Audience of One

"There is no faster way to create enduring unhappiness than to act against your beliefs."

One phrase in the "Best Lent Ever" podcast really caught my attention today. "We should live our lives for an audience of one." I had just finished up posting a message to a long-time friend of mine on the MMListserv, a girl that I held virtual hands with as she weaned herself off alcohol. She and I have come a long way since then and she has become one of the most dynamic, self-assured women I know. Through her messages, I can see how much she values herself these days. She wrote this morning that an old friend is coming to visit her and she worried about he'll expect of her. It made me think of how much we worry about what our friends think when we first try to quit drinking or change our drinking in any way, it's as if they are an audience we have invited to watch our life and we are playing a role for them, even though we know, offstage, we are a totally different person. I don't know about you, but I'm kind of disappointed that Val Kilmer isn't Doc. Holliday in real life. We don't want people to be disappointed when they find out that the person they saw on that stage is not who we really are, so we stay up there on that f'ing stage for years-for me it was decades-and we use booze to keep us in our role. I lived a conflicted, divided life for way too long-that's why the voice in my head never shut up, it just kept saying, "Come on, you can do better than this. This isn't the role you were born for.."

I finally did come of that stage, more like tumbled off into the orchestra pit. It took a while to quit trying to play the role, though, I'd been playing it so long I'd forgotten who I really was. But I came back to myself when I no longer had booze leading me away. The Best Lent Ever refers to that "audience of one" as God, but I think it can also apply to ourselves. When you become brave enough to act as yourself, your authentic self, that audience of one in your head quits throwing tomatoes and sits back in awed silence to watch the rest of the show.

Echo

“I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of the hunger for life that gnaws in us all.” 
― Richard Wright, Black Boy

Those of us who have quit drinking are often asked what it took to finally break those chains. I don't know about the rest of you but I struggle with the answer because I can't really explain why that day, almost six years ago was the day. It just was and I'm so glad.

I've seen others try to explain it through the years, but this morning I read an especially beautiful description and plea called out from the mountain top over at Finding A Sober Miracle. I  so loved her comment that if you could look into the future and see your life and who you will be when you are sober, you'd quit right now.

I think it's so worthy of being shouted from every mountain top so here I am shouting it from mine: Read it!

 https://asobermiracle.wordpress.com/2017/07/20/hope-for-the-heavy-drinker/

How The Heck Are You? 6/6/2017: Trying is Success

To put it bluntly, I'm exhausted. The last five days have proven how out of shape I am, embarrassingly. Maybe I need to rent a 5 year old for the rest of the summer. One more imperfection. 

When do we finally accept that we're never going to be perfect? Is there a point where we finally relax and give ourselves a wink when we don't toe the line.  Am I ever going to not think that eating a chocolate chip cookie for breakfast sounds more inviting than a banana? Is procrastinating ever going to be a thing of the past? Not likely.

But then again, if we totally accept ourselves as we are, do we then quit trying, quit striving?  What does life become then? A chocolate chip breakfast wait until tomorrow existence? I don't want that either.

So I guess what I need to learn to accept is that I'm always going to be enticed by perfection, even though I probably won't strive hard enough to reach it. At least I'll strive. I can't let my acknowledgment of my imperfections keep me from trying.

So I guess I've effectively talked myself out of that chocolate chip cookie this morning. Maybe tomorrow.

"I try therefore I succeed."

How the Heck Are You?

I Think I'll Start Drinking Again...When Wine Comes From Cows

The other night at abs chat we had a familiar conversation. One of our members who has recently decided to quit drinking forever isn't enjoying it too much. She's depressed, she says, when she thinks of never, ever drinking again.

Some of us old timers did a virtual nod in commiseration.

We all race to type in, "That's why we don't say the word forever. We just take it that proverbial one day at a time."

It got me to thinking about what kind of circumstances would lead me to drink again. Then I got a little too excited and happy thinking about funerals and terminal diagnosis's so I quit thinking in that direction. 

I finally decided I could try drinking again when it held as much allure for me as MILK.

I don't hate milk. I just haven't drank it for about forty years. No, not even when I was pregnant or breast feeding, I just doubled up on the calcium supplement which might explain why my oldest son is in the medical journals as the youngest person with kidney stones. ;0

See, I could imagine visiting Wisconsin and not drinking milk, even though it is known worldwide for its milk.

I would have no problem going to a milk tasting and spitting out my "taste" before I moved on to the next frothy bottle of milk.

And, I'd have no problem taking a sip of milk from a wedding toast and then dumping the rest of it in a potted plant.

When I get to that level of disinterest in booze, then I might try drinking again.

I don't see it happening anytime soon.

Abs Chat Tonight! Can I get a Kumbaya?

Hey, we permanent absers can't help it that we're just so freakin' serene. Come get some!

P.S. This post does not have the prior approval of the MM administration.

9 PM Eastern, 8 Central, 7 Mountain, 6 Pacific

Abs Chat Tonight! 

Abs Chat is focused on abstaining from alcohol—on a permanent basis,
long-term, or even for a shorter period of time (like a 30!).
Everyone is welcome to attend, and to participate, but we won't be
discussing moderation techniques or plans. For discussions of
moderate drinking, we invite you to participate in the Monday Night
Book Chat or the Tuesday Night Online Meeting.
So if you're abstaining, planning to, curious about it, wondering
whether it would be a good idea, or just want to hang out for sober
fun, stop by!
See you there! http://www.moderation. org/chat/

** PLEASE NOTE: Abs Chat will be held in the Abs Chatroom. When
logging in, use the drop-down box to select MM_Abs_Chat. If you wind
up in the wrong room, you can move between rooms by clicking on the
room list to the right of the chatroom screen. **

Can I Open Up My Day Yet? Can I? Can I?

I went to mass yesterday and something the priest said struck me. He said that when he was considering the priesthood, he had so many doubts, he didn't know if he could do it. He asked an older priest, "Do you ever have second thoughts? Do you ever wonder if you made the right choice?"

The priest replied, "Of course, I sometimes wonder if I made the right choice, but it helps to remember the priesthood is not a sacrifice, it is a blessing, a gift."

This is how I feel about sobriety. Every day is still a gift, not a sacrifice. 

WOMBAT Chat Tonight! (Women Only Moderation/Abs Talkabout) 9:00 EDT; 8:00 CDT; 7:00 MDT; 6:00 PDT

Tonight's Wombat Chat will start at 9:00 EDT, 8:00 CDT, 7:00 MDT, and 6:00 PDT but we'll keep it open until no one wants to talk anymore.

http://moderation.org/chat/

Praying Big

I was blessed to spend sometime, however short, with my siblings this Christmas. At one point in the evening, my sister whipped out her phone and started scrolling through her pictures. We all know this is inevitable, in fact,  we often see this as permission to whip out our own phone and start scrolling through the pics of our grandkids and, kids as we regal our victims with their accomplishments. The twenty first century's version of the dreaded yearly Christmas letter.

My sister has no children or grandchildren.

"This is the ring, I'm going to get," she said. "And here is my coat. And this is my new house."

I tried to nod appreciatively but I'm sure she noticed the judgmental glint in my eye.

"I pray big," she said unabashedly.

I bit off my urge to inform her that she was praying for the wrong things. You're supposed to put others' needs before your own, Kathleen Ann. You should pray for peace or an end to hunger, not 5 carat rings and six car garages.

I was also blessed this Christmas to spend time with all of my own kids and grandkids. At one point, my three year old granddaughter twirled into the kitchen of my oldest son's house where I'd been imprisoned for four days.

"Grandma," she chirped. "Come play with me."

"I will Attie-bug, as soon as I'm done here," I assured her, as I scrubbed or stirred yet another pot.

She stuck out her lower lip and I refrained from informing her a rooster was going to come shit on it, as her great-grandmother Davis would have warned her.

"But I want you to come play now," she wheedled.

"Atalie-Jolene Davis, the world does not revolve around you," I informed her instead.

"Oh yes, it does," she assured me as she twirled back out of the room.

I shook my head. She'd learn soon enough, I thought. But then I thought, I hope she doesn't and why should she?  Her world should revolve around her.  She should always be the sun that lights up the world of all the other beings that wonder into her orbit. She should never rely on other people or other things to provide the light in her life

My world should revolve around me, too, I realized. It always should have. Instead I let others needs and booze and my own belief that I shouldn't outshine others suck up all the fire I had in me until there was nothing left but ash. Or so it seemed. But underneath all that gray ash an ember burned and once the ash was swept away and it was exposed and allowed to breathe in again, it alighted.  And once more there was light in my life. My light. 

It's up to me to keep it lit and be deserving of all the good things that venture into my orbit. Whether they be twirling granddaughters, grandsons that still like to hug their grandma, sons that think I'm humorous as all hell and the best cook in the world, a husband that thinks his world revolves around me (and it does), or five carat rings and winning lottery tickets.

So I sat down this morning to pray big, too. But then I realized my biggest prayers had been answered already. I am sober. I have my family back the way I want them. I am loved. I love myself.

 I can now pray for smaller things, it is a luxury that sobriety has granted me. 

So I'm praying for a sprawling old cabin with a big trestle table in the middle of the main room, long, benches on each side and a big stone fireplace that takes up a whole wall of the room. I'm praying for rows of four poster beds with thread-bare, faded quilts piled on them and rag rugs strewn about the place, spaced just far enough apart that you have to hop a little in order to make it to the next one before your feet touch the cold planks of the wood floor. 

I'm dreaming of generations of twirling, twinkling stars circling around the sun that I am once more.

Juggling

I just wanted to let you all know that I haven't run off and joined the circus (although it is circus season down here and if you think circus's in the states look a little rough around the edges, you should come to Mexico. Shudder!), I'm just juggling priorities right now and trying not to drop anything.

How wonderful!

To have a life. To be busy.  To have a purpose.  To have a reason to get up in the morning other than drink!!

To be sober!

I am so grateful.

Now to change my train of thought in the middle of the tracks, as I'm wont to do.  A member posted on the moderation management board the other day that she was grateful for the struggle, she was grateful that at least she had a desire to change when it seemed so many didn't.  So many seemed to be happily drinking themselves to death.  (not her exact words or intent, I'm taking artistic license here).

I wrote back and said, "Don't be too sure.  You don't know that those people don't wake up every day and say to themselves, "Today is the day I'm going to quit. Today is the day, I'm going to take back my life." only to fail once again."

That was me.  It may have looked like I was just a drunk who didn't care while deep down, underneath the blood shot eyes, splotchy skin, shaky hands...I was consumed with the desire to change.

I remember there were these two guys I knew in high school, I'll call them Bubba and Butch.  Bubba was your typical muscle brained athlete who liked to pick me up and dump me in the trashcan or body slam me on the wrestling mats, that was his way of showing me that he liked me.  Butch was the stereotypical dreamy bad boy with big beautiful green eyes, long feathered hair (it was the 70's), soft lips (yep, I know for a fact they were soft) and, down deep, a heart of gold.

They were teenage hard partying boys, that grew into adult hard partying men.  They did drugs, a lot of drugs, they didn't go to college, they held and lost multiple jobs and women.  I liked them a lot but I always held myself above them.  I was better than them. I didn't hold out much hope for either of them.  I figured they'd go through life stoned and wind up as shriveled shaky old drunks at the ripe old age of 49, minus the majority of their teeth, on a liver transplant list. If they were lucky.

I lost track of them through the years but lo and behold, through the magic of facebook, I found them again a couple of years ago.  And guess what?  They had sobered up and cleaned up their act and there I was flushing my life down the proverbial shitter of alcoholism.

Alcohol doesn't play favorites and it doesn't matter if you're rich, poor, famous, infamous, brilliant, or just an average Joe, there are no advantages.

If Bubba, Butch and I can do it, you can.

Summer Child

My mom always called me her little hoyden.  I was never a tomboy, I was much too uncoordinated for that, but I was a little kid that bounced out of bed on summer mornings and was out the door in my mismatched plaid shorts and daisy print shirt before mom could holler, "Would you please brush that rat's nest out of your hair?"

A child of the sun. Skinny brown legs pumping, handlebar tassels flying, off in search of new skinned knees and bug bites and whatever adventure those summer days held for me. Cannonballs into flimsy backyard swimming pools, Miss America with a sprinkler ring perched on my head as my crown, slip-n-sliding on smooth wet sidewalks (ouch), kool-aid stands...What more could life have to offer?  Falling in bed at night, feet black from my staunch refusal to wear shoes, skin itchy from sunburn and tumbles in freshly mown grass, my mind racing with the promises of tomorrow.

I looked in the mirror yesterday, my cheeks slightly sunburnt, my legs brown and freckled, my hair a wild, brittle tangle from too much chlorine and sun, a rat's nest, as my mom would say, my tummy protruding over my bathing suit bottom. "Kary May, if you're going to wear shortie tops at least suck your belly in," my ever mortified older sister, Kathy frequently admonished my ten year old self.  I didn't care back then, why should I now?

I looked into cloudless green eyes and saw that summer girl again.  The girl I fought so hard for.

Hi, there. I remember you.

Lightbulb Moment

Hey Gang,
I've been getting a lot of pleas lately, I know you've gotten them too, I remember when I made the same desperate plea. That plea for a magic bullet, a turn of phrase, a cataclysmic event, an awakening.  What was it that made me finally, for the umpteenth time, for the last time, decide to quit drinking.

So I went back through my blogs and found the date, July 6, 2011.  If you look at the top of the blog I wrote that day, you'll see "Day 11."  I had already gone 11 days without drinking, but when I started those 11 days it wasn't with the intention of giving up drinking for good, it was with the intention of completing a 30 day abs in my pursuit of moderation.  I'd made about twelve attempts at a 30 day abs in my year of trying to moderate and never completed one.

July 6, 2011, is not my sobriety date though, I had one relapse since then.  A stupid relapse, one with the stupid intention of trying to change someone else's actions.  It didn't work, but at no time during that relapse did I fool myself into believing that I could live my life in anything but a totally sober state.

Here is my blog from that day:

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Another Life Choice

Day11
This is going to be a quickie.  We all have things we'd rather be doing on a Sunday than read my blog.  Sunday is for new beginnings and it is a new beginning for me.  I have made the decision that the only route left for me to take is total and permanent abstinence from alcohol.  I joined a new message board this last week, Women for Sobriety but I'll admit I still wasn't convinced.  Then someone responded to my introductory post that she got exhausted thinking about all of my Day 1's, Day 10,s Day 19's.... so I went back and read back over my blog this last year. Come on, who was I fooling? Only myself.  Was one more stab at moderation going to be the ticket?  I don't know, I never will.  I just don't want to waste any more of my life on any more "one more times".  As Andy Dufrain said in the movie Shawshank Redemption, "It's time to get busy living or get busy dying."  I know which one I'm choosing.  I may stumble a long the way but I won't be attempting moderation again, it's a done deal.

I have heard from several people that they are starting their individual journeys today.  Whether that be moderation or permanent abstinence, you have my best wishes.  Just remember, if you fall get, back up, if you stray down a wrong path, turn around, if there's a boulder blocking your way, go around it, climb over it or tunnel under it, and listen to your internal GPS, it knows where you need to go.
Safe Travels, my friends.
So today I'm out there doing my best to travel light and leave the burden of alcohol by the wayside. 

Someone's comment that she was exhausted just thinking about all my stops and starts (Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, whoever you are) was my magic bullet, my wake-up call, the knock upside my head.  No cataclysmic event, no lightning bolt, just a calm, almost analytical, acceptance of the facts.   I cannot moderate.  I am an alcoholic.  I cannot drink.

How about the rest of my fellow bloggers?  What was the "thing" that turned your tide, set your world right side up?  Care to share?  It could be the silver bullet someone is looking for.
Put your "magic words" in my comment section or share them on your own blog, someone is looking for them.

Frageelay!

In case you didn't notice, there was a new moon last night.  You probably didn't, I didn't until I went for my walk on the beach this morning and there was a lot more beach.  I don't keep track of tides anymore since I moved off the boat, I think I have a block or something about those years on the boat, the ones I remember anyway.  Those years on that boat accelerated and cemented my alcoholism, and the fact that the cap'n and I received an estimate yesterday that it was going to cost us another $25,000 dollars to get it marketable, again, is not making me any fonder of it.

But that is neither here nor there.

Back to the beach.

In addition to having a new moon low tide which gave me more beach to traverse, a norte' blew in last night which usually means great shells.  Now I swear I'm not a shell seeker, like the boat, it is another thing I'm done with.  I mean you can only do so much with seashells and when we bought this house it came with its own collection of bottles, and jars and bowls, and buckets full of shells because the previous owner couldn't think of anything else to do with them either. Plus I have a few Jack Daniels 1.75  bottles full of tiny shells that I rescued off the boat that are now residing in a storage shed in Colorado.

Convinced yet?  

Ok, one more.

Enough shells already, agreed? 

 Except... I'm still on a quest for one of those big honking shells about a meter long that my friends have and swear they've found on the same beach or that some fisherman has gifted them with one after he's become enamored with their stooped early morning  figures and ample derriers as they poke among the rocks.

So I set off in search of my own today.

I didn't find one.

But I did find something that I've found a few times on the various beaches I've combed and it never ceases to amaze me.

An unbroken light bulb.

Laying on the beach where a wave has tossed it, past the reefs and the ankle snapping rocky shore, as if a careful, steady hand has placed it there.

Safe at last.

My friends, that light bulb is you and me.  We've ridden the tumultuous wave and balanced precariously on its crest only to be pulled under and deluged time and again.  Rising and falling. Rising and falling.  Finally we've been cast onto the beach, crashing against the razor sharp reefs and jagged rocks, tumbling to rest on the soft sand.

Unbroken.

But we can never forget how fragile we are.  Please stay safe, don't get too close, don't let the tides suck you back out into the maelstrom.

The next wave might shatter you.