether he did, or whether he drank, or if he’s still alive. Some people die pretty quickly when they start drinking again, or end up in jail, or in a mental institution.

How about this?

I hope he made the call and got the help he needs. I hope that no only for him, but for his family. For his daughter, who I have no doubt has paid a pretty damn big price for her father’s disease, one no child should have to pay. I know, since my father was an alcoholic too, and since, as an (childless) alcoholic myself I can certainly attest to how selfish, twisted and untrustworthy we can be. I thought about how little attention she paid to her father on the phone, struggling to stay sober the next hour. It was clear she’s been down this road so many times she’s grown pretty numb. And that’s not good. Not good at all.

Or this? Think she planned to end up here?

And then, the next morning, I received an email from a woman I know from numerous phone calls, although we’ve never met either. Her husband is out there, drunk as a gin-swilling rat, working his own special magic in the world, creating a tornado of grief and trouble in her life, and the life of their two children. In this email, she said things were going pretty badly, and he just wouldn’t get sober. She also included a letter her eighteen-year-old daughter had recently written to a judge now involved in the situation.

I was, and am, deeply moved by this letter and so I asked the young woman’s permission to print it here, in the hope that someone, perhaps Joe, would read it and realize what he’s doing, not only to himself, but to his family, to his beloved children. The young woman, whom I’ll call Caitlin, which means ‘courage and purity’ in Irish, kindly gave me that permission, and so, here it is:

Dear Judge,

There are millions of people in the world. People are not perfect, some make mistakes, some try their best each and every day to succeed. And some are addicts. Addicts don’t realize that they have a problem. They think they are fine, it’s normal; addicts think that you are crazy for saying that they have a problem. Some need help, hope and faith. I may only be 18 years old, but I have gone through a lot in life so far. I know a lot. >

My father is an alcoholic. He lost his job in New York City by drinking all the time. He drank his dream job away. Since then his drinking has gotten worse and worse. It’s been crazy and scary. Sometimes I’d come home and my brother would be locked in his room and my dad would be downstairs sleeping. Or, hey dad, what’s for dinner? Then I would get yelled at for saying what’s for dinner, he would tell me I suck at life, I am a horrible person. I didn’t take it personal because you could smell the alcohol on him. I was kind of used to it. I love my father, he’s my father.

Glamorous, huh?

But I do miss those days, going shopping with him, working on the car, working on projects for the house. Playing basketball. Doing all those father and daughter fun things. And I want it back. His drinking is out of control. I always imagined my senior year perfect, having the family, being happy, coming home from school and everything being perfect. Sitting down at the dinner table and being all together. I never imagined child services coming to my school and talking to me.

I thought I would never be that girl. But I am that girl. I never pictured having no money. Being on welfare. Sometimes can’t afford to buy food. I would lock my door at night sometimes when my dad was drinking a lot. My mom would be out of town and dad always drank. When my parents were fighting and my dad was drunk I would keep a dull kitchen knife in my pocket just in case my drunken father made a move to kill my mom. I would always worry about that. Isn’t that sad, thinking your father might kill your mother; my dad did choke my mom once. Yes, I called the cops lots of times when he was drunk. I would sometimes hide in the cornfield when my mom wasn’t home. I would have the phone with me at all times. The cops show up, they always say, what’s going on today? Then my dad would come out and say O officer everything is fine here, she justdoes this sometimes. You can leave. The officer says sir have you been drinking today? No officer I haven’t. When the cops left that was when I was really scared, then my dad would yell so much I would sometimes unlock the back door in case I had to escape. I could run and he couldn’t get me.

June 3rd is the day probably everything turned. You have your records right in front of you. Look what happened on June 3rd. He was so drunk he couldn’t even take the trash out. He forced me in my car to go to gymnastics practice. My dad couldn’t watch my 5 year old brother. Right? Well so I called the cops. The cops actually told me to go away with my brother, somewhere safe. I went to my friend Alex’s house. My dad was so mad at me. Later that day he was pressing charges on me for kidnapping my brother. I heard he called the state chief of police. They put my father on restraining order. Look on your records, did he follow them? Well sorry to say nope. He called, he contacted. He still e-mails us to this day. He showed up at our house on November 11, 2008. Drunk of course. Hitting the door saying I have lost my car keys, please E——, help me, all I want is my keys. At least he didn’t drive to our house. He took a cab. I wish he had an accident. Then it wouldn’t have happened. I grabbed a bat and dialed 911 once again, my brother hid under the table, and I gripped my bat so hard ready to smack him in case he broke down the door again. On June 13th someone broke into our house and stole jewelry. I wonder? There were droppings of jewelry to the train station. Where was my dad at that time? Princeton Train station, my dad was still on a restraining order. Figure that one out.

That night when he showed up drunk, we had to go to a safe house in Trenton because it wasn’t safe at home. Women there are so battered up, some wouldn’t say anything, some would limp around, some would cry at dinner. Sometimes it was hard for me because I am a teen who’s living in a shelter in Trenton. It was so hard. But it was a great experience; real people are facing the hardest battles in their lives. Some people don’t realize that there are people who are facing these things out there in the world. I never knew.

I feel like I am a stronger person, that I can do anything now. That I can face any battle that is out there in the world. I mean what could go wrong next? All I want is my father to go to rehab, admit he has a problem, and get better and I really want my family back. I don’t really want to move. I like my house a lot. That’s the one thing he cannot take away from me, is my house. My backyard, our house is in foreclosure. Like I never thought this could happen. Make my dad get a job. Make him go to rehab. He broke so many rules he should be going to prison. I am sick and tired being depressed missing everything, being scared all the time. Looking out the window, sleeping with a bat at night. He needs help, and if you can’t do anything about this problem, you shouldn’t be a judge. My parents have gone to court a lot, and things still remained the same. If you really cared you could change something. Change is good. Make him better so my family can have a meal at dinner and on summer days eat lunch outside. Please.

Thank you,

If you read this, and if it makes a difference in your life — and really, how could it NOT? — I wish you’d let me know so I can pass your message on to “Caitlin.” It would mean
a lot to her to think she may have saved someone else’s life, even if it may not be the life of her father.

“Caitlin” — thank YOU, dear. And be brave. You are not alone.