Clear mind, one more year

~ slippery slope or solid ground, is always a choice, one sober day at a time

When I look back, I see the drunk who thought he was in control.

When I look forward, I see the sober man who knows he is not; never was.

Tomorrow is December 7.

For you, it might be just another date.

For me, it is the night in Edmonton in 1986, in a family room, with half a glass of my favourite drink that I did not finish ~ it’s an instant flashback and gratitude for everything that led to that action that evening.

When I look back, the picture changes with every decade.

At forty-four, looking back meant a short trail of missteps and stories I thought were funny. At fifty-four, it meant a longer list of damage and repairs.

At seventy-four, looking back means seeing who I was before I got sober, and who I might have become if I had not put that glass down.

Tomorrow is my anniversary. Thirty-nine full years.

Tomorrow will be the first day of my fortieth year sober.

That sentence still surprises me.

On December 7, 1986, I was in Edmonton, in the family room, watching television. Nothing dramatic on the surface. No blue lights outside, no big fight, no public humiliation. Just one of me, sitting in my recliner watching Jeopardy, ouch, a half glass left of my favourite drink, and a simple, silent choice.

I put the glass down.

Not because I was strong.

Because I was scared, I had seen enough of the slippery slope toward the sewer, toward the gutter, to know where it led.

I could not see a clear view of my future, but I was pretty clear on what the near-term ending of my life would be - death, soon, in some form - was easy to achieve if I kept drinking. I could see that one.

When you are drunk, you think the past is blurry because of time.

When you are sober, you realize it was blurry because you were blurry.

Sobriety did not hand me a better life.

It handed me the chance to live the life I already had. There was no ‘vision of a grim reaper’ to appreciate that my future was entirely in my hands.

Sober, I could clearly see the reality of my family, my work, my mistakes, my regrets, and my small victories without that fog.

To feel physical and emotional pain, to see and feel it without numbing it with booze, and to feel joyful without diluting it with booze was a near-immediate reality. It didn’t make me feel better; it made me feel worse and see the ugly as grotesque - but I saw it with a sober lens.

Some of what the last thirty-nine years brought me has been ugly and painful. I have regrets that sting daily. Some of it has been glorious. None of it has been dull.

The magic is not in sobriety itself.

That’s just pulling away from the buzz saw that will kill you quickly, because it will.

The magic is in being present for your own life.

Or at least sticking around to see how your story ends …

Every year, some readers ask why I write about this again. My answer is simple. If it is possible to influence one person to call, write, or think about how their life might change, then it is a worthy pursuit.

Some years, I hear from someone.

Many years I have not. That is no reason to stop.

If this hits close to home for anyone, or someone you know well, if you would like to talk to someone today, call me or write to me.

I am not here to preach.

My “day of atonement” is personal.

I do not know what will work for anyone else.

I only know what finally worked for me, and the rest of that drink left in the glass was not worth the risk of continuing to drink; stopping was my chance to live.

Looking back, I was a drunk; I mostly saw excuses.

Looking back sober, I see many consequences and not enough grace.

Looking forward sober, I see one more year I would like to earn.

So I will wake up again tomorrow, take a breath, and choose again.

I know, and fear, that any half-glass can end a life, and any drinking at all, however I might rationalize it, can end a life. Mine.

A clear mind is essential to getting up the next morning.

My feelings, my message, is not to endorse anyone’s method for getting and staying sober. There is no one answer, no one-size-fits-all, but there is an answer for everyone.

I have mine.

Anyone can. It’s hard. It’s very fucking hard.

I think, whatever our reason or method, we’ve earned the hard task - it’s simply a question of what kind of life we want to lead. Part of that might be the difference between family seeing you take a cowardly way out by suicide or drinking yourself to death. Those were my choices.

It serves only one purpose: keeping me sober.

It would be convenient to argue that it ensured the success of anything I’ve done, anything I’ve written, or anything I might do in the future.

I don’t lead a pain or strife-free life.

I lead a sober one.

My drink of choice, most often, is ‘water, no ice’ …

Recovery is never once and done; it is the quiet work of choosing solid ground over the slippery slope, one sober day at a time.