The journey is perfect, the stumbles as well as the strides.

I don’t know about you but I have stumbled many times getting to where I am now.  I began stumbling, literally, when I took my first drink at 13.  Hiding behind the garage at an outdoor family gathering, I gulped down my whiskey and coke before any one could notice me.  The rush I felt was quickly matched by the uneasiness I experienced as I headed back to the group.  With darting vision, I hurried into the house so no one would guess what I had been up to.

What I could have learned then was that alcohol had the capacity to “trip” a person up in more ways than one.  However, what I learned instead over the next few months was that with every drink I took, I felt a bit less fear.  Around boys, particularly.  Over time, the continued use of alcohol gave me the courage to “stand apart,” to move forward, even to eventually set many highfaluting goals, most of which seemed way beyond my reach, throughout the next 33 years, in fact.

As an example, I’m convinced that I would not have tackled graduate school  following the demise of my 12 year marriage if I had not fueled up on alcohol.  Perhaps that seems a far-fetched idea but I’d venture to guess that many alcoholics in the rooms of AA would concur.  We could muffle the cries of the scared ego if we drank just one more whiskey on ice.  I knew I wasn’t a scholar, in my sober moments; but with a little alcohol in my system I was certain I could accomplish what the others around me were accomplishing.  And one of the areas I was fearless about was writing.  While I observed my fellow students avoiding like the plague the major papers that were required for every course, I eagerly leapt to the challenge.  Unafraid.  Undaunted.  Undeterred.

That I met the challenge successfully gave structure to the rest of my life.  Learning, as I did, how pleasurable writing could be, set the stage for my passion to flourish.   Twenty seven books later and I’m still committed to “the dream.”  The fortunate news is that I didn’t have to keep drinking to accomplish it.  In fact, had I continued to drink, I would have failed the “final test.”  Writing the dissertation took a sober head.  I feared I couldn’t master that.  But did.  With the help of many others.

I am not assuming that you, the reader, had a journey like mine, one that was both helped and then hindered by alcohol, but before I go further, let’s pause.  Think about your own journey from your teen years to now.  Just close your eyes for a few minutes.  Just as suggested in an earlier blog, pause, breathe and pause again.