new year, new me…new miracle
Miracles happen all the time, all around us. Living a life of recovery is not only one itself, but having a clearer mind, a cleaner spirit and a cooperative will allows you to see and appreciate the daily magic that surrounds us. At times, saves us. Preserves us and protects us.
One of my favorite miracles I was aware of (who knows how many moments of misfortune we narrowly avoided due to perfect circumstance) occurred in the wee hours of January 1, 2006.
It was the first time I heard, with my own two ears, my very own spirit speak to me.
With the industry I had chosen to labor in, I had always worked New Year’s Day. It was a given. Business wise, it could be hit or miss, dependent on the day of the week. A Sunday would have a little more early crowd for the people that routined their way to church. A Monday or Wednesday could prove to be a little slow. But nonetheless, as in show business and as true as the sun rising in the east, the show of restaurant work must go on.
As an hourly employee, long before the notion of any sobriety was even dreamt about, I would have those late nights where the morning happened early. Two hours of sleep, one hour of sleep…sometimes no sleep…right into work. As an opening cook, the day started around 7 or 8am. Even on New Years. And the day after Christmas. And your birthday, the 5th of July, Monday after the SuperBowl…always. As constant as constant could be.
As a manger, with January 1st not just being the beginning of the year but also time to wrap up the end of the month. And the end of the year. Beginning of a quarter. Closing out of this, and inventorying that, and liquidating these, and reviewing those and a whole bunch of other stuff the world not familiar with the restaurant world would be amazed as being necessary to get you that extra side of Ranch for your chickie nugs. So for the stints where I had any roll of a supervisor, and those years far exceeded the hourly employee years even before sobriety, showing up to work as early as 4am was necessary for the first of the month. Even on New Years. And the day after Christmas. And your birthday, the 5th of July, Monday after the SuperBowl…always. As constant as constant could be.
But go even further back. When I was swimming in my high school years. I had been swimming year round competitively since the 4th grade, but I emphasis the high school years because … let’s just say I wasn’t partying quite as hard while finishing up elementary school as I was during high school. So we’d find a hotel party, a parking lot, a look-whose-parents-are-out-of-town house party and throw down. And I’d wake up (if the luxury of sleep actually happened) and head into a 6am swim practice. And a hard practice at that. We’d do 9200 yards. For the uninitiated, the fastest competitive race is 50 yards. The mile, the longest and not most exciting to watch, is 1650 yards. Or 1500 meters, depending on the lane line setup. A typical practice for us would range in the 5500 – 6500 range. But on January 1st, 1992, we did 9200 yards. And the next year, 9300 yards. And the next year, 9400 yards. How clever the coaches were! Because, you know, it was 1992, 1993 & 1994.
When I got sober towards the end of September 2005, I wasn’t thinking about New Years. I wasn’t thinking about Christmas or Thanksgiving or Halloween or any day in the future for that matter. I was thinking about that damn microwave (buy my book UnLoaded, you’ll see) but I was mostly focused on RIGHT NOW. What was in front of me. Keeping my brain occupied to not have stray thoughts. To not rationalize boozing or using. To not have temptations to call old “friends” or visit old places. I was attending a lot of AA meetings, I was hanging out with other fellas in recovery and I was working my ass off as a line cook.
Already one to dive head first into things, being a sober cook made me dive even head firstier. I took on all challenges, I took all the hours, I took all the responsibilities. I wasn’t eager to leave as early as possible anymore to chase a buzz nor was I reluctant to come in early in fear of shaking one off.
I was clean. I was focused. I was driven. And I was scared as hell to be alone. If I wasn’t physically in the presence of recovery, I was working.
As the holiday season rolled on and I managed to turn a week of sobriety into a month and into two months and so on, I heard of this thing called the Alcathon. Alcoholics Anonymous sponsors a 24 hour event starting mid-day on Dec 31 and runs through Jan 1. It gives people that choose to attend a “safe haven” of sorts…there are meetings ran every hour, there’s a constant buffet of food being added to as people come and go, and there’s space and opportunity to just hang out. And, of course, there’s no physical temptation of drugs or alcohol. For some, this could be their first holiday season attempting sobriety, for others it is a holiday tradition looked forward to. For all involved…it’s a safe community.
The hourly meetings held during this event are sponsored by various home groups around the city. My home group, the infamous 10:00 Every Night, was given the 5am time slot. Pretty ironic since one of the attractive qualities of this group was its late meting time. But instead of having to wake early, the ones involved were more than likely going to be staying up all night. I saw it and laughed, figured I wouldn’t be involved anyhow with my work schedule.
And then planets aligned. The schedule posted for the week of NYE and it’s often brutal day after had me off on New Year’s Day. Off on New Year’s Day. My first New Year’s Day sober and I do not have to work. From having to be up early for a torturous swim practice to a career I started eight years earlier, I had always had to be up in the wee hours to function after brutalizing myself the night before. And not only do I not have to work…I have a positive, recovery based function I can attend.
Let that settle. That’s insane. I still laugh at it because of how improbable it seems. Didn’t request it, didn’t mention to anyone at work that my recovery group had a 5am commitment. It just happened. It simply just happened.
Now I did have to work New Year’s Night. It was a relatively busy shift, as the joint I was working for sat in a tiny mecca hot spot of young, rich folk. There were a couple bars all within the same block, and there was outside entertainment. Being we were more of a restaurant, we caught the first hit as people dined before furthering their celebrations elsewhere. We did have a respectable bar crowd, and with our high prices and hip decor, sitting at our bar was indeed a status symbol.
Kitchen staff cuts were made, and I had no issue with being the last one out. Most of the crew wanted to go join the madness and I was safer staying busy. It was around 10:30 or so, and I was finishing up all the last minute clean ups. As I’m in the kitchen, I could hear a couple, a man and woman, having a hellacious argument. They are very upset with each other and she threw her engagement/wedding ring at him. I feel bad for them, but smile inside as I’m happy to be having a drama free night. I realize, as plain as the big ol’nose on my face but perhaps taken for granted, that in the three months of my sobriety, I haven’t gotten in any arguments or fights or burned any bridges. Perhaps there’s a connection there.
I slipped out the kitchen to hit the restroom before leaving, and the battling couple are in the hallway, held apart by others. The lady, in a skimpy silver sequined dress, has makeup running down her face. The dude, complete with New Year glasses, beads and hat, is flushed and drooling. Going through this is bad enough, but being dressed like idiots only makes it worse.
I step outside the restaurant and sit on one of the communal benches. It’s one of those neighborhood-shopping-dining communities and on this night it looks like a circus. I can see in the watering hole across the walk and there’s literal people hanging from the rafters. Music is coming from everywhere. There’s Mardi Gras-esque events going on from the balconies of the above apartments. It’s funny to take in and observe instead of adding this to a regret list.
As I’m about to leave, the door from my place of employment burst open and the sequined dress ringless lady from the argument comes running out. She blows right past me, stumble runs a few steps, stops and looks around. It was like she had just found herself on this brand new planet. She sees the bar ahead of her, as if it just magically appeared, and begins to run towards it. And this is where the combination of her high heels, the wet street and her alcohol intake all decided to join forces and plant her face first into the asphalt. I was shocked by the perfect face flop, but she bounced up immediately and continued her run to that bar. I never saw her face, but judging by the reactions of the people in the bar, I imagine she had a scratch or two.
Time to go home
Getting home right around midnight, I decided to take a nap before heading to our meeting. Let’s do the math. I am getting about 4 hours of sleep. But four hours of fearless, sober rest. On New Year’s. Incredible.
And I know this has gone all around my elbow to get to my ass, but this is my favorite part. Favorite part of this story, and one of my most favorite parts of my life.
“When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home.” No that’s not it, That’s SE Hinton and that’s a whole ‘nother story.
I stepped out of my side of the humble little duplex. From my front stoop I could see one of the main veins of South Charlotte, the wondrous South Blvd. I lived right off of it, right below a four way, traffic light monitored intersection. And it was quiet. It was a touch past 4am. It wasn’t dark dark, as the moon was shining brightly and there was illumination from street lights and a few business signs in the distance. And it was quiet. Very quiet. Calm. So, so peaceful. With the rock show of shenanigans I had just driven away from with the encore of the face-to-street stage drive from sequin lady, this was a totally different world. I could hear the buzz of the street lights. I could feel the air. Dwelling at the time just around the corner from the house I grew up in, I could smell summer, I could taste a garden hose, I could feel snow, I could see the red leaves of fall. I was in sensory overload. My heart butterflied as I stood there, proud to be sober at 4am, regardless of the night, but especially on January 1st.
“Hello world, I am not afraid of you anymore.”
I looked around to see who had said that, for surely I was alone. And I was alone.
It was me. Those words came out of my mouth with out me saying them. It just happened.
And I heard it. And I agreed.
To this day, if not daily at least a few times a week, I remind myself. Hello world, I am not afraid of you anymore. I tortured myself for years. Lied to myself. Hid from myself. Limited myself. I din’t want to be exposed. I didn’t want to be honest. I didn’t want to be judged. I was scared. I ran. But not anymore.
Because I am not afraid.
And THAT…is a miracle that changed my life.