Too Close To Home

It's been a bizarre and difficult day. As someone in recovery I can be both hyper aware and hyper oblivious to certain things. At a previous job I had my manager had an alcohol problem and eventually resigned/was fired as a result. That whole process was very bizarre, odd behavior and people ignoring it or talking around it. I had a similar experience today which was pretty disturbing.

The past couple days this person I interact with frequently said they were sick but was still around. They seemed out of it, had balance problems, were slow to respond in conversation, and had articulation issues. Today they were sent home with little to no explanation except an undefined air of tension. Before today I took them at their word, that they were sick, but thinking about it it seems obvious this person was under the influence of some kind of controlled substance.

As this situation played out the stress of it hit me in the gut, kind of took the legs out from under me. Partly because I am the one that would have to cover for this individual meaning potentially a lot of extra responsibility, partly because the situation is so surreal and intense, and partly(maybe mostly) because the situation was so familiar. The behavior and the things that were said I knew intimately because before I got sober(what feels like another life time ago, another life) I said and did those exact same things. The making of excuses "I'm having personal issues." The flat out denial "I'm fine." The very real and tangible evidence of inebriation in a completely inappropriate setting. And the past rearing up its head in such an ugly blatant way was scary. Seeing it so plainly reminded me how close and how destructive my own addiction was and can be if I don't continue to take action against it.

Ultimately though it just makes me grateful, grateful for the turmoil that got me to the point of decision, to the point of surrender, and all the help and support and work that followed. This person and this situation were a glaring and discomforting reminder but a good reminder none the less. I'm not rich or famous or raveered but I am sober. And all the wonderful, exciting, affirming, inspiring things in my life come from that. I have great friends, a loving family, an amazing partner, vibrant creative outlets, a passion for cooking and reading and motorcycles and movies all of which I engage in frequently and none of it would I have without my ongoing recovery.

Sometimes life can be tedious, a grind. It may take a warning, a startling break in routine, to correct perspective. Because the reality is, at least for me, whatever trials I may face there's nothing that couldn't be made worse by a drink. Nothing that couldn't be destroyed by one.

Daily Practice

Over the past couple years it seems like the tide of self-help has been displaced, pejoritized, the implication of "help" perhaps to close to weakness which it is, evidently, detrimental to admit. It's seemingly been replaced by self-care, which is essentially just a repackaging of the same concepts and ideas but without the same level of inferred humility. Whatever you call it there is always the danger of perceived egoism when people talk about or refer to working on themselves. But the reality is it can be a necessity especially in this our modern age of acidic social media and apocalyptic politics. However you term it I think it boils down to letting go of those things you can't control and taking action on those things you can and by doing those things achieving and maintaining some kind of balance, some kind of contentment.

The past several weeks I've felt off, anxious, weighed down. A bit overcome with how chaotic life can be. I think it started when Nicole and I had to unexpectedly move a couple months back and just kind of gradually gained momentum from there. Not to say I've been in a constant state of misery or anything, these things never work quite like that but its been kind of a steady waxing then waning then waxing of unpleasantness, discomfort. I found myself dreading going to work and when I was there maintaining a low grade unjustified panic. My thoughts racing with those kind of standard existential questions(what does it all mean? what's the point of it all?) that serve nothing save apathy and impotent nihilism. I figured my job was the problem, and it is chaotic and ultimately not the best fit for me however, telling my friend Jimmy about it he asked "what's changed" as I've had the job for two years now. And it set me back and really made me think. The answer is nothing. Nothing has changed about the job, the only other part of that equation is me. The real question I needed to answer was what was wrong with me.

The only thing I can control is myself. My actions and reactions. The world, life, my job, other people, all of it is outside of my control and when I attempt to control those things, attempt to will them in line with my wants and expectations I fail and am miserable. So what can I do. I can let go of desired outcome. I can apply for new jobs. I can build those things into my day that I know make me feel good. I can establish a routine that I can rely on independent of the chaos or influence of my job or the disparaging cultural and political landscape.

I've started a new creative project. I've started to wake up early. To work out and pray and meditate and take some time in the morning to find balance and whatever peace I can. To take some action against those feelings of restlessness and futility that had been plaguing me. And its working. I'm feeling better.

This is not something I came up with obviously, it was suggested and taught to me by others. But the point is a daily practice, whatever it may look like, can help. Small actions and routines can help with mood and racing thoughts and feelings and perspective. The world in 2017 may still be bleak and brutal but it is easier to face, easier to handle, easier to move through when we are doing the next right thing day-to-day, taking action where we can, and letting those things go which are outside our grasp. Which for the most part is nearly everything.

I Forgot

I remembered moving was a pain
the procuring of boxes
the assembling of boxes
the putting-items-in-boxes
the moving of boxes
the unpacking of boxes.

I remembered the physical effort
the sore legs and back
the shortness of breath
from running up and down stairs
the sweat running down into eyes, stinging
the truck rental and all its painful machinations.

I forgot the mental toll
the days spent living amid blank walls
the irritation from not knowing where necessities are
the discomfort from routine disruption
the adjustment for new accommodation quirks
the countless homeware odds and ends that need to be acquired.

I forgot I was leaving my home
the first place that felt like one since my parents house
the familiarity and the ownership quickly swept away
by the transfer of books, beds, and dressers
simple yet so jarring, this moving thing
I forgot it could be this hard.

Foreboding

There's no feeling
like that of waiting
for the other shoe
to drop

that sense of helplessness-
the unexpected knock
the guilt,
perhaps unwarranted,
when someone asks to talk
impending doom
the countdown clock

a meeting with an agenda
unsaid, unset, unsought

it could be something pleasant
or something small-
something inconsequential

but then again
it could be a death
a firing
an eviction

it is this protracted possibility
that makes it so unpleasant

what a gift imagination is
but also
what an albatross