I’ve never considered myself
to be great at any one thing, rather mediocre at a variety of things. I can
carry a modest tune while singing along to the radio but would choke if ever
confronted with a real audience. I’m a fast runner and decent athlete but not
physically talented enough to make a career in sports. I love to cook and consider myself pretty
knowledgeable about pairing flavors thanks to the Food Network, but a chef’s
life in the kitchen is not my calling. I’m a dedicated worker with good people
skills, but too much of a timid pushover for an authoritative position. In
other words, I’m a jack of all trades, master of none. I’ve always struggled
with a lack of passion and insecurity, flip flopping and constantly weighing the pros and cons
of a venture instead of diving in head first.
Once my drinking picked up, my lack of ambition doubled. Why
push myself to become something great when there’s a bottle of whiskey and a
crowded dance floor waiting for me? Where people will pay attention to me and I
can put my real skills on display-skills that don’t have any value in the real
world, like winning a game of beer pong. (Unfortunately, not many employers
consider that impressive or useful).
When it came to my partying, I was more organized, prepared
and focused than any corporate CEO. I’d buy enough mixers to last me a month
and always kept a fully stocked inventory of bottles. I’d painstakingly
research and furiously shop for the perfect outfit with all the fixins’ as if
attending a Hollywood gala. My ability to survey a room and seek out fellow
destructive individuals was better than the court IQ of any NBA point guard. A
frat boy in a backwards hat taking three shots in a row was an easy target for
a free drink and human night cap. When it came to booze, I had the impressively
discerning palette of Jacques Pepin himself.
“Jesus, what was in that shot?” a
friend would ask after downing a free and mysterious green shooter.
“Tastes like gin, Midori, lemon and blue
curacao,” I’d quickly conclude.
In my twenties, I attended college but barely passed my
classes. I had plenty of room in my schedule for a part-time job, but drinking
had become my job. My academics and responsibilities took a back seat to the
more important objective in my life: partying. This was neither profitable nor
fulfilling, more like a necessary evil. If I wasn’t drinking and playing the
part of someone who seemed happy, then I was left with my true self-someone I
couldn’t stand. When I was sober, I was unmotivated, bored, and succumbing to self doubt-scheming for
ways to start drinking early or at odd times without appearing like I had a
problem.
One of my favorite series, Dexter (whose title character is a serial killer with a pseudo
conscience) introduced a new figure this season in the form of a therapist with
a penchant for treating psychopaths. In one scene, the obscure yet good-natured
Dr. Vogel sits down to a meal at her home with Dexter and his two equally
devious comrades to enlighten them with her worldly theories. While she
motherly scoops helpings of beef bourguignon onto their plates, she gives her
opinion of what makes the world go round.
“I've always maintained that the
greatest obstacle in life isn't danger-it's boredom. The battle against it is
responsible for most of the events in the world- good or ill. I'm convinced of
it.”
Boredom is the very reason I first
tried alcohol in the unsupervised basement of a friend’s home at age 13. It’s the reason why drinking at 3 pm after
class seemed perfectly acceptable because I had nothing else to occupy my time.
I’m not suggesting a Tuesday night volleyball league or job at the
Cheesecake Factory would have prevented the progression of my disease, but it
may have helped to provide the self-esteem I was lacking. Given me a sense of
purpose. I was so used to the madness and dysfunction of my drunken routine to
realize a little normalcy and healthy activity is what I needed.
I never took advantage of all the
impressive programs and opportunities my university provided. Many of which I
knew would have been of great interest to me. I look around at some of my
former classmates who made use of these programs and see them flourishing as a
result.
The only time I buckled down and put myself to work was when my
dwindling finances forced me to. With the end of college approaching and no
clue as to what my next move would be, I picked a job in a familiar
industry-food service and events. A waitress in an upscale country club in Long
Island, New York proved lucrative but enabling. The very same atmosphere and
position I was fired from just two years prior for getting wrecked on the job
and causing a disturbance. But when pressured and threatened by
life’s inevitabilities, my warped and desperate mind did not learn the lesson
of incidents past. It thought only of what it needed to keep living a consuming
lifestyle. I did not care about consequences or other people. I knew I could make decent money in that line of work; my only
objective. And as a much wiser person
could have predicted, history repeated itself and I again began drinking on the
job. This time the outcome much worse than a pink slip. Jail.
Things today at two and a half years
sober are far from perfect for me, but I’ve learned to harness my feelings of boredom, melancholy and discontent for constructive purposes. I’ve discovered and come to terms with more about
myself in these past few years then I could have ever accomplished or realized
while drinking. I now accept my flaws and appreciate my individuality. I have a
passion for life and people that I never had before. An interest in trying new
things, working hard and bettering myself. A mentality forced to lie dormant
due to my drinking.
Staying positive is not always easy. It’s
much simpler and enticing sometimes to shut out the world and give in to
misery. That phrase in itself “stay positive” sounds like a cheesy bumper
sticker slogan, but when you figure out just how to do that very thing, it
becomes life changing. I have learned the
best way to get out of your own head and resist the temptation of self-pity is
through gratitude. Being grateful for the things you do have and helping people
who might not be so lucky. In most cases, there is always someone in a worse,
more dire circumstance than yourself. Focus on the needs of others and it will
become harder to focus on the negatives in your life. We have a saying in AA that once you catch a case of the “woe is mes” or the “have nots” the “fuck its” are
not far behind.
Alcoholism and addiction are diseases
like any other, but the indispensable difference is the addict’s ability to
manage and in many ways overcome it’s grip. I feel extremely fortunate not to
suffer from cancer, MS, diabetes or something equally as physically and
mentally debilitating. I have the tools and resources to regulate my disease
and reach a healthy and happy state for the rest of my days. Other diseases are
not so kind. If the most I have to do is go to AA meetings and lead a sober
lifestyle in order to be ok, then I have no right to wallow or complain. I’ll
take that over chemotherapy any day.
So the next time you’re feeling
unsure of what you have to offer this world, remember that there is only one of
you and that in its self is incomparable. Find something you are passionate
about and immerse yourself in it whole heartedly. Next time, instead of making
your way to the bar because it seems like the logical, routine and expected
thing to do-sign up for a class, volunteer, take up a new sport, research ways
to land your dream job, or channel your creativity. If you’re feeling restless,
depressed and ineffectual, a substance will not ease your mind or troubles. It
will only delay the inevitable. Be thankful. Charitable behavior will actually
help you more than it does your fellow man. Knowing you made a difference,
large or small, in someone else’s life is a pretty powerful high.
When life gives you lemons, hand out free lemonade.
**take what you like and leave the rest**
