Then & Now: Sobriety is such a big word
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
Finding it Bigger
Sobriety is such a big word. It can be so annoying, so all encompassing. So joyous, wonderful, so freeing and like a little prison all at once. It has not only become my life, but given me a life.
I get pissed at sobriety sometimes: all here, in my face, all the time. So needy! So greedy! Sometimes I wish I could grab sobriety into a bear hug- so wonderful! So amazing- here! In my face! All the time!
Like any operation sobriety is a complicated beautiful tangle of me and other people- other lives and ideas and how I piece them all together and then put myself out into the world.
I am not used to or very comfortable putting myself out into the world. I tend to mumble when I speak because I am fearful of criticism. I'm unconsciously and so consciously afraid of being laughed at. I'm not afraid of dying, but I'm terrified of ridicule. It was so wonderful to be drunk sometimes because I didn't even know I was talking. I was never a slurring drunk, people told me time and again that they could never tell I'd had too much to drink from the way I spoke, it was the way I sort of disappeared in my eyes. I was never a loud drunk- not one of those sort who starts yelling after beer four. If anything I would stop talking altogether- but that's mostly because I drank steady alone.
There's something that happened to me when I got sober. Especially from writing this blog, and some from knowing what I'm saying: I've found my voice. I'm finding my voice.
As a writer it makes sense that I have a voice: I believe we all do, regardless of whether you call yourself a writer or not. I believe we all deserve to be heard, even if it's only you doing the listening. (This can be the most important use of your voice: talking to yourself.) The things we tell ourselves can change our lives.
I talk to myself about sobriety a lot. I think about it a lot, I write about it a lot. I think about what to call myself: how to define the person that I am. It used to be so easy: I was me, me who drank too much. Sobriety gives me so much more potential- I can be anything. I am brave enough now to call myself a writer instead of wishing I could be one. Because I write. I call myself a runner because I run. I don't wish to do these things, I do them. So I can say that they are what I am. Even though I run really slow I am still a runner. Even though I am not on the shelves at the bookstore I am a writer. I call myself many wonderful things because I can- because I don't just wish I act. I make the action. You can call yourself anything at all: and then you be one- even if it's what you feel like is the worst one in the world.
All things are that simple. Really.
I struggle sometimes with the concept of sobriety: not the being sober part, but what it means. I sometimes feel like an imposter because I don't go to AA, I don't have a program, or a set of guidelines to follow. I have always built sobriety my way: in the ways that have worked with my life. This is the most important part. I am sober: this is the only requirement. Sobriety is an elastic stretchy suit that has plenty of room for every and any body. It isn't a one size one way idea.
I stop myself, sometimes, from doing things I want to do because I won't be the best at it, or even very remarkable at all. I didn't run for a long time because I was embarrassed to walk.
It's true that we can all be in the world in our own way. That we can all take the pieces of the parts that make us work and don't worry so much about the rest. The spare parts will stick around in case you learn to use them another time. One of the hardest parts of longer sobriety is that you never really finish: it just keeps growing and changing and moving every every single day. Accepting this has been one of my bigger struggles: I am very good at completion.
Perhaps there aren't needs for definition: we can only find the meaning in the act. And because it changes so much we can't be graspy and grabby, or make labels. I can use my name to tell you what to call me, but calling me sober narrows my potential somehow. And also makes me bigger than the world.
Wednesday, July 31, 2024
Still Big
I went to New York City for the first time ever at the end of June. What I loved most about it was how designed the city is- like how when you look up at One World Trade it seems to go on forever onto the sky- it doesn’t seem to finish. I imagined what it was like to have this idea and then see it built, to stand at the base of this building and feel the sense of eternity you’d hoped to feel. It’s exactly how I want my sobriety to feel.
Going to New York City was at the very bottom of my list. I had no desire to be in concrete and crowds and noise and traffic. Big cities were not for me, I knew it. Even though I had never been, I knew. Just like I knew AA wasn’t for me- I had been, two times twenty years apart- but I knew.
And then, I went to NYC and fell in love with it. I loved the anonymity of it, the humanity, the way people and traffic move in murmurations, public transportation, walking, nature, awe, life. I was floored and delighted by how wrong I’d been.
It wasn’t the same with AA. I tried going again, I went to the same meeting for a month- four times. It was ok, but didn’t click. I shared in two of the meetings. I stayed and talked after two of the meetings. I wasn’t sure I wanted to do what it seemed like was being asked of me: become dependent on AA. I felt the same lackluster reaction I’d had before. I feel unmotivated to try again.
For a long time I was convinced that if I liked or didn’t like something today, I also had to like or not like it tomorrow. Sobriety (and life!) can be engraved with ruts of sameness that create a sense of security. It’s weird how it seems like there’s an unspoken lack of confidence in the air when it comes to testing my preferences- like my sobriety is supported by me being immovable and unshakeable. But, ha ha! I am delighted to report I find unexpected comfort in the willingness to try things, try things again, or try things again later. I can change my mind!
But the most unexpected comfort of all is this: I gained trust from these two experiences. Being willing to go- I was nervous and uncertain about both NYC and AA- and I knew I could do it. Being able to say: I changed my mind! I love NYC! and I still don’t like AA, but that doesn’t mean I might not like it later. The sense of curiosity and wonder I get because of the trust I gained feels invigorating.
Changing my mind about other things doesn’t have to mean my sobriety is in danger, or at risk. These two experiences helped me understand what it’s like to step out of my comfort zone, and I want more.