Positive Thinking is Child’s Play

This past Sunday, Shaun and I went for our first swim of the season. The water in our pool had reached just a hair below eighty degrees, and we were both tired of waiting. It was time for action!

Amanda, on the other hand, assured us that she would be waiting until the temperature of the water grew closer to ninety degrees. She would wait until late June, or even July before making her swimming debut.

Then, yesterday, something happened to change all of that. One of Amanda’s sponsees came over to visit, and brought her nearly one-year-old son with her. I was up in my office looking down on the backyard, when the three of them appeared and headed toward the water.

“Awe, they’re gonna dip his feet in the water.” I thought it was such a cute sight.

The next thing I know, Amanda is in the water, holding our little friend, helping him float through the water. Soon her sponsee had changed clothes and had joined the two of them. They were in the pool for the next hour or so.

As our day was winding down last night, Amanda was reflecting on how much fun she’d had out there swimming. “I’m looking forward to getting in the pool again tomorrow afternoon!”

This little story offers a good hint at how easy it is to practice positive thinking under the right circumstances. Because of a little boy’s smile and enthusiasm, that “way too cold” water became “perfect”! It is a valuable lesson for me to remember as I practice positive thinking in my own life.

In the very earliest days of my recovery, positive thinking had become a bit of a struggle for me. It’s hard, after all, to see my glass as “half-full” when it appears to have been crushed into a million pieces. It seemed like a full-time job to simply avoid being cut by its broken pieces that were scattered all around me.

All that changed as I invested more and more time around my newfound friends in recovery. In meetings, I was greeted by their warmth, friendship, and even laughter. The same was true at the special events and camp outs I was attending. Like our little guest’s enthusiasm drawing Amanda into the water, their enthusiasm convinced me to keep coming back. They made me believe I could find a new way of life.

Things have only gotten better from there. Today, I not only enjoy the positive thinking made possible by surrounding myself with like-minded recovering addicts. Today, I also get to be one of those addicts whose attitude welcomes others into the water.

Have a remarkable day!

Unity and Wind Chimes

The wind chime that hangs over our back porch is one of the best purchases Amanda and I have ever made at Costco. I want to say it was somewhere around $55 when we bought it three years ago. I’ve seen similar wind chimes elsewhere, but always priced well over $100.

Anytime there is a breeze, our wind chime plays a melodious tune. A random tune that, though never the same twice, is always beautiful just the same. Beautiful because the pipes of the wind chime are not the same.

Oh, sure, they are all made of the same material. They are all the same color, and the same diameter. Each, though, has a length that is unique. Whoever designed it carefully measured the different lengths so that each pipe would sound off on a certain musical note.

Though one pipe, played on its own, might sound nice enough, it would not compare to the sound of all six pipes together. Also, the six pipes, if they were all the same length, would lack the beauty of the six slightly different ones. Finally, if the wind chime’s designer had just cut them to random lengths, there is no telling how chaotic the sound might be.

These attributes illustrate unity, and its effect on the world around it.

In the case of unity among those pipes, the result is pleasant sound that fills our back yard. Sound that, though perhaps more intense, remains beautiful even during the worst of storms.

Recovery thrives in a community of drug addicts when we allow our group to be like a wind chime. Just as the pipes are all the same diameter and made of the same material, addicts seeking recovery share the disease of addiction in common. Sometimes, that can be the only things two recovering addicts seem to share in common at all.

When I first arrived in the rooms of recovery, I struggled to find anything but our shared disease in common with anyone else in the room. I wanted to find others who were just like me, and when I didn’t, decided maybe I didn’t fit in. Was I meant to go it alone? Did I even need recovery?

Each time I decided recovery wasn’t for me, the result was the same. I experience that loneliness of isolation that made using drugs appealing. Somewhere along the way, I began to appreciate the differences I saw among my peers. I realized that I was not the only one that was different. I saw that all of us were. Still, though, I struggled to fit in. Struggled to find my place among the recovering addicts who were becoming my friends.

I could see unity around me, but experiencing it for myself was still just out of reach.

Working the Twelve Steps with my sponsor changed all that. Or, perhaps more accurately, changed me. Rather than a life centered in self-will, the steps challenged me to seek God’s will for my life, along with the power to carry it out. In doing so, I began to see my place among not only recovering addicts, but the world in general, more clearly.

Like the pipes on the wind chime, each designed to compliment the others in unity, humans have been designed by God to compliment one another. As we each seek His will by practicing God-given spiritual principles, unity results. Unity that allows us to reflect His beauty, even in life’s harshest storms.

I’m grateful for the fact that God did not make us all the same. Life would be so dull if we were.

Have a remarkable day!

Tolerance and Our True Trojan!

When the call came from Shaun’s 7th grade Language Arts teacher Mr. Cline, I was admittedly a bit concerned. After a rough start to the school year, Shaun, his mom, and I have all worked hard to turn his grades around. I was worried that maybe we had grown complacent with the end of the school year approaching. Were his grades slipping?

It began last fall, when we saw a trend in Shaun’s class work. He had missed assignments in all of his classes, and as a result, had racked up a lot of “D’s” and even an “F.” Thank goodness for the online grade book app that allows us to see his progress and catch these things early!

We sat down together as a family, and discussed the grades. While he fully understood the failing class needed attention, he was struggling to understand our angst over his “D” scores. “‘D’ is passing though, right?” I agreed that a “D” is technically a passing grade, but that in our home, a “D” is a failing grade. Failing, because we know Shaun is capable of better grades.

So, as a family, we came up with a plan. Shaun would start turning in his assignments. Mom would continue monitoring his grades to be sure nothing was missed. I would help with homework. Especially with math. (I had to relearn a LOT of math principles and equations that had long been forgotten!)

Soon, we saw Shaun’s grades improve. Not only that, but my relationship with him grew too. Math homework became a source of connection for us. Even when traveling, we would work on his math assignments via FaceTime. Soon, his math teacher would come to describe him as one of her brightest students!

Mr. Cline’s phone call was not a warning that the year was ending poorly. It was quite the opposite. Mr. Cline was calling to invite Amanda and me to a school assembly to honor students with the True Trojans Award. Eight seventh-graders out of a class of 900 had been selected to receive the award based on the year’s academic progress, and Shaun was one of them!

I have been working hard over the past several years to practice tolerance. Shaun’s academic achievements this year demonstrate a valuable lesson about tolerance though. That lesson is that tolerance without boundaries leads to chaos; and chaos will ultimately lead to failure.

Nowhere is this fact more obvious than in recovery. My home group is a great example of how tolerance with boundaries has led to success. We are not legalistic in our approach, but our meetings start on time and follow a written format. We enjoy laughter and encourage having fun in our meetings, but also ask attendees to be quiet when others are sharing. Sometimes, when things get out of hand, the chair has to interrupt the meeting and reign things back in.

In a nutshell, we demonstrate love through both tolerance and through healthy boundaries. It is what our group needs, and what each of us as individual members need. It is an approach that has allowed me to grow in my recovery, because it challenges me to always do better. Yes, my ego was tolerated when I first arrived; but I was challenged at each and every meeting with the fact that none of us is better than another. Thus, my ego was kept in check; and eventually stopped ruling my life.

Amanda and I are so proud of Shaun. When I told him so, and told him he should be proud of himself too, he replied that he was. A good reminder that tolerance within boundaries builds character and self-esteem. It also turns “D’s” into “A’s” and “B’s”!

Have a remarkable day!

Tolerance and Sweaty T-Shirts

I have a t-shirt that I just refuse to stop wearing. It is now 22 years old, and is tattered and frayed. Most often, I will wear it with boxer shorts while relaxing around the house. Yesterday, I wore it while doing yard work.

When I do yard work, I don’t mess around. I will usually begin with mowing the front yard. Then, from there, I’ll move on to other projects while Shaun mows the back. Yesterday’s projects included spreading fertilizer, and once again, mending the privacy fence in our backyard.

I had purchased a couple of five inch screws to repair a couple of spots where the fence was sagging. The first repair only required one screw. The second repair, however; the one I tackled yesterday, needed a couple more. It was also going to require a new slat for the fence, so when I reached a stopping point, I headed off to our local home-improvement center.

On the way there, I became all too aware of just how grubby I was. My hands were stained from the liquid fertilizer I had spread earlier. My khaki colored shoes were stained green from traipsing through the grass. Worst of all, my tattered old t-shirt was soaked through with sweat.

I was a stinky, unsightly mess!

Yet, at the home center, somehow I managed to blend right in. Sure, there were those who were nicely dressed and freshly showered. There were others who had obviously been involved in projects when, like me, they realized they would need something from the store to complete the project. None of them though, were quite the hot mess I was. Still, nobody seemed to give me a second thought as I navigated the store’s aisles.

In one of the readings read at the beginning of every Twelve Step meeting I attend, is a litany of items we, as recovering addicts, do not care about when dealing with our peers in recovery. Things like social standing, drug of choice, even religion or lack of religion do not matter. All that matters is that an addict has shown a desire to stop using.

One of the things I like about our home group is that these categories of different individuals are present at just about every meeting we have. We have members who are young and old, educated and not, gay and straight, or even somewhere in between. People are not simply tolerated; but accepted and loved as they are.

I should know, because when I first arrived, I might as well have been wearing that sweat-soaked t-shirt with grubby hands to boot. In my case, though, having lost all self-esteem I might once have had, I leaned hard into my ego. I was better than everyone in that room, and I wanted them to know it. Yet, no matter how offensive I might have been, I was met with tolerance that manifested itself in the form of love.

That is how I want to practice tolerance today. I don’t want to simply put up with that person who comes in seeking acceptance from others. Instead, I want to practice tolerance in a way that expresses itself in love. Love freely given, sweaty t-shirt and all.

Have a remarkable day!

Awareness and the Vanishing Hilton Hotel

Where did it go? Did they really tear it down? This seems IMPOSSIBLE!

Yet there I stood, outside the terminal at O’Hare International Airport looking at a sky crane above an empty lot where once stood the O’Hare Hilton Hotel. I was so amazed, so confused, that I even took a picture of it to send to my parents. I was a bit indignant, wondering if there was anything that wasn’t sacred anymore.

Then, my hotel shuttle arrived, and whisked me off to my hotel for the week. Well, it arrived, that is, after some confusion. The young lady who gave me directions over the phone on where to pick the shuttle up had specified that I needed to meet the shuttle outside area 3C; but I could not find it. I could only find areas 5A through E. So, I called, and she assured me that 5C would be just fine instead.

Then, when it was time to catch the shuttle back to the airport Thursday morning, a miracle occurred before my very eyes. That beautiful, black glass Hilton O’Hare was right back where it belonged! I was completely bewildered. Where did that sky crane go? Had sleep deprivation on Monday caused me to imagine the whole thing?

No, I still had a picture of it. It had not been a figment of my imagination. That sky crane had been just as real as the hotel that had seemingly replaced it.

I was snapped out of my state of confusion as our driver announced he was now headed to terminal five. The “International” terminal. The terminal located almost a mile from the main terminal. One containing Southwest Airlines’ meager four gates. A terminal we had never gone to when I was a child, because Dad always flew domestic. The one from which the Hilton O’Hare is not even visible.

Oh, and these days, it’s also the one with the massive sky crane just across from the hotel shuttle pick-up area.

This humorous story about a disappearing hotel demonstrates how vital awareness has become in my life. When I flew into the airport, I was oblivious to the fact that there were an inordinate number of international passengers around as I made my way through the terminal. I missed the fact that I didn’t see any signs for the more familiar airlines. Even seeing an Air France Boeing 787 Dreamliner didn’t sink in. I was just tired, and focused on getting to my hotel.

It’s one thing to be that aloof when traveling by myself for work. It’s another thing to be that out of touch when I’m around the people I love. People who count on me to be present… to be aware.

There are two things about active addiction that made practicing awareness a challenge. First, and most obvious were the drugs. Although meth has a way of heightening awareness in the short term, that affect quickly fades once I’ve been awake for several days in a row. Soon, any heightened awareness is replaced by delusional existence where determining the difference between fantasy and reality becomes a real challenge.

Second, and even more insidious is that I stop caring. Life’s largest, most obvious hotels vanish from right in front of me, and I just don’t care. Getting a divorce? Ah, who cares? Kids won’t talk to me? Oh well, kids will be kids. Confronted about my behavior at work? I found this job… I can find another.

Then, I got clean, and those hotels appeared out of nowhere. Suddenly, I was confronted by the damage I had done and the harm I had caused. It’s no wonder I ran back to the drugs so many times in those early days. Even today the pain of that realization is very real, and brings tears to my eyes. No wonder some of those relationships were seemingly damaged beyond repair.

That, in a nutshell, is why working the Twelve Steps with my sponsor was so vital to my recovery. They do not magically fix the past. No hotels magically appear out of nowhere. The pain is still there, and remains very, very real. Yet, by working through the steps, I have gained the tools I need to live with my past. To accept my role in all that damage, and learn to avoid repeating the past by practicing spiritual principles, rather than acting out on my character defects.

My little adventure at O’Hare proves that I can still be unaware at times. So, I know that I need to continue the work I’ve been doing. I need to remain on the path I’ve chosen. Doing so, I have found so many reasons to live.

Have a remarkable day!

Optimism and Awful Writing

I do a lot of reading when I travel. So, yesterday, when I completed the historical account of organized crime in America I had been reading, I decided to try mixing thing up a little by reading a novel. Within the first few pages, I was reminded of a conversation Amanda and I recently had.

The conversation centered around male authors, and how often they seem to get caught up in describing how beautiful the heroine in a book is. Sure enough, there it was… a description of yet another Barbie Doll character in a novel. Oh, and things only got worse from there. Soon, I realized that everything the characters were saying was predicable, sounding like a cheap detective novel from the 1930’s.

Making matters even worse was that my Kindle app indicated that this book had made the New York Times Bestseller List. YIKES! Low standards much?

This situation presented me with a dilemma. I really like to finish books that I’ve started. I don’t know why, it’s just a thing. This one, though, left me wanting to throw my tablet in the trash and listen to a podcast instead. So, I went back and found a historical book by an author whose work I trust, and began reading about the life and times of Daniel Boone.

Most folks would agree that optimism is a wonderful principle to not only practice, but to incorporate into ones spirit. I’m convinced that a huge part of my success in sales is due to the power of optimism in my life. Yet, as that really terrible novel proved, there are times when all the optimism in the world cannot salvage a bad situation.

Sometimes, life presents me with early indicators that my optimism has been misplaced, and that I really need to cut and run.

Then there are those times when cutting and running are not an option. One such time involves my interactions with addicts seeking recovery who just don’t ever seem to quite get it. Those chronic relapsers who have us all convinced that “this time will be different,” only to go back out and use again.

Having been a chronic relapser when I first tried to get clean, I can tell you that my actions when using were as predictable as a bad novel. Like most folks, I can tell when people have given up on me, even when I’m using. So, if my family, or my friends in recovery had given up on me I’d have known. If their optimism in my ability to get clean had waned, I’d have seen it as a license to keep on using.

So, today I will practice optimism in a way that clearly indicates that people are not characters in a poorly written novel. I will remember that I cannot know whether or not this will be the time that recovery truly takes hold of their lives. I will express my optimism as though lives depend on it. Because they do.

Have a remarkable day!

Gratitude Changes my Focus

My brother John and I piled into the back seat of Mom’s car. It was a hot and sunny day, and she had the top down on her Chevy Impala convertible. The black vinyl seats were scorching hot, so we put our beach towels down before we sat in our places. We both knew that those seats would burn us if we gave them the chance. Oh, and don’t even get me started on those metal seat belt buckles!

Soon, as we rode through town, wind whipping all around us, we no longer cared about that hot vinyl. We no longer cared about the summer heat, nor the fact that we’d had to leave the swimming pool. No, we were loving life, raising our hands as though riding on a roller-coaster.

Riding in that car, when the top was down, was awesome!

It’s funny how my brain works. I was seated here on the couch in my hotel room meditating on the things in life for which I am grateful, and that memory popped into my mind. Those days were so long ago, and yet, the memories can be so fresh. It is that freshness that makes practicing the principle of gratitude so rewarding.

I was trying to think of a good analogy for how gratitude affects my perspective. At first, I thought of the rose colored glasses folks refer to; but that doesn’t fit, because gratitude doesn’t change the past. Then I thought of Instagram filters, that take the sharp edges off, and make everything appear to be smooth and fresh; but gratitude does not remove memories that are difficult, or that challenge my idea of how good my childhood was in general.

Finally, I thought of a camera lens. The kind that had to be adjusted to bring things into focus. Yes, that analogy fits. It doesn’t remove anything from the picture. Nor does it deny the reality of its less pleasing features. Instead, that focus allows me to relish the memories of the whipping wind in that back seat, rather than the burning vinyl. Vinyl that was absolutely there, but that pales in comparison to everything good that surrounded it.

In the earliest days of my recovery, I was encouraged to put together a gratitude list daily. Though it was a habit that never took root in my life, I did learn to prepare a list when life became overwhelming. When painful memories, or urges to use became so strong in my life that I wanted to use drugs to quiet or satisfy them, I could turn to gratitude for relief.

I remember times when I would dictate a gratitude list in a text message while driving. Then, I would send that list the my sponsor. “You’re doing better than you think, buddy,” would come his reply. In the simple act of compiling and sending that list, my focus had changed. His reply helped me maintain that focus. Before long, the source of my pain would fade, as I focused on the source of my gratitude instead.

Working the Twelve Steps and practicing spiritual principles do not remove the pain from my past. I still vividly recall life’s scorching vinyl seats. However, these things do give me the tools to change my focus. Today, I choose to look at life through the lens of gratitude.

Have a remarkable day!

Unconditional Love – Unpacking Old Baggage

I’ve been working through some difficult emotions lately, as I have been applying Step Four to different areas of my life. It’s the step in which the recovering addict is instructed to conduct a searching and fearless moral inventory. I thought this was challenging enough the first time around, when my Fourth Step mainly dealt with the effects of my drug addiction. Yeah, right…

Diet and Exercise – I’ve had to consider issues like body image, unhealthy eating patterns, comparing myself to others, and slothfulness here. As well, looking at the motives behind those times when I was trying to practice good habits in my diet and fitness routines have been revealed. Ultimately, I am coming to terms with the fact that I will never have the kind of body Michelangelo would have sculpted. Instead, I need to be grateful that I have the tools to live healthily today.

Resentments – Oh, now this is a fun one. I don’t just get to look at the times others have mistreated me, taken advantage of me, or actually tried to bring me harm. It is also necessary for me to look deeply at the role I played in each of those resentments. I’ve uncovered patterns of behavior in my past that contribute to these things. All the while, it has become clear that if I want my life to be free of resentments, I am the one who much change. Yuck!

Grief and Mourning – Having been one who would rather practice denial and distraction in the face of loss, I’ve found myself looking at various past losses, and allowing myself to finally experience the emotions attached to them. It has felt a little foreign to finally shed tears over the death of my Aunt Shirley, who died of breast cancer over three decades ago. Or over the grandfather whose funeral I did not attend. Or to realize that my fixation over all the material things lost in my divorce was actually a way of denying the emotional pain it had brought. Yep, a lot has had to be unpacked in this area.

Mental Health – The words “Mental Health,” “Stigma,” and “Taboo” have been synonymous to me throughout my life. I’m old enough to remember a time when mental illness was treated as a family secret, such as the sister to President Kennedy who was lobotomized and institutionalized due to mental illness. So, despite the fact that there is even a “Mental Health Awareness Month” I struggle with a degree of fear even to this day when discussing it.

In rehab, I wore a yellow wrist band to alert staff to my difficulties with depression and anxiety. I hated that thing. Hated what it stood for. Hated that anyone had the audacity to accuse me of…. You get the picture.

Unpacking the baggage I have had in each of these areas has been challenging. It also has been an act of unconditional love. Unconditional love expressed toward myself, as well as toward the people in my life.

One of the aspects of unconditional love is that it represents a no matter what level of determination. It is a level of determination often talked about among recovering addicts about their decision to stay clean. Thus, in a very real way, addressing each of these areas through the Twelve Steps not only helps me stay clean (because hidden within each area is an excuse to use drugs again if left unaddressed), but also helps me to express love for others and myself in an unconditional manner.

So, I will remember to love unconditionally by allowing God to work in me an a way that is completely new. I will follow His will for me to live a full life by addressing those areas that would otherwise hold me back. I’ll continue working my steps daily, and remember that each day I do, I get to…

Have a remarkable day!

Commitment, Finals, and the Never-Ending School Year

Yesterday evening, I received a robocall from Shaun’s school. On the line was the recorded voice of the middle school principal, announcing the dates for upcoming finals, and reminding parents how critical it is for students to show up well rested and prepared for their tests.

There was a part of me, the cynical part, that wanted to tell the principal that getting parents and students to cooperate with the end-of-year schedule would have been much easier if that schedule had looked like those of other surrounding school districts.

For some, school has already ended for the year. For most, school will end this Friday, just in time for the three-day Memorial Day Weekend. Not our schools though. Our schools are in session right up until next Thursday, June 1.

That phone call came to mind this morning as I sat here quietly contemplating the spiritual principle of commitment. Cutting through my cynicism, I realized there is a lesson for me in that robocall reminder, as well as in that schedule. It is part of why we moved into the neighborhood we did in the first place. Our school district is consistently ranked at the top of Oklahoma schools. They have a reputation for preparing children for life. A reputation as the best.

It’s a reputation we pay for through more expensive homes and higher property taxes… and it’s worth it!

This morning, when my alarm went off at 5:00, I struggled to awaken. Despite having gotten a very good night’s sleep, I was still very tired from yesterday’s travel marathon. My flight to Chicago left Tulsa at 5:15, and only dumped me at O’Hare after first taking me to Houston, and then Nashville. Sleep-deprived, and all too aware that I only had a limited amount of in-room coffee at my disposal, I really wanted to just roll over and sleep a little longer.

This desire was particularly strong knowing that my coworkers were surely asleep still. They’re not in school this morning, so why do I have to be???

The cynical part of me wanted to tell myself that I didn’t have to be up that early. That plenty of recovering addicts do just fine sleeping in each day. Schedules are challenging after all… just hit snooze.

Soon, however, the grateful part of me reminded myself that I didn’t have to be up early either. No one holds a gun to my head. No one will shame me for yielding to a busy schedule.

My commitment to recovery drives me to rise early each day. So does my commitment to personal growth and excellence. Once the drugs were out of my system, and I was able to begin functioning once again, I made a commitment to myself regarding the new way of life the Twelve Steps are said to provide.

I committed to making my life as good as it could possibly get by doing everything in my power to live out Step Three on a daily basis. If I am truly going to give my will and my life over to God’s care, it is a decision I need to make early each day. A need made clear from my past history of good intentions and giving God lip service.

So, my commitment continues. Just as Shaun will be at school on his last two days, fully ready for those final exams; I am here this morning, committed to the new way of life I have found. Yes, I pay a price for it; but that price is nothing compared to the freedom I have found.

God, take my will and my life. Guide me in my recovery. Show me how to live… a life of commitment.

Have a remarkable day!

Faith Secured

Whoever built the privacy fence in our back yard was not exactly the best at what their vocation. There are spots where heavy stringers and fence slats are just barely supported by nails driven into a 4×4 fence post at an angle. Thus, there are places where the fence has begun to pull away from the post.

So, last night, I replaced the nail on one of the worst offenders with a large 4” wood screw. The thing was a beast. It was so heavy duty that I had to buy a special driver for it. Then, about half-way into the post, my poor little $25 cordless drill couldn’t screw it any further in. So, I grabbed a ratchet wrench to finish the job.

The only way that 2×4 stringer is going anywhere now is if the whole thing breaks. It is anchored in place like nobody’s business.

I have had a faith in God for most of my life. Knowing that God is has never been my problem. However, when life began to become overwhelming for me, I pulled away from Him. Like that stringer on the fence, I was holding onto God by the weakest of connections. It grew only weaker as my addiction to drugs grew stronger.

When confronted in Steps Two and Three with the challenge of turning my will and my life over to Him, I realized that my former approach to faith was not going to be enough, because all the willpower in the world was not strong enough to resist the force the drugs were exerting in an attempt to pull me away from Him again.

I’ve discovered that what works for me is a daily decision to draw close to Him. So, I begin my day with prayer and meditation. Not the kind of meditation where I chant or repeat some “Ommmm” sound; but the kind where I allow myself to be still, and wait to hear what He wants me to learn in that moment, and for that day.

This level of faith has become like that screw holding the stringer to the fence post. Every act of prayer and meditation is like a turn of the screw. It draws me closer to God, and further away from the notion that drugs are part of life’s solution. I believe that as long as my faith continues to express itself in this way, I will remain firmly attached to God.

Have a remarkable day.