How long does it take to be sober?
When I began the serious work of quitting drinking, meaning I had actually committed to a group and was attending meetings, I wondered when I would be done. How long would it take? When could I cross this awful thing off my list and move on?
These questions boiled the issue of drinking down to a reduction of it being a problem and solving the problem. At least that’s how it looked to me. I could solve the problem and move on with my life.
But drinking wasn’t the problem. It was the symptom of other things in my life that I had to address. It was shitty plaster I was using to smooth over all the shit in my life that didn’t work right. My anxiety, my stressful job, everyday (i.e. normal) frictions with my family, and most of all a general malaise I can sum up as “I haven’t lived to my full potential.” I think I can reduce that further to just anxiety and stress. These were physical manifestations of feeling that I was incomplete and not being at ease. Alcohol temporarily relieved both of these, but the side effect was more anxiety and stress around the drinking itself. I was pushing myself further into the physical stuff I was trying to fix.
I can’t stress this enough: alcohol served me. It helped me. But it helped me in the same way that putting a car repair on a credit card that I can’t pay off helps me. I have a running car now, but now I have the debt. There’s a term in software development called “technical debt.” In short it means that you can write a lot of shitty code and it will make the program work, but the shitty code will eventually cause problems down the road. Eventually you have to rewrite the code to make the program run better. So alcohol for me was creating a debt that eventually I would have to pay back with ruined health, etc.
Quitting for me meant trying to physically stop drinking while putting things into place to address the stress and anxiety. That means unpacking each thing that’s vexing me and addressing it. It means making work more tolerable. It means finding better ways to communicate with my partner. It means learning more about constructive parenting and applying that. It means learning to say “no” more often. And for me the biggest thing was deciding that I needed to truly pursue my dreams. That’s a big thing.
I grew up with what I was told was a lot of potential. I was saddled with the label “gifted,” which meant to me that I had gifts that should be used. If I didn’t use them I was a failure. I defaulted to that definition of failure pretty quickly in college. I did just fine, but all of the things that I was expected to do (pursue being a Rhodes Scholar, write definitive theses on postmodern authors and filmmakers) I dropped like hot potatoes. I had that fear of success that’s another face of the fear of failure. If you don’t try, you don’t fail. But that gnawed at me, very quietly, for a really long time. Even when I had success I couldn’t enjoy it. It wasn’t enough, it was too small, someone else had done it better. Or it happened and then I didn’t follow on to the next step which could have brought more success (or even greater failure).
Instead I relied on my wits and my maleness and whiteness and moved at a decent pace up the corporate ladder into a comfortable salary and benefits. Parts of that journey were great–for a long time I was doing work I truly enjoyed. But I was rarely giving it 100%. I wasn’t taking the chances that could really bring about great work. That way I couldn’t fail. Being “good enough” was my path and it served me and paid the bills. And it fueled my growing drinking habit. It caused me stress and anxiety because even though my ascent in the corporate world was safe, at a certain point I was too high up and the expectations got higher. In retrospect, I could not meet those expectations. I had run out of “gifted” fuel and neglected any kind of real professional development. I wasn't learning a lot beyond what could get me through a week.
And we all know what else got me through the week.
So back to the questions at the top of this post: I will never be done, and “how long with it take?” is the wrong question. Each thing in my life that caused discomfort is a little project all its own. I am a musician, but I never learned piano even though I have a studio full of keyboards. That bothered me. So I take piano lessons. Have you ever learned an instrument? If you have, then you know you never really stop. No one who’s committed to piano stops practicing at one point and says “Done! Now I can play anything and I don’t need to practice anymore.” I love photography and while I have taken a lot of photographs I’m proud of or enjoy a lot, I can’t say “Done! I have taken all the good photographs and now I can stop.” With the music, I recognize that I enjoy practicing immensely and it calms me down. When I feel agitated or angry, I sit down at the piano and practice and it helps. With photography, I know I might grow out of it one day and I’m OK with that. For now I can continue to critique my own work and hone my eye for a scene and refine my technical skills at achieving what I want to see in a print.
Another way to look at it is that each revelation I have about myself is an invitation to explore further. When I realized that I felt unfulfilled in my dreams, I started writing every day. I marked two days a week in my calendar for photography and two for music. I talked to people about what I’m doing. I recognized that I want to help other people who want to get sober, so I started a formal education in addiction and recovery so I could be a recovery coach. I replaced the holes in my life that I used to fill with alcohol with seeds that I nurture and will grow. I have no goals around these seeds. If they fail to thrive, that’s OK. If they grow hearty and strong, welp, I will continue to battle that fear of success but I’m in a better place to do that now. I’ve built my support system and don’t have to face it all alone.
I will never be done and it’s so liberating.
I love you,
David
