Figurative Vessels

I’m writing a book. Well, co-writing a book, to be more accurate. We started the process over the summer. I haven’t really talked about it outside my closest circle because I feel like it’s one of those things you should do and then clap for your own damn self. Some people need to talk about their greatest endeavors. Lately, I only need to discuss them insofar as it’s necessary to stay accountable.  Truth be told, it’s probably because this is one of the scariest things I’ve ever done. Talking about it makes it “real”. As a (recovering) addict, I am inclined to tiptoe as far away from “real” as reasonably possible. When it’s not real, it’s safe to fail.

One would think that writing a book is a solo project. It’s not. I am growing accustomed to the fact that things, in general, tend to be better when they are the result of collaborative effort. As it happens, I am currently sending the Universe strong mentorship vibes. I need someone to look at the skeleton of our work and show me how to animate it into the best possible version of itself.

At any rate, I’ve been missing this blog and the process of writing just for me. It’s not that I don’t have time – it’s that some of the stories I am poised to tell haven’t played themselves out to completion. Sometimes I’ll start a post and be unable to finish because I simply don’t know the ending. Unfortunately, they are big stories, and not telling them makes me feel a bit like I’m choking. At work, I tell my clients that looking at things in the present is just as important as examining them from the other side. It creates a measuring stick for progress. This situation is a little different. I fully believe that some things happen because we are meant to be instruments of change. In order to be an effective advocate, I need to keep my progress under lock and key for a short time.

It’s funny – when I was active in my addictive behaviors, I could only write about things in metaphor. Today, it pains me to be ambiguous. I think it’s a sign of significant growth that I prefer to be unequivocally raw. I’d rather be in my own skin than hiding beneath a veil of mystery. I can’t wait until the last pages of these stories unfurl and I can share my discoveries with you. In the meantime, I am standing my ground and letting the words take shape.

A ‘voice’ motif keeps popping up this year. My purpose in life seems to be – among other things – helping to give people a voice. The whole premise of the Human Too campaign is to provide a platform for people’s narratives. The book I am co-writing isn’t my story, either. In a roundabout way, the Universe has my best interest at heart. The ego is a particularly complex animal for alcoholics and addicts. By and large, we tend to be egomaniacs with inferiority issues. When I focus more on other people, the world stops revolving around me. I have less time to ask “What do people think of me?” On the other hand, I think it’s important to make sure I don’t let my own story get lost. It’s important to come home to myself. When I go within and reflect on my own narrative, I grow.

The reason I share my reflections so publicly (and help others to do the same) is because I think it’s a matter of life or death for us to vocalize and celebrate our flawed humanity. Many recovery programs are rooted in the power of the shared narrative. But, looking at things from outside the scope of recovery, it’s clear we are losing touch with ourselves and each other. Social media, for example, is about creating some kind of perfectly filtered ideal. Or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, it becomes a shield behind which we can treat our fellows inhumanely. How do we form and maintain genuine connections under these conditions? In either scenario, we are moving further and further away from the very things we should be striving toward.

We don’t, however, have to label technology as good or bad. It’s a neutral thing. We choose its significance. My aim is to be part of a societal shift in significance. For every idyllic vacation photo or sickeningly sweet ode to my wife (can’t stop, won’t stop), there is also evidence of the flawed nature of my life. I set goals and partially or completely fail to meet them.  I quit drinking coffee and now I’m back in the damn Dunkin’s drive thru every day.  I set bottom lines around Facebook and food, and I don’t always stick to them. (Those are my “F” words!) Sometimes, when I’m not at home, I eat cheese. Sometimes, when I see a cute dog video, I post it. I am undisciplined and I struggle to form healthy habits. That’s precisely why I needed help to kick my most dangerous predilections. I still need help. And I will use every resource available to let people know that it is perfectly okay to ask for it.

My other writing ventures notwithstanding, I haven’t been making time for my own blog because I feel like I don’t have anything new to say (or, more accurately, I’m not quite ready to say it). Upon further consideration, I’m realizing that I don’t need to say anything new. In fact, I think it’s good to repeat some of the same things. Repetition has been a cornerstone of my recovery. I can only speak for myself, but my brain is addictively wired. In order to rewire it, I need to hear the same things over and over. I need to hear that it’s okay to ask for help. I need to hear that it’s okay not to be perfect. I need to be reminded of the simple solutions. Otherwise, my old circuitry kicks in and I’m on the crazy bus to trouble town.

I don’t like the crazy bus to trouble town. It smells like stale beer and ashtray, and I can never shake the feeling that I’m careening toward certain doom. Today, I’m grateful to be cruising around on the Carpathia looking for other survivors (yes, I just jumped from a bus analogy to a ship analogy). Regardless of your figurative vessel of choice, it’s going to be okay. We’re all doing this messy thing together. If you don’t like where you’re going, you can change your means of transportation at any time.

Hitting Pain: Speed Bumps on the Road to Less

If one is lucky, a New England summer might yawn and stretch lazily into fall.  This year, however, the morning air became abruptly crisp. A smattering of ambitious leaves turned defiantly against the waning sun before the calendar could even declare September’s arrival. Personal growth happens like that, too. Sometimes it languishes, with little to no forward movement, and other times it feels like someone stepped on the accelerator without asking for permission.

My growth game has been languishing until very recently.  Since starting a new job, I’ve fallen into some of my old spending habits: Starbucks whenever the whim strikes, compulsive splurges on superfluous snacks, and etc. I know something is off when I walk into Whole Foods for cereal and quinoa cookies and leave with $75 of vegan junk food. Speaking of veganism, I’ve managed to twist plant based eating into: “This candy is made from plants, so it’s fine”. You know, the old “chocolate salad” logic. If I had used the aforementioned logic on my other issues, it wouldn’t have been long before wine coolers turned into liquor. Or “friendly” coffee with a woman I shouldn’t see turned into a tangled, painful mess. All that being said, I have made strides in the right direction. I don’t cry at dinner anymore. (Seriously, eliminating cheese from our home was ugly business.) Our weekly grocery list no longer contains four pounds of cheese and a carton of heavy cream. That’s noteworthy progress, if I do say so myself. I’m sure my arteries thank me. Also, Starbucks and snack binge(s) aside, I haven’t been blowing cash left and right. I have a Stevie Nicks tattoo to finish and several more tattoos in the queue. In addition, we finally turned our junk room into my walk-in closet and home office. We don’t have room for my addiction to Michael’s holiday decorations. My choices, overall, are more in line with my values.

It’s in my nature to do the “two steps forward and one step back” dance. But, sometimes, life necessitates that I suck it up and tango. I wouldn’t say that life has forced me to tango, but I have been “hitting pain”, as they sometimes refer to it in 12 Step fellowships, and pain is the great facilitator of change. A long time ago, I remember writing about how the word “no” is worthy of its own blog post. However, I haven’t been able to write about it because I am still learning how to use it. In fact, not only am I learning how to speak my truth, I’m still discovering what, exactly, that truth is. It is a complex process and it isn’t always pretty to behold.

In the beginning of August, I had an unsavory experience which forced me to make adjustments to my recovery meeting schedule. As a result, I decided to start attending a women’s meeting. In the past, I was resistant to the idea of gender specific meetings. To be completely honest, the idea of spending time with women feels about as appealing as throwing myself to a family of malnourished tigers. Don’t get me wrong: I love women. Well, one woman in particular. But being around a gaggle of girls has never been my scene. And that’s an understatement. I’m not really sure what that’s about – and why it’s an issue I haven’t been able to resolve in eight years of recovery.

Someone with substantially more recovery wisdom pointed out that maybe I don’t need to be someone who enjoys running with a clique of chicks. I’ve reached a point in my life where I’m a lot more comfortable in my own skin. However, I’m also an introvert. I crave human friendship – and my relationships are important to me – but I like meaningful one on one interaction. Anything else is painfully over or under stimulating (and sometimes both at the same time). It drains my spirit.

I’m going to stick with my women’s meeting; I know for a fact that it’s helping me grow. It’s also my responsibility to pass on the gift that was so freely given to me. However, I need to shut the door on the idea that there is something wrong with the way I operate in the world. The fears of my inner sixth grader aren’t calling the shots anymore. I am a strong, vibrant, nearly-31 year old woman. I don’t need a clique of chicks to have relationships of meaning and value. I am part of a diverse tribe. And, by and large, I enjoy meeting with said tribe members on an individual basis, thank you very much.

Too often, we live our lives based on what we think we “should” do. I know I am certainly guilty. I’ve come to realize that living from that platform is a debilitating form of existential dishonesty. It’s also frickin’ exhausting. My new life’s mission is to live my truth – and a huge part of living my truth is going to be exercising the word “no”.  If other people don’t like it, that’s too damn bad. The response of others is neither my business nor my responsibility. If someone has a problem, that’s their own shit. My only responsibility is to be honest. When I am in the wrong, it’s because I’ve been dishonest. I know my dishonesty has left casualties in its wake and I am working on making sure I don’t repeat the same mistakes.

This is my truth, in all its raw and gritty glory: I do not want to attend a girl’s night out with a group of women. Hell, chicks or dicks, I don’t want to attend any rambunctious night out. I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to be a person on the autism spectrum, but I imagine the kind of sensory overload I experience is not entirely dissimilar to a trip to a noisy store. For the record, when three unrelated people text me at once, I have a meltdown. I’m not built for it. And there’s nothing wrong with that. I also will not spend one second of my time tolerating homophobia – or bullying masquerading as politics – for the sake of being polite. I will not put myself in those situations and, if I find myself unwittingly subjected, I will leave immediately. And no, I probably don’t want to take those family photos. I enjoy doing individual, outdoor portraiture for a good cause. Unless you’re an individual who wants outdoor/natural light photos done for a cause, I can’t help you. On the other side of that coin, I reserve the right to take photos for whomever I damn well please. If I decide to make someone exempt from my usual standard, that choice is mine – and mine alone.

Perhaps most importantly, I reserve the right to change my mind. In five years, reading educational material about studio lighting may not bore me to tears. Maybe I’ll want to invite ten women over for a pajama party. Maybe I will actually initiate a group text rather than contemplate throwing my phone down the garbage disposal. And all of that will be okay because I am a constantly evolving human being with unique preferences and a voice that deserves to be heard.

Uncovering these things has made me a little angry – mainly at myself – because I have denied my voice for so long. I have been afraid of offending or inconveniencing others. I have asked: “What will other people think?” I have been a people-pleaser. I should have been asking: “What do I need?” Nobody else is responsible for meeting my needs. And it’s not selfish to meet them myself. In fact, it’s the self-caring, healthy thing to do. Ultimately, the more I deprive myself, the more I end up harming other people, too.

At the end of the day, I am aiming for simplicity. I am striving for less. If you think about it, “less” is the antithesis of addiction, which is the craving for more. And the road to less is paved with the word “no”.

 

Love and Wonder

I loved technology when I was a kid. In middle school, I entertained myself for hours by teaching myself HTML code and photo manipulation. While the internet ultimately played an integral part in my addiction, it was also a creative outlet and a tool for inspiring positive change. I started my social media campaign, Human Too, in that same spirit of positivity and I feel incredibly blessed to have creative license in my career as a web content manager. However, the drawback of working with social media platforms is that you actually have to use them.

Sometimes I wonder if there isn’t some element of futility in trying to harness social media for benevolent purposes. The part of me that teeters on the edge of needing a tinfoil hat -but I don’t think is too far off the mark – cynically believes that technology is not only a drug contributing to the achilles’ heel of civilization, but also a means by which the masses can be easily manipulated. That’s some serious 1984 or House of Cards shit, but it’s tough to refute. The difference between me and other cynics is that I still think it’s possible to live a contented and meaningful life in spite of the disillusionment.

When you turn on your TV set or scroll through your newsfeed, it seems as though the world has collectively gone mad. And maybe that’s not far from the truth. The world doesn’t make sense. There is an element of absurdity to the whole concept of human existence. But when you unplug and stop to consider the realm directly outside your window, the picture is likely to stand in stark juxtaposition. Maybe you hear the traffic or the crickets. Maybe you watch your neighbor get the mail or water the garden. Maybe the breeze blows. Maybe someone on the street coughs or waves or speaks indistinctly. And maybe, in that moment, everything is okay. So which version of reality is the most accurate?

If you choose to invest yourself solely in the digital narrative, it’s easy to view the world as an angry, hostile place. And sure, people are angry…but mostly we’re afraid. I can only speak for myself, but my buttons are most easily pushed in terms of my identity as a gay person, a woman, and a police wife. “How will you hurt me? What will you take from me?” These are the questions behind my own personal brand of rage. My fears are immediate and acute and frequently supersede my consideration of my global brothers and sisters. We are all self-preservationists in our anger. We are driven by and united by fear.

All of that is not to say that self-preservation is bad. The instinct to survive is what makes us human. Fear is human. It is merely an observation that we share a common ground.

In a climate saturated with the threat of nuclear war and simmering racial tension, it’s only natural to feel like our existential terror is somehow unique. But millions of people have experienced or are currently experiencing the heaviness of wartime. Millions of people have experienced plagues, famine, natural disaster, genocide, and the collapse of civilization. Millions of people have held their lover and wondered what kind of earth their children were destined to inherit. We have been fearing the end since the beginning. It’s part of the package deal when you occupy this planet.

I used to get very upset by the idea that there is no life after death. I don’t know what I believe anymore, but I think it’s highly likely you simply cease to have consciousness. I believe our energy leaves an imprint on a place. I also believe in the fabric of the Universe – a divine thread connecting all living things – but beyond that, I cannot say for certain.  The only reason the uncertainty bothers me now is because I can’t bear the idea of not seeing my wife. I guess if we don’t have consciousness, we don’t know the difference.

These are heavy thoughts. Perhaps you’re thinking: “What’s the point?” And here’s where the cynics and I diverge. The point is that you are conscious in this moment. The point is that you have the ability to love and to be filled with wonder. Our purpose, in my view, is to love and wonder.

Early in my college career, I spent about five minutes as a philosophy major. Looking back on my notes, I found a page that declared “the meaning of life is awe”. If you can maintain your sense of awe, you have unlocked the secret of living. It’s hard to say how that bit of insight came to me, but I have subscribed to the ideology ever since.

Addiction numbs our consciousness. Our drugs of choice block us from feeling love and wonder. We die prematurely.

There’s a reason Buddhists strive to be “awake”. There’s a reason yoga and meditation advocate for the present moment. The “now” is all we have. It is the only time in which we are able to love and be loved. It is the only time we have to consider the profound and miraculous beauty of our delicate existence. The precariousness of our position is what makes it breathtaking.

I don’t think anything needs to “come next” for this flawed and absurd life to be more than enough. We don’t need to do anything for life to have meaning…we need to simply be. I have often sat by the ocean and reflected sadly on the idea that the dead no longer have the capability to inhale the intoxicating air. It is a gift to experience the wonders of this wild earth. I think the real question is whether we receive it or we reject it.

The activity of appreciating the morning light is not just for poets and painters – it’s for humans. If all I do with the rest of my days is exuberantly behold the sunset and love as much as I can, I have achieved the “it” for which mankind toils. If all I do is celebrate wildflowers, a good meal, clinging rain drops, a shy smile, cool summer grass, and all the other remarkable minutiae…it is enough.

I am sober. I am awake. My being vibrates in the truth of the moment.

The cards are stacked and it’s hard to say how the deck will scatter. I don’t know if anything I do will ultimately make a difference. But I know that my being has purpose. I want my voice to be a whisper in the din: “Wake up”. Don’t die without living. Don’t live without meaning.

A Love Letter to Florida

There are so many things I don’t like about Florida. I hate the billboards on the highway. (I am glad the billboard trend has mostly avoided our home state.) I hate the strips and the widespread prevalence of fast fried food. I hate the intersections – many of them make zero logical sense – and the fact that everyone drives like a suicidal maniac. I hate the trash on the roads and the beaches and the despair of locals who have been robbed of their own resources by tourists. I hate the crowds and the smell of the overheated, unwashed masses. And yet, despite all these things… I am unabashedly in love.

For every one thing I dislike about Florida, there are a dozen things I adore. I love the buzzing of electricity from busy transformers. I love the music of the birds and the cicadas. I love the tropical flowers and the draping, spooky Spanish moss. I love that at any given moment you could have a magical, surprise encounter with a beautiful bird or sea creature. (However, I would not enjoy a surprise encounter with a shark or an alligator!) I love the rustling of the palms in the tropical breeze. I love the tiny lizards, bobbing their heads as they scurry over patios and fences. I love that the sea salt is so sticky and bountiful that you can see it dusting your skin. I even love the humidity; the trickle of sweat feels cathartic and cleansing. (But, for the love of God, please wear deodorant!)

When I look in the mirror in Florida, I see the most authentic version of myself. That’s not to say I’m not “me” everywhere else, but the brown skinned, glowing reflection- with her wild, salt laden hair barely contained in a beach-y wrap – is the woman I know I am meant to be.

Needless to say, I am a little bit heartbroken to be back in New England after our incredible trip to St. Augustine. While we were there, my wife noticed that our favorite food truck was hiring. It gave me serious pause. I doubt the pay would be high enough to cover my bills, but I could picture myself freelancing as a web-content writer in the cool shade of the morning and selling locals and savvy tourists fresh vegan-friendly wraps in the afternoon. The girls who took our orders and delivered our lunches were mostly dreadlock adorned young hippies. I imagined falling into the role of Hippie Mother Hen, dispensing peace and love over hummus and avocado.

Clearly, I got a little delusional. Life never turns out the way we picture it in our minds. When we’re lucky, it turns out better. Otherwise, it’s a lot grittier. The trick is to find the gift in the grit.

Another thing that struck me during our trip is how much I would love to be a travel blogger. Yeah, yeah. Wouldn’t everybody? But I don’t want to do it the traditional way. First of all, I could give a hoot about fine dining and fancy hotels. (However, I am VERY picky about where I sleep… but that’s another story.) And I am not particularly interested in international travel (although I do have an international bucket list and I wouldn’t rule it out). What I really want to write about is Americana. I want to see beyond the billboards and the bullshit and discover what lies at the crux of the United States. I also want to write about how it feels to travel as a sober person. For most people, vacation entails a week of uninhibited cocktail consumption. If this definition sums up your travel mindset, all I can say is that you are seriously missing out. Traveling sober means soaking in every last experience with a sharp, clear mind.

I don’t have the means to road trip the U.S. yet, but I can share about the places I do visit in my regular non-travel blog. So, without further ado, here is St. Augustine, FL, according to Autumn:

First of all, I have a confession to make. I didn’t one hundred percent abide by my minimalist and dietary principles on vacation. And that’s okay. I prepared to let loose beforehand. While we did shop for travel memorabilia and check out the local foodie scene, I am happy to report that I stayed well within the budget I set for myself. We also took liberties with dairy consumption, but I am proud to say that J.L. did not consume one ounce of meat. I didn’t quite squeak through as a dutiful vegetarian but I came close. I love that my wife is so excited about ethical eating; she was watching TV and I heard her yell: “Turkeys are our friends!” We ate many vegan meals at our rented beach cottage, including scrumptious grilled vegetables with fragrant rice and whole wheat bagels with tofu cream cheese.

When we did venture out, the food was some of the best I’ve ever eaten. We never had a meal that was less than three stars. I do my foodie research and plan our stops. If you’re looking for a list of delicious vegan/vegetarian eateries in St. Augustine, look no further:

  1. The Kookaburra: I don’t know how the food is at this coffee shop… but I can tell you that the coffee is hands down the best I have ever had in my LIFE. Order an iced Honey Badger or an iced Mocha Nut. Hell, get crazy and order both. Leave me a comment while you’re drinking it so I can weep with jealousy.
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    Kookaburra on the beach
  2. Crave: This food truck has an additional location in the same building as the Kookaburra’s beach shop. Convenience at its finest. Order a Happy Hummus wrap and sub the carrots/cucumbers with avocado. Then write me a thank you card. Again, the BEST wrap I have EVER had in my LIFE. I could eat there every day.
  3. Casa Benedetto’s Ristorante: I couldn’t resist the urge to have a plate of homemade Sicilian Alfredo while gluttonously imbibing dairy – BUT I have to say that it was the cannoli that really got me. My pasta was outrageously good – I would have liked a little more garlic in the sauce – but the cannoli was so cinnamon-y and perfect. J.L. loved her bread pudding, too. It’s a great place for dessert.
  4. Present Moment Cafe – If you’re strictly vegan, this is the place for you. It’s a little pricey, and the service is kind of slow, but the food tastes like the bomb diggity. I never believed in vegan queso – how can you have creamy cheese without the actual CHEESE??? – but I sure as heck do now.
  5. The Back 40 Urban Cafe – I had something called a “wet burrito” for dinner and, after stuffing myself silly, had to go back to our beach cottage and rest. It was a glorious feast.
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    My enormous burrito!
  6. Cousteau’s Waffle and Milkshake Bar – This is the place I was drooling over for months before our trip and it ended up being kind of disappointing. The Belgian waffles are out of this world but the milkshakes could use a little work. Still…it is my kind of bar and it has potential.
  7. Crucial Coffee – This one is last but certainly not least. After watching the sunset (including a manatee spotting), we didn’t want our evening to end. I was super pumped when we tripped over this coffee shack which was wonderfully situated on a garden with twinkling lights and shared table space. I had some kind of minty iced lemonade and J.L. had a crazy blended espresso drink with lots of chocolate and other delightful flavors. It was dreamy and delicious and I would consider selling a body part to go back.

So… I clearly indulged. However, I have to say that eating vegan/vegetarian foods, as well as preparing many meals at home, helped me NOT gain ten pounds like I did on vacation last year. No joke.

I’ve covered what to eat. However, what should you do? We did just about everything.(Well, everything except drink from the dank ass Fountain of Youth. Yuck!) That’s one of the greatest gifts of sobriety: you’re not too hung over to do things…and then you remember them in joyous, vivid detail. We met Maximo the crocodile, climbed to the top of the lighthouse, explored the Castillo de San Marcos, had a blast at the interactive Pirate museum, and walked through the historic downtown multiple times. But what other things did we discover?

  1. The St. Augustine Wild Reserve – We needed GPS navigation to find this place and, when we pulled in, my first impression left me feeling a little nervous. However, we ended up having an experience I will never forget. The St. Augustine Wild Reserve is a non-profit rescue reserve, which means all the animals have been saved from negligence, abandonment, abuse, and death. Unlike a trip to the zoo, you can feel confident that your money is being spent supporting a cruelty-free cause. You also get to watch tigers playing in bubble bath. Oh, and you get to see a thousand pound liger…and a bear who eats peppermints. (The sweet bear was smiling even though he (she?) had previously suffered immensely at the hands of man. His claws were beaten off with a hammer.) It’s pretty amazing to hear a lion and tiger growl in person…and even more amazing that the Wild Reserve is educating people about how wild animals are NOT PETS. Seriously, if you think domesticating any kind of wild cat or dog is okay, we can’t be friends. I don’t say that kind of thing very often, but I have to draw the line somewhere.
  2. Washington Oaks Gardens State Park – This park is an absolute must. It is tied with the St. Augustine Wild Reserve for number one thing to do. The former estate is breathtaking. I guess you’d want to make sure the gardens are in bloom before visiting – I’m not really sure how that works in a sub-tropical climate. Among a plethora of other things, there are citrus trees, roses fit for a queen, and ancient, mossy oaks. The park is situated between the ocean and the Matanzas river and you have access to both while visiting. I was so taken by the landscape that I could have wept. My heart is still bleeding several weeks later. As if the experience wasn’t magical enough on its own, we saw wild dolphins swimming in the Matanzas on our way back to our cottage.
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    Stopping to smell the roses
  3. Basilica Cathedral – I am not a religious person. I’m a spiritual person. There’s a BIG difference. And after watching The Keepers on Netflix, the Catholic church makes me sick. (I wasn’t a particularly huge fan before watching The Keepers, either.) However, this giant cathedral really struck a chord with me. There’s just a feeling in there. I guess that isn’t surprising given that people have been prayerfully visiting the site for four hundred and fifty years. You can sense the history in the air. It felt very meaningful to light a remembrance candle before stepping back out into the sunshine.
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    The Basilica Cathedral
  4. Ghost Tour – Laugh if you want, but a ghost tour is a fun way to get to know the history of an area. When we went on a hearse tour in Savannah, Georgia, it stopped right outside the renovated carriage house we were renting. Talk about exciting! This time, our tour wasn’t just about hearing the stories, it was also about trying to communicate. We even had those electro-magnetic meters. I went in feeling very skeptical…and I have to say that I probably won’t do a “communication” oriented tour ever again. However, that’s because I think a little boy ghost said hello to me before our tour guide even told us about the building or the ghosts. I had the experience all on my own… without the power of suggestion (other than the fact that we were on a damn ghost tour). I’m too much of an empath for paranormal experiences. Sensing energy intensely leaves me feeling vulnerable and drained. We also learned that Henry Flagler, whose buildings are some of the most recognizable in St. Augustine, was a womanizer and, well, kind of a big ol’ jerk. Flagler College is beautiful inside but you could probably skip Lightner Museum. It needs some updating.
  5. The Golden Gypsy & Grace Gallery World Folk Art – If you want something different from the usual tourist kitsch, search out these two fantastic gift shops. Though I consider myself to be a minimalist work-in-progress, my favorite items tend to be souvenirs from our travels. Some of the things I choose might still be kitsch-y, but at least they’re unique. This time, I chose Buddha and Ganesha figurines, a beautiful lantern, colorful flip flops, a bird adorned notebook, and tye dye shorts.

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My Ganesha figurine in its new home
If you had asked me when I was younger, I would have told you I NEVER wanted to visit Florida. In my mind, it was a tourist trap and an overheated snowbird oasis. And, yes, it is, indeed, both of those things. But it is also weird, spooky, and unique. It dances unabashedly to the beat of its own drum. It has its own magic. It jives perfectly with my wild heart.

For now, all I can do is write love letters to the palms and the sand, the cicadas and the birds, and each and every salty, humidity-wrapped surprise. I have to remember that dreams, even when they come true, dissolve into the grit of life. I have to honor that the Universe needs me in my cold New England city. I have work to do here. The gifts are in the grit.

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Musings on Food and Freedom

When your body is craving sugar and dairy, it’s amazing where you can find it. Take, for example, the caramels I bought last Halloween for the purpose of melting over apples. They sat in the pantry for months. However, once they were the only available option, we annihilated them. I also dug out a restaurant gift card that had been sitting around since last September. I gluttonously seized the opportunity to inhale two plates of Alfredo and a huge serving of fried donuts with chocolate dipping sauce. When in Rome, indeed!

If I look at things through the lens of these examples, I could conclude that no progress has been made on our healthy eating journey. However, that’s simply not true. Over the years, I have learned that growth and progress tend to be slow…and this experience is no different.

First of all, our grocery cart has been looking ridiculous. And by ridiculous, I mean awesome. I wanted to take a picture for you, but I was afraid people would think I was crazy. However, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t bursting with pride as I admired the bounty of produce and whole grains. I have discovered that I really like whole wheat pasta, sprouted beans and lentils, very suspicious looking Fire Engine 2 veggie burgers (with stir fried vegetables, guacamole, and sprouts), whole wheat frozen pizza crust, and fiber-rich cereal with banana.

I have also discovered that I do NOT like crispbread crackers… nor do I find kale to be particularly appealing. It might have been because I doused my kale creation in so much sriracha that I nearly got sick…but more shall be revealed. Also, don’t talk to me about chocolate almond milk. It belongs in the trash. Don’t make something into a health food if it’s only going to be vaguely-chocolate swamp water.

Bland crispbread and rage inducing “chocolate milk” aside, traveling is going to be much more of an obstacle than I initially anticipated. We recently went on a three day road trip and I got a little out of control. If I want to travel wisely, I’m going to need to start packing snacks. If you set me loose in a service station full of twinkies, candy, and chips, I am going to have an apple hand pie for breakfast, followed by a Hershey bar, chocolate cookies, and honey roasted cashews. (Yes, that happened.) Restaurant eating isn’t easy, either (as you may have already gathered from my opening). On our trip, I chose a salad for dinner…but I also had to have a side of cheese stuffed breadsticks. The following morning, breakfast went straight to hell, too. I regressed right back to my favorite stand-by of ketchup-doused scrambled eggs and corned beef hash. I didn’t even consider a less offensive, cow-friendly pancake.

So… those weren’t shining moments for me. But here’s the thing: When we came home, I got right back on the horse. That’s because our home is a healthy environment. When I don’t have access to unhealthy food, I don’t eat it. Since our environment has changed, I have also noticed some subtle shifts in my thinking. I don’t salivate over the processed shit at the grocery. I have a list and I go right for the things I need. I have also started to consider healthier choices when we go out. Before, I wouldn’t even look at a salad. In fact, the last time we were at that particular restaurant, I had a basket of chicken wings with extra dipping sauce.

These are the key things I have learned thus far:

  1. My home is a safe place and I should eat there as much as possible.
  2. Meal planning and list making are essential for success at the grocery store.
  3. I need to pack snacks if I’m going to survive five hours of driving or a layover at the airport.
  4. I should try to find vegan or vegetarian restaurants as much as possible while traveling.
  5. When I get crazy, it isn’t an excuse to give up. I simply must get back on track as soon as possible.
  6. It’s important to be gentle with myself. It’s about progress, not perfection. I’ve probably consumed more fiber in the past few weeks than I have in a year. And that is most certainly a good thing.
  7. My wife, J.L., reports that routine has been essential for her. She eats certain foods at certain times of day, and her body has adjusted to this schedule. When she deviates from her routine, the day doesn’t go as smoothly.

I’m struggling with the commitment piece but I am determined to follow through, especially since I have my spouse cheering me on. Oddly enough, it’s not the sugar that’s getting to me, it’s the butter. Right now, I feel like the hardest things to give up are butter (on my toast, pasta, and vegetables), plain greek yogurt (SO GOOD in chili), and feta (my salad feels so sad without you, buddy). If push comes to shove, I might have to give Earth Balance a try. The whole “oil free” or “no added oil” thing – while it makes perfect sense from a health perspective – is a little too extreme for me, and, as we all know, I am wary of extremes. However, cancer, heart disease, and diabetes are also extreme…so I should at least try to put my best foot forward.

J.L. and I went on a date tonight and it struck me how profoundly privileged I am to even be making these changes. Some people don’t get anything to eat, let alone a choice. Others aren’t educated enough or mentally sound enough to consider these issues and make rational decisions about their health.

We went to see a documentary called “God Knows Where I Am”. It’s about a homeless woman who died in an empty house just twenty minutes from our city. She was mentally ill and refused to take her medicine because she suffered from psychotic delusions. She didn’t think she was sick. (To be fair, it is an outrage that anti-psychotic and mood stabilizing medicines are still so harsh and debilitating.) She starved to death over the course of approximately forty days. The house she died in was about five hundred feet from other residences… and no one even noticed she was there. I expected it to be a disturbing movie, but I didn’t expect it to resonate with me so personally. There were a lot of parallels to the life and death of my biological father. I don’t spend a lot of time dwelling on it, but I certainly remember his delusions, his stays in mental hospitals, and the electroshock therapy. He also died in a very sad, gruesome, and lonely way.

You can’t have a parent like that and not be impacted, but I think that so many people choose to let this kind of trauma define the rest of their lives. That makes me sad…and also a little angry. I acknowledge and accept that I have witnessed and been through some very tough stuff. However, I choose not to be a victim of my past. I realize that I have no control over my other family members, I ask for help when I need it, and I work tirelessly to improve myself. I think it’s a slap in the face to my deceased parent to do anything else. He didn’t have the opportunity to experience freedom from his own mental imprisonment. He was too sick to properly advocate for himself…and so was the woman in the film. You can’t advocate for yourself when you’re psychotic and suffering from morbid cooccurring disorders. I do have the opportunity to advocate for myself and I choose not to waste it.

All of that is not to say that I am strong on my own. I am joyful, free, and mentally sound because I have a whole community of people holding me up. But I accepted that I needed help, asked for it, and I work on it every day. I may not be able to choose where I come from or the cards I have been dealt, but I am free to choose how I respond or whether or not I needlessly suffer in silence. I intend to cherish every moment of my freedom and live my life to the fullest. I am so grateful to be clean and sober and I truly believe that I am only fit to help others when I have thoroughly worked through my own issues.

If you’re out there wishing you could make a change, I hope you will stop selling yourself short and ask for help. You are worth it. There is no shame in admitting that you’re not perfect or that something is wrong. In fact, it’s only human. We all have flaws. I marvel at the fact that I am currently so content and well adjusted. Considering where I come from and the obstacles I had to overcome, it’s an incomprehensible miracle. If it’s possible for me, it’s possible for you. My life is pure magic today. The only way things could get any better is if I could help my wife retire early and we could get a dog. When I look out the window at the newly bursting trees and the gray Spring sky, my heart bursts. Some people try to rain on my parade, but I choose not to let them. Instead, I hope that they can find peace, too.

To Light a Candle

I am pretty proud of myself. I finally made an appointment to see the dentist. Granted, my bottom teeth are feeling alarmingly sensitive…but what really matters is that I have one foot in the door.

I know, I know: Not cool. But isn’t it funny how we only change when we are in pain? I think we are all guilty of it to some degree.

I wish I could say that pain didn’t motivate me to start looking at my eating habits. What I can say, however, is that it didn’t take much pain. I’m not waiting for the situation to escalate or for some awful diagnosis to develop from continued unhealthy eating.

We’ve been cleaning out our freezer and pantry – eating through the last of our non-plant-based food items – and instead of savoring the cheese and butter, I have felt almost annoyed by the chore of slogging through all the dairy. Last Wednesday, we went to see Stevie Nicks and the Pretenders. Before the show, I ordered one “last” roll of my favorite sushi. (For the record, we haven’t given up on our commitment to spend less eating out. We had a gift certificate. 🙂 ) While it tasted delicious, I was acutely aware of how heavy it felt in my stomach. I worried I would feel too queasy to watch my rock’n roll goddess perform. Luckily, I rebounded… but another door slammed shut on my doubt. My body is ready for change.

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Our beautiful sushi platter. The roll on the front right is vegetarian!

After a night of fitful post-concert sleep, my wife and I dragged our tired selves to a new vegan juicery and cafe. (Who the hell can sleep after being in the presence of Stevie Nicks?) At first, the clubby music and steep prices at the eatery raised my eyebrow, but when our drinks and breakfast arrived, I felt surprisingly satisfied and inspired. The food was yummy and filling. Best of all, I didn’t feel gross after putting it in my body. It gave me pause to think that people will buy four or five $10+ cocktails in an evening without batting an eye, but one comparatively priced health drink might be considered over the top. Which product should we really value more? If your answer is the cocktail, we might need to talk.

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My smoothie (cold brew, banana, nut butter, almond milk) & vegan granola bar.

It seemed like a good morning to continue our foray into the world of veganism, so we went to Whole Foods to replenish our dwindling supplies. Instead of feeling limited by the lack of choice, I felt happy and excited to be proactively improving our health. At the check-out line, I braced myself for sticker shock but, because I had done my research, stocking up only cost us what I would usually spend on a week’s worth of groceries. It really helped to be at a different grocery store, too. There were a lot fewer processed foods jumping off the shelves – or maybe I just didn’t notice as much because it was unfamiliar territory.

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Our new fruit bowl

To be fair, I still have animal products in my system… so I haven’t started the withdrawal process yet. The food in my work environment also continues to pose temptation. However, I am feeling cautiously optimistic and creatively inspired. Having a yummy vegan treat and a successful grocery experience really helped build my confidence. I also saw a comforting film this week. It talked about how perfection isn’t the aim of eating plant-based food – it’s improvement. Eating nutritiously doesn’t mean never, ever indulging. It means being healthy most of the time. I feel like I don’t have to say goodbye to our yearly batch of cut-out Christmas cookies (which we tend to give away) or a birthday sweet. On the rare occasion I do have something unwholesome, I just need to remember that I have’t given myself license to have all the unwholesome things. Embracing minimalism has also taught me that the rarity of an occurrence adds to its overall value. I think that philosophy applies to food. It tastes more decadent if you don’t have it every day.

The question is whether or not this philosophy will work in application. A complete abstinence approach has been the only way to treat my substance abuse issues. I’m on a mission to find out if food will be any different. I will adapt my methodology accordingly and report back to you.

The other interesting factor the film touched upon is the importance of a likeminded support system. I’m really blessed to have a wife who is on board. It would be much harder to make these changes with certain kinds of food still in the house. I also draw strength from watching documentaries and following online communities. It’s interesting how the tenets of recovery are the same regardless of how the addiction manifests.

We really just need to fill the voids inside us with genuine connection and community.

When I started following a personal finance blog last fall, I never knew I was about to embark on this crazy journey. First, I changed the way I view money and consumerism. Soon after, I simplified the way I relate to my possessions and the items in the space around me. I also started to prioritize activities and eliminate those that were not adding any value to my life. Next, I assessed how to lighten my footprint on the planet and be kinder to my global brothers and sisters. Finally, I examined my relationship with food and found it sorely lacking. One thing has become clear: Recovery is about so much more than stopping a behavior. It is about growing and growing and growing. It is about discovering the interconnectedness of all things. It is about wading beyond the shallows of life and finding joy and understanding in the depths. Recovery isn’t about stopping. It’s about starting.

I needed to open my mind. Putting down alcohol, drugs, awful relationships, and credit cards seemed like miracle enough. But the miracle was only just beginning to unfold.

This stuff is exciting. It is so much better than getting drunk or high. And if I can have it, so can you. I want you to know that it is not only possible….it is waiting for you.

Sometimes it still takes pain for me to change, but I’m finding that I am increasingly motivated by a plain and simple desire to be better than the person I was yesterday. When I got clean and sober almost eight years ago, I had a flame the size of a candle burning steadily inside of me. It was enough to keep me alive. Today, that candle flame has expanded into a blazing inferno. Every time I share with others, it ignites further still.

I have never been the kind of person who can sit down and shut up. It used to be about trying to control the world around me. Now I stand up and speak because I want to pass on the gifts I have been so blessed to receive.

It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness.

– Eleanor Roosevelt

Keep Calm and Shamrock On

Those of you who have been following Not Otherwise Specified since the beginning will remember how angry and triggered I used to feel around St. Patrick’s Day. If you are just tuning in, check out my post In Like A Lion. While I don’t disagree with the general premise of that post – and the glorification of excessive alcohol consumption is something that still has the potential to push me over the edge – I am happy to report that I no longer seethe with resentment with the arrival of March. In fact, I have done so much healing around St. Patrick’s Day that it is celebrated in our household. Yup. So if St. Patrick’s Day makes you want to drive your face through a wall…there is hope for you, too.

I think the most obvious thing that made me hate St. Patrick’s Day is that I felt left out. I’d be willing to bet actual Irish people think our American traditions are a little ridiculous. (Can any of my readers vouch for this theory?) However, ridiculous or not, it’s hard to be surrounded by a cultural norm and not participate. I was at the craft store buying baskets the other day and I saw a sparkly, green and white, shamrock adorned tutu. My teeny, tiny inner child stomped her foot and pouted. She wanted to wear that tutu. But let’s be real… where the hell am I going to wear a shamrock tutu? Today I am able to help my envious inner child play scenarios out. I’d be willing to bet that a handful of twenty-somethings will snatch up those tutus for their party, parade, or pub crawl. They might get super wasted, projectile vomit green beer, and laugh about it with their friends the next day. And for some people, that’s perfectly fine. It is not, on the other hand, fine for me. I did not have the luxury of engaging in that behavior for the majority of my twenties. The “fun” ship had sailed. I was already a passenger on the warship “Self-Destruct”. But I have to honor and treat with compassion the part of myself that is grieving because she missed out on the wild shamrock- tutu- experience.

The other thing that drives me bananas about St. Patrick’s day is the glorification of alcohol consumption. Why would this offend someone who once liked the effects of alcohol? I think the simplest answer is that I am tired of watching people die. I care about the other men and women who are afflicted with this disease… and it is incredibly sad to watch my fellows suffer and fade away. Many people have also lost family members or watched alcohol and drugs destroy their homes. If your loved one was murdered, would you love and exalt the murder weapon? This is the confusing dichotomy that exists within our society.

People hate cancer. They hate gun violence. But they glorify alcohol. It is challenging to keep yourself alive when the substances killing you are widely revered and celebrated.

What about personal responsibility, Autumn? Do you hate cars because people die in car accidents? Well, cars don’t systematically and progressively change brain functioning and cause disease. Drugs and alcohol do. It’s a plain and simple fact, made irrefutable by science.

My God, how I have struggled with this issue. I judged and loathed people who promoted alcohol or drug use. Repulsed by my own unkindness, I tried pounding into my thick skull that it’s none of my business…I can’t change other people. But it wasn’t sinking in.

In order to heal, I had to do two things:

  1. Make sure that I was putting my sobriety before everything else.
  2. Create new traditions.

Before we got married, my wife and I were committed to dealing with all potential obstacles to our future success. We wanted to be one hundred percent sure we were making a decision that was healthy for both of us. This meant that I had to take an honest inventory of my needs…and so did she. In the beginning, I thought I could handle a lot of things that I ultimately couldn’t. I love J.L. more than anything… but I can’t be a good wife unless my sobriety is my number one priority. If I drink again – or tolerate situations which trigger emotional dry drunks – I am no good to anyone. I had to be willing to say: “This is what I need. And I understand if you can’t meet those needs. I don’t want to change or control you. But if my needs aren’t being met, this isn’t going to work”. It was so hard to be true to myself and run the risk of losing the love of my life. And it took a lot of ugliness on my part to get to that honest place. Luckily, J.L. not only forgave my ugliness, but she also felt she could meet my needs. I am so blessed to have found a spouse who is interested in how we can grow together. She is the kindest, most beautiful human being I have ever known and ever expect to know. There is no bigger heart to be found in all the world.

What in tarnation does all this mushy stuff have to do with St. Patrick’s Day and becoming a less angry person? Well, the key is being willing to cultivate a home and a relationship that is SAFE for your sobriety. When safety has been established in your interior world, the exterior world tends to affect you less.

J.L. is my Irish rose. I would be surprised if there is any other heritage in her ancestry. Needless to say, she likes to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. From the foundation of safety we established together, I have become increasingly more open to not just recognizing the day, but also enjoying it. I have been adding little bits and bobs to our decoration collection over the past few years. J.L. has also started making a luscious boiled dinner as an annual tradition. I’m practically drooling just thinking about it.

With March fast approaching, I have taken to scouting Pinterest for ideas. I like to send J.L. to work with baked goods or put together cute little treats. I hope that time will allow for that over the next few weeks, but at the very least I plan to wear a green t-shirt and maybe invest in some green and gold nail polish to get all gussied up.

If you’re newly (or old-ly) sober and struggling with how to celebrate such an alcohol-centric holiday, you certainly don’t have to play it as low-key as we do. We just happen to be homebodies. You could invite your sober buds over, serve all green food, wear a shamrock tutu or bowtie, have a bonfire, fill your pool with green glowsticks, watch themed movies, play Cards Against Humanity, giggle until you pee, eat candy with rainbow colors and gold wrappers, and then wake up the next day with a clear head and a sugar bellyache.

That even sounds fun to me…the self-declared Queen of All Introverts. (We’re here, we’re uncomfortable, and we want to go home!)

You could have a serious dinner party, too. Not everyone likes skittles and giggling. (But who ARE you?)

I think the lesson I’ve really learned from St. Patrick’s Day is “to thine own self be true”. I had to learn to put my sobriety above all else and to celebrate in a way that felt comfortable for me. Living a joyful life isn’t about following society’s rulebook; it’s about writing your own. I’m glad I decided to include a little leprechaun mischief and magic in mine.