A Quarter Century of Trying to Not be a Ghost

A quarter century ago I tried to not drink. You’d think that would be super easy, or depending on who you are, really hard. I wasn’t sure that I’d stay sober that long, or if I thought I wanted to be sober, or if it was something I could do, but I knew that the way I was drinking and drugging at that moment was equaling nothing. Less than zero.

I woke up on February 12^th, 1994 wishing I would die and also hoping I could get through the day without taking a drink. I was in a far-off land with strange people and a future so clouded with death and uncertainty, I wasn’t really sure I should even try this sobriety. I did.

It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was one of the hardest things I had ever done. It seems impossible now to think about that 17-year-old punk kid shivering in the humid Louisiana sun struggling so hard to not drink.

It doesn’t really cross my mind all that much these days. These days I’m only reminded of those days if I talk about it with someone who had also been there too. I just don’t drink. I don’t feel like I’m missing out or that it makes me too weird. I know that if I was to drink, I’d drink a lot and would burn down everything around me – which I could easily do sober.

25 years ago, Bill Clinton was the President, Kurt Cobain and Jerry Garcia was still alive, the internet and cell phones were only for rich people, Portland didn’t have the Pearl district, the Alberta Arts neighborhood, and Portland also had a baseball team.

25 years ago was yesterday and a century ago at the same time. So much has happened. I’ve survived heart break, jobs, schools, homes, and cancer. I have been to Africa, Europe, and a large portion of North America. I’ve had lots of money and I have had none. I have been content with all that I have, and I have taken it all for granted. I have suffered from mental illness and I have helped others.

I have survived 25 years. It was hard to live the first 17. I have quit smoking. I have had to endure cancer and it’s intense, nasty treatment twice. I thought of giving up on treatment and let nature take her course, but I kept on.

I’ve had to struggle with getting older. Sickness made me age exponentially faster than I was before. I was angsty and a victim full of melancholy in my youth, and now I am sad, and my body feels like a betrayer. I can’t count on it anymore.

I have learned a lot about love and intimacy. I find myself engaged with a fantastic woman of extraordinary intelligence, creativity, and fierce ethics. A beautiful woman who won’t let me rest on my laurels or say that my race has been run already. We are getting married in April.

I finally have a dog. Rufus has been the second-best thing to happen to me since the pretty lady I was just talking about. He likes to snuggle, hug, and sing. Sometimes he eats chocolate and almost dies, which breaks my heart, and costs us lots of money. He makes up for it by wearing bow ties.

I have a wealth of friends today. I have people in my life that care deeply, support, and will still call me out if I get too squirrely. I try and be with those that are positive and progressive. People who are always trying to grow and be better. This world, and especially the internet, is full of people that just hate on stuff. I don’t have time for that.

I got projects. I do a podcast with two buddies on baseball. I am working very slowly on a comic book. I am venturing back into music. I play Dungeons & Dragons with a bunch of loons.

Sometimes when I sit and think about those first few years of trying to get sober, I can’t help but feel sorry for how dumb I was. The world was so small then. I knew that there was this whole world around me, but I felt like the real world was a hula hoop around me. Some of it was just being young, but the other was really the idea that the head could not fathom sobriety.

I had a hard time planning for the future because it took years to accept that I kept having futures. I could not see me at 30 or 40 years old. A 42-year-old with 25 years sober never dawned on me in those days. I could have sworn I’d be dead by now.

A quarter century later I have learned how to not be a ghost. I am now more me than I’ve ever been. I now see a future. In that future I am grateful for the now.