Is There a Problem, HorseFace?

Problem: A question, matter, situation, or person that is perplexing or difficult.

I have problems.

And while I was originally under the impression that I could skate through life avoiding these problems -- all I needed was easy access to an unlimited supply of the correct combination of alcohol and pharmacological agents -- my friends in recovery quickly disabused me of this un-fact. Now I have to face my problems, which is actually a hell of a lot easier than pretending they don't exist. When my hair is on fire, I put some water on it. I acknowledge the fact that it's on fire and take action. I was the guy at the bar sitting in a dark corner with my hair ablaze, trying not to draw attention to myself. Even more important, I have quit soaking my head in combustible fluids and sitting near open flames. This is new behavior as well.

What I have, more or less, are Ferrari problems. I order a red Ferrari and get bent out of shape when the shipment is delayed, or it comes in yellow. It's still a Ferrari. I don't have too many of the same problems today that I had when I was practicing my black art. I have problems of prosperity. My problems are only possible because I am sober.

The Bright Side? What's That?

Pessimism: The tendency to expect misfortune or the worst outcome in any circumstances; practice of looking on the dark side of things.

For someone who hates pain so much I sure spend a lot of time making sure that I experience as much of it as possible. My brain looks for pain. My entire being rushes headlong toward fear. I'm in my little canoe, drifting down a nice river, approaching a fork in the water. One side has rainbows and pleasant breezes and everything is dripping with pastel colors. There are like a hundred Bambis frolicking around. The other fork is dark and forbidding. The wind is howling and the underbrush is stunted and dead. The only animals that I can see are wolverines and hyenas and a few astonishingly large crocodiles. The rain is lashing the canoe with such ferocity that I can barely see to paddle that way with all of my might, which of course I do. I vaguely sense that I am not making a good decision but I'm almost powerless to stop myself.

My life before recovery was fear based. It's familiar and weirdly comfortable. And I have an innate tendency to look for the dark lining in every cloud. I think a lot of alcoholics do. Sometimes I run into those freaks of nature that are naturally optimistic. Big smiles on their faces, relaxed, looking on the bright side of things, sure that everything will work out. I can't stand people like that. They should be quarantined on Leprosy Island.

My experience is that everything does work out even when I don't like the path I have to take to get to the better place.

Tomorrow is Not Today

Today I am going to live entirely in the future. I'm going to wing way on out there as far as I can get. The future that I imagine is a shadowy, dark place full of threatening figures. It is an ominous place. Outcomes will be unpleasant. The choices that I make today will be incorrect and will start a slow, downward spiral from which I will never recover. Other than that, things should be OK.

Why don't I win the lottery in the futures that I construct? Why don't things work out well? If I'm going to waste my time thinking about events that are almost certainly never going to come to pass, why not pick pleasant thoughts? Instead, I'm getting murdered or bilked out of my savings or the burning plane is crashing into the jungle, which is full of crocodiles and piranhas and stinging insects.

I'm under the impression that my Higher Power has rescued me from a painful alcoholic death, set me on my feet, and pointed me in the right direction, only to decide at the last minute to drop me on my head. This makes no sense whatsoever. The Devil isn't that cruel, let alone the source of all Goodness in the Universe. I am going to be taken care of. I am going to be well taken care of in light of my past behavior.

Today.

I'm So Relaxed It's Giving Me a Headache

Relax: To become less tense or stern.

I make everything way too important. I don't have a good intuitive feel for what it means to take it easy. The two speeds that are installed in my being are full acceleration and completely stopped. I like to go a hundred miles an hour to get to my next destination so that I can sit there, bored, and wonder why I was in such a big hurry. It's hard to notice the lovely scenery when the telephone poles are flying by so fast that they look like a picket fence

Sometimes we suggest that we should wear the world like a loose cloak. The idea is that we have to stay engaged but that we can relax a little bit. I wear the world like a spandex unitard, which is a couple of sizes too small and has been shrunk in the dryer. This is not called a "relaxed fit." Maybe I could start a new line of clothing specializing in uncomfortably small items. I could call it the "tense fit."

It's nice to want to get things done. It's nice to be productive. It shouldn't be our only goal in life. We don't have to be productive all of the time. We can mess up and drift off in the wrong direction and struggle with stuff. We don't have to have all the answers all the time. We can relax and take it easy. We have to stay engaged with the world but we don't have to wrestle it to the ground.

Avoid The Noid

Avoid: To keep away from; shun; to get out of; shirk.

The thing about me and pain is that I really don't see the point of it. I don't really care for it at all. I don't see what it does for me. And I'm talking about any kind of pain whatsoever: emotional, mental, or physical. I find them all equally distasteful and have made one of the main goals of my life the avoidance of pain by whatever means possible.

When I'm in pain, I try to fix the problem immediately. I try to make the pain go away. I don't want to spend any time figuring out why I'm in pain, to see if my behavior somehow caused the pain or that the particular pain I'm in may be a normal, unavoidable part of a normal, boring life. If I'm unsuccessful in banishing the pain quickly and with little effort, then I assume that it is never going to go away. Moreover, it is going to get worse. I run screaming into the night.

This is what we mean when we talk about living in the problem or living in the solution.

Let's Complicate the Hell Out of It

Complicated: Made up of parts intricately involved or combined; hard to untangle, solve, understand, analyze, etc.

Today I am going to make everything as difficult as possible. Simple solutions are for the simple minded. Keeping it simple only works for those who don't have my vast intellect and laser sharp ability to see life from thousands of different angles and levels and nuances. I find it necessary to look at a situation for hours, stare at it with an unwavering intensity, and plumb its deepest, darkest depths. Only then will I be able to divine the true nature of things.

I'm the guy you find on the floor, tangled in a ball of yarn, unable to move, nearly strangled to death. I decide to roll up some loose yarn and I start by analyzing the molecular composition of the yarn particles. I study the history of yarn. I visit a yarn factory and sign up to earn a PhD in yarnology. I talk to yarn experts. I lose my temper with anyone who suggests that I'm spending too much time on parts of the yarn rolling up experience that might not be helpful in actually rolling up the yarn.

Keep in simple, my ass.

Meditation or Medication?

Meditation: Solemn reflection on sacred matters as a devotional act.

A couple of days ago I forgot to share my thoughts on meditation, probably because I was spending so much time praying that I was going to get everything that I want and avoid anything that I find unpleasant. I don't mean to suggest that praying is not an important part of my recovery program. It is. It's just that it can be time consuming. There are a lot of things that can go wrong that I need to head off. There is a long list of things that I want that need to be catalogued in great detail and then transmitted to my Higher Power.

It has been said that praying is talking to God and meditation is listening to what God may have to say. Nobody believes this. We recognize that a prayer is a long list of demands and that meditation is, at its best, nap time. The seamier side of meditation contains sexual fantasies, intricate plots of revenge, and pleasant thoughts of what it would like to be very wealthy, a rock star, a professional athlete, or very wealthy. Maybe I could be a wealthy professional athlete -- beloved by all -- who learns how to play slide guitar and jams with old bluesmen in some Delta backwater.

I'm trying to convince myself that an intricate plot for revenge can be a sacred matter. It's not going very well.