Smart

Some folks brag that their dog is so smart. My Nicki is not smart…not even a little bit. He doesn’t know how to jump, though he is fully able. Thresholds of doorways pose a puzzling barrier for him. He whines. He barks and screams fanatically as if I have been gone all day when I return just moments after retrieving the mail. He wears a diaper. He is a sissy. He knows no tricks though we have tried in vain. He gets lost in the yard. He falls in the pool though his vision is fine. He can’t swim.  While the other dogs run and play at the park he cowers under the bench where I sit.

Nicki & Dora

When I come home after a long day he is beyond excited. His eyes light up. He wails.  All eight pounds of him dance clumsily trying to reach up close to me. He grabs his favorite toy, prompting me to grab it from his mouth and throw it. He will not rest until I scoop him up and hold him close so that he can kiss my face. Later he is proud and happy to sit next to me on the sofa doing absolutely nothing. He loves me unconditionally. He loves me in a way that this smart human is unable to replicate. He is pretty smart.

 

Perfectionist? Really?

More than once, I have referred to myself as a perfectionist. Could it be that the word doesn’t mean what I thought it did? Does it mean picky, fussy, finicky, meticulous, obsessive-compulsive, paranoid, dissatisfied, and prone to procrastination? Does it mean that I notice and focus on the one thing that seems out of place?

How is my notion of perfection kin to my frequent avoidance of activities that I think I’m not “good” at? Does the fear of failure keep me in my shell?

Does Perfection have anything to do with the bad attitude I get when things out of my control don’t go my way, when circumstances don’t unfold according to my plans?

Perfection continues to be in no danger from me.

~Carl

Low Tide

Visited my old home just the other day, the place I grew up, the place I lived off and on for my whole life until last year. I miss that place. I miss the water. This day the tide was low, really low. I walked out onto that rarely exposed muddy flat, my shoes sinking into the soft sludge a tiny bit more with each step. Future pieces of driftwood, shredded crab-traps, barnacle encrusted bottles, buckets, and trash lay scattered about, a muddy suction holding them all firm.

The smell was tremendous, unique to low tide…earthy, organic, rotting (but in a good way), briny, pungent decay. Olfactory hallucinations conjured memories. Closing my eyes brought the past rushing towards me, recalling everything at once. I experienced time in a wholly different manner.

What does this have to do with my recovery? Everything. Though I sometimes struggle with negative feelings connected to certain places and events, I have no bad memories associated with my love of the low tide…except that there was such a long period of time during which I was unable to appreciate it….but today I can.  I miss that smell.

~Carl

In Here vs. Out There

In here, sitting in a meeting, I feel safe and secure.  Out there, in the world, I feel uncomfortable and scared.  

In here I know I belong. I fit in. I can breathe. I feel relaxed. Out there, life is unpredictable. Out there, things are dangerous.  I struggle. It’s tough out there.

In here, I know where everything is. Out there, I don’t know my way around so well. I may get turned around. I might get lost.

In here, I can slow down. Out there, everyone is in such a hurry. I feel pressured to keep up.

In here there is structure. I know how long I’m going to be here and I know what will happen.  Out there, everyone is on different schedules with competing priorities.

In here, the darker and more serious things get, the more I feel a part of.  When it gets dark out there, bad things happen.

The trick is to take what I get in here and bring it with me when I go out there. It takes a while. At first, what I take out there with me may only last for minutes, vanishing into thin air as soon as my mind strays. But, with repetition and practice, every so often, I find the ease and comfort I feel in here staying with me for the remainder of the day out there. It feels good. It takes a while, but you can do it.

~Carl

As I was saying…

Wow! These past weeks have been an amazing whirlwind, miracles upon miracles, dreams coming true, unimagined dreams coming true, impossible becoming possible. I graduated from college with awards and honors. I got married for the first and only time, to my very best friend and love of my life.  We spent a life-changing week in Maui, which was the first time I had left the southeastern United States.  I started this blog. I am soon opening my Etsy store. I am also in the midst of becoming a first-time home owner.

Some of these events are purely dreams come true. Others are far beyond my comprehension, for I never allowed myself to dream so big. I am not just drinking from the saucer because my cup is running over…the ground is flooding around me. These wonderful events have me immensely grateful.  But, I am also very aware of clearly contradictory emotions occurring simultaneously within me. In the past I have not handled success well, not well at all. Success made me suspicious and cautious, scared and nervous, looking over my shoulder, wary, waiting for what surely must be impending doom. Surely it will all come crashing down…for I used to pull those walls down around me each and every time anything good or healthy or positive was on the horizon…. master of self-destruction that I was.

“Was” is the key word. I don’t have to live like that anymore, and I will not live like that anymore. Despite these lingering fears that stubbornly remind me how bad things were, today my life is wonderful. Though there still exist inside me dark feelings that tell me I am unworthy of such good fortune, I need not adopt their themes.

My doubts and my dark memories are the healthiest of tools today. My past remains with me, as it should, now stashed in its proper place…no longer guiding me blindly, but existing always on the periphery, protecting me, jumping out to nudge me when circumstances warrant. Today I know what it means to be a grateful recovering addict and alcoholic.

Mahalo, Carl

I Now Pronounce You….

The next time you hear from me I will be married. That’s right. You never thought this 45 year old man would find himself so incredibly blessed, and neither did he I.

Do you remember, years ago, when you asked someone you respected and trusted something like, “How do you know when you have found the right one, the woman you want to marry?” Their answer was the always frustrating, “You’ll know when you have found her. You’ll just know.” What were they saying? There were times in the distant past when I was somewhat in love and wondered if she was the one, but that old question was always swirling in my head. The answers those times were not so clear….maybe? Maybe not?

Today, I know exactly what that wise person was talking about. Today I know! I know it completely and I accept it fully, for Dana and I have found something magical.

But, much like my sobriety, I did not realize it at the moment it happened. It snuck up on me over time, only growing as I learned to live in the present, only possible as I made myself truly available, and only making itself visible in retrospect. I cannot tell you when I knew that Dana was the one…not the day, not the week, and not the month. I do know that it was after some time together… time spent sharing time and thoughts, time spent having wonderful moments, and time spent doing nothing much at all. One day it dawned on me…I have found the one.

I cannot tell you when I got sober, really sober….not the day, not the week, and not the month. I do know that it happened after some period of time, time during which I failed to have a drink or drug…time spent sharing time and thoughts, time spent having wonderful moments, and part of the time doing nothing much at all. Though I had tried so hard and failed so miserably for years and years, it finally happened, really happened, when I quit trying so hard, when I learned to spend real time in the present, and when I made myself truly available. One day, right in the middle of things, it dawned on me….I’m sober, I am really sober. I am free.

Let love rule!

~Carl

Uh oh. I must be in trouble.

I am given an incredible amount of trust and freedom at work. They love and respect me, and allow me to do my thing with minimal interference. However, this addict in me is just as likely to whine about being left alone as to be grateful for not having anyone breathing down my neck. Every once in a while I will get a message from my boss to come see here for a minute…and every time this happens I assume the worst. There are times when hours may pass between me getting her message and her having the time to meet with me. My mind goes crazy?  “What have I done?” “This must be bad.” I will wrack my brain, going over the details of the last week trying to figure out what this meeting must be about. In an hour I can go from confident competent leader to assuming I will be jobless by day’s end. I look at my office and wonder if I will be able to fit all my stuff in the back of the Honda, removing all traces of me in only one trip. I go through the kitchen trying to recall which utensils and equipment belong to me and which ones belong to work….”Screw it, they can keep my stuff.” I start thinking about my resume’ not being up to date. How long will I be able to afford to live before I find a new gig? I check Craigslist for job openings. My eyes start to well-up. I get sad. I get mad. I get happy and excited! Woohoo! I can’t wait to sleep late and do what I want to do all day. Think of all the things I will be able to do!

Then the phone rings…”Ok, I can see you now.” I march down to her office, mentally prepared for what is about to happen, having fully imagined and rehearsed the conversation that is surely about to take place. But instead of firing me, she tells me how well I have done on my yearly job performance evaluation, thanks me for my hard work, and tells me to keep on doing what I have been doing. Oh.

On the way back to the kitchen I recall the previous times I have been called to the office, scared as hell, expecting the worst….Once it was to talk about plans to send me to a conference. Another time it was to let me know I would be receiving an award. Other times were to seek my feedback about particular clients. Last time it was so she could share with me that a local magazine had featured her in an article. Another day it was to alert me of an upcoming audit so I could be sure all my paperwork was in order.

The irony is that the next time I am called to the office….I will surely be scared.

Late for Breakfast

Some background….I am the food service director (cook and boss of cooks) at a nonprofit, residential, behavioral and substance abuse treatment center for adolescent boys.

Also, for years now, I have been engaged in the futile attempt to become a morning person: current job-required earliness pushing me daily in this endeavor. Note….getting up early each day no more makes me a morning person than hanging out in a chicken coup makes me a rooster.

On the mornings that I serve breakfast I get up at 4:30am, early enough to allow for my morning rituals, ample time for me to get to work and have breakfast for forty ready to be served at 7:30. Though it is part of my employer’s plan to keep the kids on a tight schedule, there are times when things lag behind. And, due to recent downsizing, we only have one cook at a time when there used to be two…so it is often a mad scramble to get breakfast together on time. The kids are usually a few minutes late, and sometimes don’t roll in until 8:00. The time between when I get everything ready to go and when they actually show up in the cafeteria is eventful. Those empty minutes allow my brain to go to some strange places.

“I could have stayed in bed for 30 extra minutes!” ‘How dare they be late!” “Who do they think they are?” “This must be some sort of conspiracy!” ‘That’s it, I quit!” “Don’t they know that I am a real chef?” “If they aren’t here in two minutes I’m throwing everything away and they can go hungry until lunch. That’ll show them!”

You get the picture….it is all about me. Some mornings I will allow this thinking to infect the rest of my day. Other mornings I will step back and realize that I have done my part and that I must leave the results up to higher powers. I must see that my role is to support and facilitate the mission of our business by having healthy and delicious meals, within Child Nutrition Program guidelines, prepared and ready to serve at the appropriate times. I have no control over what time my diners arrive, and for me to get bent out of shape about tardiness is a clear example of my own lingering addiction at work. Knowing this though, it still happens. Tomorrow is a brand new day.

A Brand New Year

This new year finds me four years sober, an impossible span of time. My Christmas attitude was better than last year, but still had me full of discomfort and living in regret. As a person in recovery and as a person who knows himself pretty well, I am well aware that Christmas comes with a built-in set of problems that will periodically make the experience unbearable. I tried to adopt the attitude that Christmas would be for giving, for rest, for being with family, and for gratitude. I unrealistically promised myself that I would live in the present and not let the ugly memories of the past take hold. However, my inability to give enough (what I thought was enough) drug me down. At work I put-out more than usual, to insure the kitchen was immaculate for the break. At home I baked hundreds of cookies and cakes and pastries to offer as gifts. I passed on the opportunity for rest to feel I was doing enough to prepare. I attended the obligatory family events, sweating bullets, but maintaining the outward appearance of calm. Please know, I had no serious thoughts of drinking or getting high, and I never consciously told myself I had to do more….but, I poured myself out and told myself it was not enough. I beat myself up,I wore myself out, and not once gave myself a break or a pat on the back.

On some level, most of the time, I was aware of what was happening….I was operating in the very mental manner that they warned me about. But, I made it through. I suspect that my future Christmas seasons will serve as a barometer of my spiritual condition and quality of recovery. I know that if I continue to do my part, Christmases to come will get easier. Happy New Year.