Carrying the Message

I've thought about my worldly legacy from a much younger age than would be considered normal. Even as a small boy, I was convinced that I would do something that really mattered- that was much larger than a lifetime could contain. In those early years, I used to think it would be sports, (believe it or not) and later that changed to singing, (seriously) or the law or government or almost anything- anything that would make me bigger than my hometown, my age, my past or my damage.

One of the things I have found to be critical to my recovery is being willing to carry the message to others- to share what I've learned and how I've grown with folks who may just need to hear it. I've been through a fair amount of junk, and I know that if I don't use that as a vehicle for helping others than it was all for nothing. The pain I felt and the pain I caused would just leave scars with a story, but lacking value.

I take every chance I get these days to help - to share my story of to live my life in a way that leverages those lessons into  opportunities. One of the many unfortunate side-effects of an addictive personality is that almost nothing good is ever enough. Used for good, this insatiability is powerful and driving and uncompromising; however, when it manifests in an unhealthy way, it swallows me in the shadowy aspects of all those adjectives. Enough is never good enough and too much is a myth as I struggle forward unrelentingly into the chasm of impossibility of "satisfaction." I am haunted by a dream of a life that just isn't large enough to matter.

The idea on which I have focus is the fact that one task well done is worth ten half-measures (I know if you look at that mathematically it's not accurate, but the math is never quite the same when applied to matters of the spirit). If I truly give myself completely to dancing in the moment when the moment arrives, I am carrying much of my message out into the world. The message isn't just delivered when I'm speaking to a friend, to a group or to a crowd- it's delivered when I am rigorously honest. It's delivered every time someone knows they can count on me. It's delivered every single time I do the right thing; every time I hold a door open for another or smile at a stranger I am giving freely of what I have been given. I carry the message by living rightly and by living rightly I am creating my legacy.

For me, sobriety is the best of life, coupled with the strength to get through the worst and the perspective to know the difference. Today. Every day.

The Might of (Doing the Next) Right (Thing)

When I was in my active addiction, I wasn't terribly worried about doing the right thing.

Without fail I knew what the right thing to do was in a given situation, but in nearly every instance I didn't care whether or not it was what I did. I definitely didn't always do the wrong thing, but I didn't place much importance on doing the right thing - it simply didn't matter enough, and my alleged "values" would warp in an instant if ignoring some of them meant I could get what I wanted. I had a finely tuned sense of right and wrong, but doing the wrong thing only bothered me if I had nothing to gain from it. Doing the wrong thing became fully acceptable if it got me what I wanted.

This manipulation of reality happened as I justified any and every action so I would be okay with doing what it took to become satisfied. I wasn't acting in a way that used my "values" as a guide - I was quite often acting in opposition to them. That created all the more turmoil within me, because the guy who down deep inside I longed to be was so different from the jerk that I was. I had my moments of goodness, to be sure, but they were as few as they were fleeting (and I made sure you knew about all of them) and it was juuuuuuust enough to keep me from being thought a total degenerate.

Upon entering into a life of sobriety, I looked for ways to heal my heart and soul and quiet the guilt and shame that had consumed me for years. The first part of this was a moral and spiritual housecleaning, but the process couldn't stop there because that only addressed the past. My progress would be halted quickly if I didn't move forward in a way that didn't set me up for failure and an emotional "guilt and shame relapse." I had to figure out how to do this, because setting an impossibly high standard of personal behavior would be just as self-defeating as not trying at all.

It was important that I set myself up for battles that were big enough to matter, yet small enough to have a very good chance to win. I started by breaking down this big-picture effort into smaller and more manageable chunks based on some advice from my counselor in rehab: I decided to just work on doing the next right thing whenever the opportunity arose. It seemed simple enough that I felt good about my chances of being successful; our lives are at their most basic made up of a series of choices we make every day, with some being of little consequence and some being of grave importance. The thought of being "perfect" forever was even more overwhelming than the idea of never drinking or getting high again, and if the one day at a time mantra eased my mind about the booze and drugs, I figured the one choice at a time philosophy could do the same regarding my daily life.

So far, it has made all the difference. Life seems manageable when I do the right things. If I do the wrong thing, I have to admit it, own it and set about making it right as soon as possible. This keeps my conscience clear and the twin terrors of guilt and shame at bay, thus increasing my chances of staying clean and sober exponentially. 

There is immense power in doing the right thing, and when you make life as simple as it can be (when faced with a choice, choose to do the right thing as determined by your values) it really is as simple as it should be.

And amazing. 

It's every bit as amazing as it should be as well.