where’s the sexy in the slip?

Taking the drinking myself to death part out of the equation, there’s a definite attraction to the “out there”, as in, “he went back out there.”  I don’t believe we go back out because we feel like we’ve solved our problem with alcohol.  I’ve yet to hear someone say that they went back out because they truly believed the program had cured them.

Step 12: having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

Is it because I’m missing out on all the fun?  Or maybe the fun I’m having just isn’t getting it done?   Where’s that little something extra that would make this a better, more enjoyable experience for me?  This from a man who needed to drink alone before drinking socially.  I needed that head start, that performance-reducing numbing agent that diminished my skills, but increased my perceived ability to deal with society as a whole.  It wasn’t the best me; it was the softer, easier-way me.

What’s cool about that?  What’s the attraction?  Would I have drunk all those years if I was simultaneously wearing a t-shirt that read, “I’m broken emotionally and spiritually, and I’m using alcohol to hide within myself”?  Sounds absurd, but that’s what everyone else is asking.  What’s wrong?  Where’s the reasoning?  It always boils down to why, and I know in my heart there isn’t one concrete thing I can put my finger on, not really; it’s just always been there, and when I drink, sometimes, sometimes, it goes away for a while.  So does the rest of the world, but that seemed like a small price to pay at the time.

So, I paid and paid, and borrowed and promised and stole and lied.  Daily.  I had a full-tilt subscription to my own insanity, headlines to be determined on the fly to suit my immediate needs.  And I always had immediate needs.

Again, what’s the attraction?  Is sobriety so boring now, the raw feelings so muted, that it’s time to start tearing down?  I’d say that I can’t stand success, but it’s hard to get too puffy-chested about accumulating a couple of tokens for time served:  there are days where I’m still a newbie.  And there are definitely days where my serenity feels as forced as the facade of normalcy did in my drinking days.

Fortunately, it’s not my sobriety that feels forced.  It feels alive and real and pulsating, good and bad, true and raw and often painful for my ego.  Welcome to the world.

Today:  I’m grateful that I’m finding myself wanting to dance along with the rest of the human race, even when I don’t know the tune.