Tag: escape

Recover Your Joy

Our world has felt heavy to me for a long time. If I’m honest, it has felt heavy ever since 9/11/2001. That was the day that everything changed. Collectively, we lost our innocence in the United States on that day.

Since then, we’ve been involved in protracted, un-winnable, perhaps unethical, wars in the Middle East. We witnessed our leaders cavalierly abandon our principles, forgoing due process and endorsing torture. We have suffered presidents who have failed to lead the country with honesty and integrity. And we have witnessed a rise in radicalism on both the left and the right, and with this rise, a fracturing of the country along political lines that is more severe than at any time in our history.

And we now face a deadly plague that has expanded around the globe.

These are difficult and challenging times. And it can be hard to find reasons to smile. Hard to find joy and humor in these times. But that’s exactly what we need in times like these.

It’s incumbent upon us all to find humor and joy wherever and whenever possible. We must have faith and hold hope that things will get better, and they will. They always do.

So how does one find hope, humor, and joy, in times like these?

Here are a few suggestions:

  1. Go for a walk, a run, or a bike ride and feel the sun and wind on your face. Getting outside is foundational to my recovery. I have always been one to be outside rather than inside, even as a child. There is something to getting some vitamin D and immersing oneself in the natural world. Don’t wear earbuds.
  2. Cook good food and eat it with your family and friends. Cooking is creativity. For me, it is an outlet. Magic happens as onions sizzle and flavors combine in the pot. Sitting down to a good meal with friends and family resonates deep in the human experience. We have been eating communally for millennia.
  3. Escape. Healthy escape in a good book, a podcast, or a movie can be just what one needs to feel momentarily happy. There’s nothing wrong with an escape once in a while, but escape can become problematic when it’s the only coping mechanism that one knows and practices.
  4. Meditate. Yes, meditation really does make things better in life. Get yourself an app, a pair of earbuds and a cushion and practice. I can personally recommend Calm, Insight Timer, and 10% Happier. I have used them all and have found them to be well worth it. I am not paid or otherwise compensated by any of these companies, I just like them and use their products.
  5. Make art and music. Maybe you don’t fancy yourself an artist. Maybe you don’t believe you can play an instrument. Maybe you’re a Picasso or Santana’s cousin. Drop the judgement and just do something to get creative. You may surprise yourself. You may find that you have a talent that you never knew existed. And if you do these things without judgement, you may just have some fun.
  6. Listen to music. If you really don’t think you can make music, spin some tunes that remind you of a good time in your life. My go-to tunes to feel good include The Rolling Stones, the Stone Roses, Van Halen, New Order, Bill Evans, Miles Davis, and John Coltrane. And of course that band from college that played the same set every night in all the bars that I frequented, the Dirges.
  7. Watch a child play. Or better yet, play with a child. I guarantee you will find some joy and laugh if you get down on your hands and knees and play with a little one.

We need to have some fun and find joy to make this life meaningful and to get through the hard times. These are hard times. Find and make joy whenever and wherever you can. Even if it’s just a small thing, it will make a difference in your day.

How do you find joy in life? Drop me a comment and let me know.

Posted on by damien 4

Running, Tears, and EMDR Therapy

It’s been a rough 2019. We’ve been through a lot as a family this year My wife and I had to appear in court on behalf of our son this week. We both gave statements in a case that resulted from the traumatic events we experienced in March. It was a hard day. Emotions ranged from anger to rage, to frustration, to compassion, to forgiveness. I suffered a migraine on the day of the court hearing.

Even though I’d started the day with a meeting, I still needed the support of friends in the program that night. I was glad to have a phone full of numbers and happy to talk to my sponsor that night. He reminded me that sometimes injustice cannot be reconciled, that the ledger will never balance for these transactions and suggested that in these cases the best thing we can do is to balance the greater ledger by doing something to make the world a better place. That kind of thinking and that kind of advice is why he’s my sponsor.

Today, I’d spent the entire day working on my computer and not getting very far with a particular project. At 4:30 I was pretty frustrated and so I decided to go for a run. I was listening to a Podcast called “Athletes Unfiltered” about Mirna Vilariowho is the author of the blog “Fat Girl Running”. Her story is impressive and challenges us to rethink what we call athletic. She is a hero. She is a woman who overcomes adversity and inspires me to be a better runner.

I knew that I wasn’t going for a long run today before I left the house and so my route was confined to the neighborhood. As I was listening to Mirna’s inspiring story I came up in a dad helping his little girl learn to ride her bike without training wheels and I was reminded of teaching my son to ride. I found myself welling up with emotion. I had a huge smile and gave her a thumbs up and a “Good Job!” As I passed her. She hadn’t realized that her dad had let go of the seat. And then I felt the tears.

Maybe it was a mix of listening to that podcast and my own emotional memories of my son as a younger boy but I was suddenly full of emotion. So raw from all of this year. The tears just came out. And with each step there were more emotions.

It felt good, if somewhat odd, to be having a cry as I ran around the neighborhood. No one could have known anyway, what with all the sweat that was pouring down my face, but even if someone had noticed I wouldn’t have cared. I needed to let out those emotions.

I’ve been wondering about where this emotional release came from tonight and I think I have an answer. When the trauma first hit our family this year a friend suggested I look into EMDR therapy. I discussed it with my wife and she told me that she knew if it and that walking, hiking, and running can have the same effect on the brain as EMDR. I wasn’t sure I believed this, but several times we’ve been in hikes and our son has suddenly had an emotional release. And now I’ve experienced this myself.

I’ve always know that walking, hiking, and running were good for my soul, now I think I know a little better why this is so.

Posted on by damien 3

I Haven’t Written a Post In 2019, Here’s an Update

At the end of 2018 I was thinking of combining this blog with an older one and renaming it. I was considering the change because I wasn’t sure that the idea of a sober blog, a sober persona online, was serving me. I’ve long struggled with the idea of identity. And so I’d shut down one twitter handle and renamed my primary handle.

Then life happened.

In January one of my high school friends died, potentially as a result of his substance use. I really don’t know but it hit me pretty hard because I’d been talking to him about my sobriety and his for months. It seemed like he was doing great. And then he was dead.

February came and went, as it does. Nothing exciting. Cold and grey.

March was a shit show. I can’t get into the details but my sobriety was tested by events in my life that no parent should ever have to go through. I struggled with cravings in a way that I haven’t in years. The desire to numb and escape was stronger than it has been since my early rays in sobriety. But I did the right things. I went to meetings and I talked with lots of people both in and out of the program. I should note that everyone is safe and healthy but it was one of the most traumatic events of my life.

I also was interviewing for a job in March. I couldn’t give the interview process my complete attention and as a result I would learn that I didn’t get the job in April. This is probably a good thing.

As a result of the events of March I started seeing a trauma therapist. This is long over due and it’s been helpful. I am learning more about myself that I learned through the steps. This experience has reenforced my belief that outside help is more important than the 12 step community generally acknowledges.

April was better. The weather started getting warmer. I started running again, We went in a trip to Grand Cayman.

But April was not 100% peaches and cream. I learned that I didn’t get the promotion and I also got my first ever call from HR. It turns out that even though I was ready to consolidate my online personas, my employer was not happy with one of my politically charged tweets. To be fair, I said some rather unprofessional things to our Tweeter in Chief.

The call from HR was really a non-issue because I was happy to remove the tweet and didn’t fight their objection, but it opened my eyes a bit and made me recognize that some separation between my personal life, my personal online presence, and my professional self and online presence is probably warranted.

And suddenly, it’s the middle of May and I haven’t posted in 5 months.

I have a few ideas about some topics to post in the near future but for now, I’ll just say that I’m doing okay.

I’m still sober and I keep moving forward.

Posted on by damien 7

Don’t Bite the Hook

Feelings can be so intense. This morning I was supposed to take my son fishing on a charter out of Menemsha harbor. I woke at 6:30, made coffee, prepared lunch and snacks, and got him up for the adventure. We walked down to the appointed meeting point, the Menemsha Texaco, arriving at 7:50. Plenty of time to grab an extra snack and a T shirt for the boy who was wearing a sweatshirt with nothing underneath in August. Plenty of time to catch the boat.

My wife had made the arrangements and we’d been told to meet at the Texaco. As the clock neared 8:00, the time to shove off, I started to wonder where everyone was, when the owner of the boat was going to show up. I knew that I should have started asking questions but my social anxiety got the better of me.

They will show up I kept thinking. It’s island time. No big deal. Until I saw the boat pulling away and said, “we just missed our boat.” That’s when the woman who organizes the trips emerged from behind the Texaco and said, “I’m sorry, we were waiting for you.”

I couldn’t believe it. She didn’t have a cell phone to call the captain. Apparently he didn’t have one either because when I offered mine she didn’t respond. A friendly man, said he’d radio the boat but the news was not good. The captain wasn’t coming back. The woman said, “we’re just getting started, how could I have avoided this?” I suggested that perhaps a sign, clearer directions to the boat beyond meet at the Texaco, and perhaps making a call out that the boat was leaving might be helpful.

Mr. Grey and I started walking home. And then the feelings hit.

Failure. Shitty father. Idiot. Dumbass. You fuck everything up. You let down the ones you love the most.

The same feelings that I used to have when I was drinking. Only now there isn’t anything to numb the pain. No escape hatch. Just have to sit with them.

My son is more forgiving than I am. He asked me to take him fishing when we get home. And I will. And still, I have a hard time forgiving myself.

I know that in the grand scheme of things missing a fishing charter is nothing compared to being the drunk dad that I once was, destined to die early in life. And yet, I still feel like I failed today.

I’m going to try to shake this off. I’m going to offer myself metta — loving kindness. I’m going to do my best to let go of this. As Pema Chödrön says, “don’t bite the hook.”

Posted on by damien 11

It’s Been a Struggle

The past few months have been a struggle for my son as well as for my wife and me. We have been working to address some challenges he faces with ADHD through medication for about six months. We have also been working with a therapist and attempting to work with his school during this time as well. Things have gone well with the therapy but the other fronts have been marginal at best.

I know from my own experience with antidepressants that finding the right medication and the right dose is a series of trials and errors. And we’ve had some real errors in this department with our son. We’ve watched as he’s tried various families of medications and witnessed rage, increased migraines, frustration, and stomach aches for six months. The boy has been through the ringer. There have been periods of relative success but we have not settled on a perfect solution.

We’ve struggled to find a great doctor. The first psychiatrist we worked with didn’t seem to have any ideas and frankly had the personality of snail snot. We bailed on her in January after we realized that she was about as confused as we were. We went to his pediatrician since we had no where else to turn and she attempted to help but When things didn’t improve she suggested another psychiatrist.

About a week ago we met with a new psychiatrist who seems to have better ideas and we believe we are on a path. I’ve dutifully kept the school up to date in all the changes, but to be honest, and without going into details, the response from the school has been less than stellar. We have a meeting with the principal today to discuss the situation and see if we can find a path forward.

My escape instinct has been strong too. I’ve had more than a few thoughts of escape. Thoughts of moving. Thoughts of taking a solo trip. Thoughts of obliterating my feelings. Thoughts turning in to the liquor store on the way home. Thoughts of that magical elixir and the sweet relief that it brings.

But I know that it won’t help. I know that escape is temporary and that my family needs me. And so, I keep doing the next right thing.

I keep going to meetings. I keep meditating. I keep talking to people who I trust. I keep tweeting with my #recoveryposse on Twitter. And I keep playing the tape forward and witnessing myself alone and depressed with a bottle. It’s not a pretty site and the pain is palpable when I take the initial thought to its final conclusion.

But I haven’t written here. That’s one thing that I have not been doing. It’s hard to write at this point. Partly because the pain is not mine alone. By not writing though, I have failed myself in a way. Writing has always been a way to work things out, to get to a better place.

And so, I’m writing. And I’m scared to publish. But I know that sharing my story (even if it’s not mine alone) is important. And I know that writing is how I share my story. But more importantly, writing is a part of my program for success. And if I’m not working my program, I’m not going to succeed in the long run.

Posted on by damien 13

Reflections On a Weekend After Two Years Without a Drink

“Sir, Did the Rangers get ahold of you?”

Me, stupefied, “Did the Rangers get ahold of me? Um, no, they didn’t.”

“We’ve been trying to get ahold of everyone who rented a cabin, we have a problem, stinkbugs,” the kind woman with curly salt and sandy hair said as she motioned around the cabin that serves as the check-in station at the state park where I’d rented a rustic cabin for the weekend. The walls had many, but not an over abundance of, stink bugs crawling around.

I thought for a moment. Maybe they’d left a message on my house phone, which I never check and want to eliminate but my wife insists that we need one. There are some battles that aren’t worth fighting.

“You can have a look at the cabin. I’ve cleaned it twice today and we bug bombed it yesterday, but I don’t think you’ll want to stay.”

We drove to the cabin and I took one look inside and knew we weren’t staying. The place was crawling with bugs, hundreds of them on the window alone. It was already 6:30 and I was exhausted having spent most of the day preparing for the trip. My son took the news better than expected, but I was miserable.

We went into the nearest town and had dinner. The server asked for drink orders, my son asked for a Shirley Temple and my wife asked for her customary Cranberry and Club soda. I hesitated. I was thinking about whether I wanted club soda or iced tea when the server asked, “would you like to see our tap list, sir?”

I hesitated again, letting the words register. I didn’t really want a beer, I wanted to have a smart ass retort, something like, “I don’t think you have enough insurance,” or “I’d like to get home for Christmas,” but none came. And briefly, I felt awkward before I ordered my iced tea.

Perhaps sensing the moment, my son asked, “Dad, who convinced you to get sober?” after the server left the table.

“I did.”

“Why’d you want to get sober?” he asked.

“Because, well, because I wasn’t ready to die.”

There was a brief look of real concern on his face and I assured him that I hadn’t been in imminent danger, but that if I’d continued to drink the way I was I would surely have died from it.

Relief shown on his face, as he accepted that simple answer as a nine year old will do.

The weekend didn’t turn out as I’d planned. It was supposed to be an escape to nature. An escape to the country. A weekend of hiking, cooking over fires, sleeping in sleeping bags, seeing wildlife, and not being too close to other people. This was the way I’d envisioned the second anniversary of my sobriety date. But it wasn’t meant to be.

We made the best of it. On Saturday, I looked for another site where we could stay with our tent, but my son wasn’t really into getting in the car and driving for an interminable distance (anything more than 15 minutes) to sleep only one night in the tent. So I rebooked for a few weeks out.

My sobriety date coincides with my niece’s birthday and so I called the family to see what they were doing. Mom said that there would be cake. That was enough for me.

We still wanted to get outside and so we decided to head to Ladew Topiary Gardens in Jarretsville, MD for the afternoon before going to my brother’s for dinner. Mr. Grey kvetched, but went along with the plan, because when you’re nearly ten you do what you parents tell you to do.

Ladew was lovely. The grounds are broken up into formal topiary gardens as well as less formal meadows of wildflowers. It being late September, the wildflowers are starting to die, withering and turning brown. There is a certain smell that accompanies the late summer as it bleeds into early autumn that reminds me of home. Not the home I’m wishing to escape so often, but home where I grew up. The country.

I’ve been thinking a lot about moving lately. There is something that just doesn’t sit right about where I currently live. Part of it, I think, is that this house is the place were my drinking went off the rails. Every day is a reminder of what went wrong. Any time my neighbors have people over, I feel like I’m either missing out or I get angry at myself for how I behaved up until two years ago.

I know I shouldn’t do this. I know that there were underlying reasons why I sought the solace of inebriation. I know that it has nothing to do with geography, and yet, I yearn to escape.

I realized this morning, as I was taking a walk in my local park, Kinder Farm Park, that I’ve lived in my house longer than any other place in my entire life. We’ve been here twelve years. It is beginning to feel like an eternity. The only other place that I lived nearly this long was my home in Taneytown, MD, and that was only for 9 years.

So maybe it’s just time. Maybe its not about escaping, maybe I’m just a rambler who’s been stuck in one place for too long. I don’t know the answers.

But I do know this, even if I wasn’t able to escape and celebrate my two year sobriety anniversary, I’ve come a long way in two years. And as I said to a friend on Saturday, “things are markedly better now, and, well, they weren’t so good before.”

And that, is what recovery is all about.

Posted on by damien 5

Escape

I grew up in the country and spent my formative years close to the land. Everyone I knew hunted and fished. Friends lived on farms and had livestock and horses. After school and on weekends, my time was spent outside, usually with a bb gun and a pair of boots.

Farms were a big part of life. It felt like everyone had a pickup, usually with a gun rack in the window. My first jobs were on farms — bailing hay, painting barns, painting fences with creosote, splitting wood, and shoveling shit. The woman I lost my virginity to lived on a pig farm.

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Posted on by damien 0