Celebrating A Sobriety Birthday

Yesterday, 21 February 2024, I celebrated another sobriety birthday. It was a wonderful day spent with friends and family, and connecting with other friends and family that live some distance away. I remain grateful, and therefore humble, for the many gifts that appear each day—and especially yesterday.

While in in-patient treatment for severe substance abuse, my counselor and the support staff impressed upon me the importance of in-person meetings. The in-person connection, they shared from their own experience, is often an essential component of enduring sobriety. “It is not possible for everyone, certainly. If the opportunity is there for you, though, please consider exploring it,” I heard.

In addition, we are fortunate these days for the availability of many different recovery programs. Some are religious and some are not; some are secular and some are not; some are grounded in scientific studies and some are not. The diversity is impressive. Within each program too—or I might say, for each person—there is the additional opportunity of developing an approach to meeting and transforming suffering that is unique to you.

I laid the foundation of my recovery in twelve step meetings. That was the only opportunity for in-person connection where I am. The twelve step community is strong and thrives here too. Eventually, I felt comfortable enough to incorporate my practice and study of Zen Buddhism. At this point, the connection between these two groups of teachings is intimate; it would prove difficult to separate them. I started and continue to facilitate an online Recovery Dharma meeting as well. Finally, late last year I started sharing my story and reflections here on Substack.

These are only the highlights—and perhaps not even a full list of them. Collectively, they confirm the validity of a reading common in many twelve step meetings: the Promises. If you are not familiar with them, I reproduce the reading below with two personal changes.

If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are half-way through. We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others. That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows. Self-seeking will slip away. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that [a Power greater than ourselves] is doing for us what we could not do [only by] ourselves.

Are these extravagant promises? We think not. They are being fulfilled among us—sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them.

And with that: Happy Sobriety Birthday to me!

A photo of me with Ozni from yesterday morning. You can tell that he is positively thrilled!

There is a passage from Chapter One of the A.A. Big Book that I want to share on today. The chapter’s focus is Bill W.’s story; Bill W. is one of the co-founders of Alcoholics Anonymous. At a certain point in the story, Bill W. is sharing an experience that he had while in a cathedral with a friend. He sums up the experience in this way:

The real significance of my experience in the Cathedral burst upon me. For a brief moment, I had needed and wanted God. There had been a humble willingness to have Him with me—and He came.

I remember reading this passage roughly four days after returning home from in-patient treatment. The only unknown at that time—aside from all of the perpetual unknowns—was my standing with my then-employer. Everything else would be, more or less and for the short term, all right.

I had wrote an email to them in the late morning. The purpose of the message was, first, to inform them that I had returned home and, second, to schedule a meeting to discuss next steps. I could not handle waiting for their response. No matter what I did in an effort to distract myself from refreshing the email inbox, I found myself returning to sitting on the couch waiting anxiously for a reply, any reply.

Something. Anything. Please. Just give me something.

Eventually, the waiting became too much. I started down a familiar path that would, if not disrupted in some way, lead me to a liquor store, bottle in hand, ready and willing to drown my restlessness along with the little bit of progress made during the past month. With awareness of that “stinkin’ thinkin’,” I grabbed the list of phone numbers I received during yesterday morning’s meeting and headed to a nearby park for a walk.

I walked for a while, then called a number. Voicemail. I walked a little longer, then called another number. Voicemail. Discouraged, I told myself that I would walk just a bit more, then call a third number. The phone call was placed to a now-friend named Brent. He answered. I told him what was happening and that I needed help. His response was, “Sure. Cool. Let me tell you a story that will get you out of your head.”

I do not remember what he said. I do not remember much of the ten-minute conversation that followed. I do remember, however, that I was laughing and that the restlessness was passing. I started to feel a little lighter. When our conversation ended, I believed that I could sit and I could wait for my employer’s response. To use an expression from an earlier post, I could “stay put and stay open.”

As I walked back to my apartment, the second person I had called reached out to me. I walked, he talked, and I continued to feel lighter. Then the first person I had called reached out to me. I walked, he talked, and I felt still lighter.

When I returned to my apartment, I sat down on the couch and opened the Big Book to read Bill W.’s story. It was then that I read the above passage. I started crying.

I had not for several years been someone to ask for help, even if help was clearly necessary. I had not been someone to even admit that I needed help, even if that need was clear to others. For a brief moment on that sunny spring afternoon, though, “I had needed and wanted [the support of others]. There had been a humble willingness to have [others support] me—and [they] came.”

I would not be celebrating another sobriety birthday without the generosity of those men on that afternoon. I was humbled, and therefore grateful. And I remain grateful for everyone and everything that continues to support me. Thank you very much.