Sobriety helps me do hard things
© 2021 David Bivins - "love wall" at Puerto Viejo Restaurant in Crown Heights, Brooklyn
My family’s going through a lot right now. Both of my partner’s parents recently died, and we are grieving. My father is (as of this writing) hospitalized following a heart attack. As a family, we are evaluating high schools for our child, which in New York City is not unlike evaluating colleges (there are literally hundreds of options and the concept of “you just go to the school you’re zoned for” doesn’t exist). It’s a lot.
But we live in it. We talk about it. My wife has a deep meditation practice with her Buddhist sangha (community). I have a not-nearly-as-deep meditation practice and check in almost daily with a small group of sober friends. We have both added a lot of options to our toolkits that let us be more vulnerable with each other and unconditionally kind to each other. We are not perfect and sparks still fly. But we are both more capable of reflection, listening, forgiveness, and compassion. Sure, I could have come to some of this without sobriety, but deciding to quit and then dragging myself through broken glass to get there was a crash course in all of these things.
What’s beautiful and fascinating to me is that we came to these ideas and behaviors independently and through different means. I can only speak to my own experience getting sober and won’t get into my partner’s journey in Buddhism, except to say that our meetings with our respective communities have almost identical ground rules: we practice active listening; we speak from our own experience; we don’t give advice unless it’s asked for.
I can get up in the morning and be productive. I can get up in the middle of the night and deal with an emergency (even if it’s just replacing the carbon monoxide detector battery which inexplicably quit without warning at 3:30am recently). I can be angry or sad or joyous or relaxed without a bottle of alcohol in my hand to enhance the feeling or rub it out. Most of all I can be present without blurring the present.
I know I talk a lot about being present, but it’s really the most magical yet mundane thing that’s happened to me in recent years. On a project, whether it’s for paid work or volunteering, sure, I have to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. But that’s project stuff. At the moment, I have tasks before me, and I’ll do them one by one, moment by moment. I can be mindful and organized.
Living in the moment is freedom. Without fear I can take risks and I can take the safe route when I want to. Without hope I can be ready for the eventualities of life. They all happen. Loved ones will die. Cups will break. Rolls of film will be ruined. Music gear will stop working.
I’m turning myself toward how life actually happens.
I love you,
David
