That last line. Really good! I hesitate to use the term sobriety for myself, but it's been three months now without a drink, and I can understand that feeling of fragility, how easily sobriety could crumble in the wrong circumstances. During a time of transition in my family, I've tried to simplify things for myself with a philosophy of "Good stuff in, bad stuff out." But your essay shows how it's never that simple.
I salute you, Joshua. It takes verve and courage to put out these fires. Mine began three years ago when a situation propelled me into needing absolute stability, so I gave up drinking for 90 days, and the change, the result, the upgrade and pay offs were so off the scale I never went back. Always happy to talk recovery and listen to the voyage reports if that's a help to you.
Thanks. I'm a long way from "absolute stability," but it's the kind of situation you describe that clarified things for me. And it really felt like a no-brainer. I was only really a happy hour drinker, one or two every day, but even on that small scale it was a form of coping with unhappiness. And I knew that surviving my current transition would require reaching for restorative things like fitness, meditation, and better sleep (still elusive). I'm not sure that took any courage at all -- it really did seem like anything else would only make me weaker.
Beautiful. I felt this in my bones. I notice that when sober friends are not so sober that it highlights in me how tenuous my own stability (if I’m honest, my own sanity) feels, most of the time. There are still (and, I assume, will always be) parts of me that crave chaos as much as I crave drugs, or any altered state of being.
Your writing has a specific rhythm to it that I can't quite put my finger on, it's like watching rolling hills from the drivers seat on a road trip in the from Socorro, New Mexico to Las Cruces, New Mexico. Steadily up and down, up and down. The subject itself is interesting, the selfishness of love, how badly we can want to love someone and be in love with someone. I think if most people are honest with themselves, they'll take the 6 months and the cliff every time.
I love that last line. I can picture it. You know, when I was drinking, I felt that I was an adult and could do whatever I pleased. The problem was that there were people who loved me, but didn't like me doing as I pleased. Fair call. I smoke weed now and I can see that it's also an escape but I don't hate myself like I did when I was drinking heavily. The thing about being an adult is that we make so many shitty choices, and those around us suffer. But love is selfish. You don't want to lose your friend. But it's up to them.
That last line. Really good! I hesitate to use the term sobriety for myself, but it's been three months now without a drink, and I can understand that feeling of fragility, how easily sobriety could crumble in the wrong circumstances. During a time of transition in my family, I've tried to simplify things for myself with a philosophy of "Good stuff in, bad stuff out." But your essay shows how it's never that simple.
I salute you, Joshua. It takes verve and courage to put out these fires. Mine began three years ago when a situation propelled me into needing absolute stability, so I gave up drinking for 90 days, and the change, the result, the upgrade and pay offs were so off the scale I never went back. Always happy to talk recovery and listen to the voyage reports if that's a help to you.
Thanks. I'm a long way from "absolute stability," but it's the kind of situation you describe that clarified things for me. And it really felt like a no-brainer. I was only really a happy hour drinker, one or two every day, but even on that small scale it was a form of coping with unhappiness. And I knew that surviving my current transition would require reaching for restorative things like fitness, meditation, and better sleep (still elusive). I'm not sure that took any courage at all -- it really did seem like anything else would only make me weaker.
Yes, this all rings true for me & my experience too. I’ve so much to say on this. I’ll have to write about it further.
Beautiful. I felt this in my bones. I notice that when sober friends are not so sober that it highlights in me how tenuous my own stability (if I’m honest, my own sanity) feels, most of the time. There are still (and, I assume, will always be) parts of me that crave chaos as much as I crave drugs, or any altered state of being.
Yes, a thousand yes’s. I echo this.
Your writing has a specific rhythm to it that I can't quite put my finger on, it's like watching rolling hills from the drivers seat on a road trip in the from Socorro, New Mexico to Las Cruces, New Mexico. Steadily up and down, up and down. The subject itself is interesting, the selfishness of love, how badly we can want to love someone and be in love with someone. I think if most people are honest with themselves, they'll take the 6 months and the cliff every time.
Yes, that’s the conclusion we came too. And I love that description, how these pieces feel to you. Thanks.
I love that last line. I can picture it. You know, when I was drinking, I felt that I was an adult and could do whatever I pleased. The problem was that there were people who loved me, but didn't like me doing as I pleased. Fair call. I smoke weed now and I can see that it's also an escape but I don't hate myself like I did when I was drinking heavily. The thing about being an adult is that we make so many shitty choices, and those around us suffer. But love is selfish. You don't want to lose your friend. But it's up to them.
Truly spoken x