It’s all wrapped up in an oversized ball of twine, these synaptic strings that I wind and unwind, determining my thoughts and therefore my mood for the day. There are any number of loose strings I call tug on. Some turn out to be only an inch or so long, while others I pull and pull until the thing picks up enough speed to go bouncing down the stairs. It’s larger than I am, and once it gets going, good luck stopping it.
Step 2: came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
It’s a mental sphere of my own creation: all my hopes and fears and love and hate and quick decisions and second guesses reside within. It’s formidable, this ball, and I can aim it at whatever I like. Perfect for tethering to my ankle and then rolling down an incline, my big ball of psyche unravels as it gathers momentum, and I go tumbling after.
See, the alcoholic in me likes to go bowling. Knocking everything down and then stewing in the wreckage is one of my go-to shortcomings. Surrounded by a mess of my own making I self-paralyze, unable to accomplish anything until the fog of doubt and pointlessness lifts. It’s an extremely convoluted way to cover up the fact that I’m lazy. I’m getting in my own way on purpose. I don’t want to do what I know I need to do, and instead of putting in the effort, I often choose to sit back and reflect on past failures, and pontificate on future disappointments.
But that’s only half the story. What I didn’t realize for the longest time is that this ball can also be used for good. When energized with happy vibes and positive emotions, it easily runs over my indecisions and hesitations. Momentum begets momentum.
Today, I’m learning: It’s not about keeping the ball from rolling out of control. It’s about rolling with it.