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The Art of Walking in the Rain

June 17, 2013 by drinkingtodistraction

I always feel grateful for rain. As a child, I was happy to stay indoors reading or watching movies on beautiful, sunny days. My mother would coax me outside, shaming me not to waste a glorious day. Rainy days let me off the hook.

Even as an adult, waking up to rain gives me a singular sense of pleasure and comfort. If I’m lucky, I will have planned to work from home the entire day. To stay in my pajamas, cook pastina for lunch, shuffle from one room to the next between projects.

Usually, though, some commitment draws me out of the apartment. I contemplate calling and canceling plans, rescheduling appointments. I run the lines in my head first to see if I can pull it off convincingly, but give up when I remember that I am an abysmal liar. I then commence with the wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth, perseverating over what to wear, what shoes to sacrifice, what anti-frizz strategy to employ.

Once outside, I can feel my body clenched and my brow furrowed, as I tip toe through puddles, hike up my pant legs, and clutch my purse to my chest beneath my umbrella. I walk as swiftly and efficiently as I can to ward off unnecessary wetness, and try to avoid becoming a casualty of speeding cars and busses that hug the curb too tightly.

The only problem is, I am not the only one in this predicament. As I battle for real estate on the sidewalks, begrudgingly raising my umbrella to accommodate others, and aggressively inserting myself into busy intersections to ward off turning vehicles because I (CAPITAL, BOLDFACED, ITALICIZED ‘I’) have the right of way, I sing a little song that goes: ME, ME, ME, ME, GET OUT OF MY WAY!

Finally I reach a point at which I resign myself to the rain. I give up my fight, release the tension from my muscles, unfurrow my brow, and give myself over to the dragging pants, the shoes sloshing, the hair growing larger by the minute.

It is only at that point that I can look up and see something other than myself. To view the people around me, not as obstacles standing in my way, but as other beings probably feeling similar feelings, wishing to be safe and warm and dry at home. I notice their clenched faces, hasty movements, and self-righteous irritation. Harried drivers and weary pedestrians all. And my compassion for them (and myself) grows. Suddenly my sodden walk becomes very interesting indeed. Sometimes I even take the long way home.

Not that I remember this when the next rainy day comes along but I’m trying to pay closer attention. I realize it’s easy to smile at strangers when it’s sunny and beautiful, but less so when we’re all soaked and annoyed. That it’s easy to be kind when I’m comfortable and more challenging when I’m cold and wet. Although initially I resist the discomfort, at a certain point I renounce that resistance, and my own selfishness, for a little while. And I get a glimpse of what Chogyam Trungpa writes about in Shambhala: The Sacred Path of the Warrior:

What the warrior renounces is anything in his experience that is a barrier between himself and others. In other words, renunciation is making yourself more available, more gentle and open to others.

 

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Posted in Alcoholism, Awareness, Meditation, Recovery | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments »

Battle Cry of the Unknown Writer

June 11, 2013 by drinkingtodistraction

I will set my alarm each morning to awaken me with this:

I will leave no trick un-exploited in my efforts to finish this book

  • I will use the laundry trick (that’s 34 minutes to wash-write, and 28 minutes to dry-write)
  • The captive audience trick (any time I’m in a waiting room; why else do I have a MacBook Air?)
  • The just-5-minutes trick (what do I have to lose?)
  • The muted Law & Order trick (I know I’ll turn it off to concentrate)
  • The change of scenery trick again and again and again (the living room, the dining room, the guest room, the bedroom, the courtyard, the Starbucks, the other Starbucks)

I will resist watching this:

And this:

And especially this:

 

Every time I hear myself say any of the following:

You’re not a writer, you know

That sentence totally sucks

Um, wait, I think you missed a chance to gaze at your navel

No one wants to read this shizzle but your mom

I will drop and give myself 20

 

BECAUSE THIS IS IMPORTANT, DAMMIT, AND I’M THE ONE WHO HAS TO WRITE IT!

Posted in Alcoholism, Awareness, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment »

Collision of Basic Goodness

June 10, 2013 by drinkingtodistraction

Last week I had lunch with a new friend. It was a raw, honest conversation that bolstered our new bond. It also made me acutely aware of the ways we all suffer, how much we need one another, and how we can want that least when we need it most. He had to get back to work but as I left the restaurant and walked down the block, we were already texting one another, him to apologize for running off, me to chide him for not telling me I had flax seeds in my teeth.

I had just hit ‘send’ when I heard the screech of a set of tires. I looked up to see a jeep mid-intersection, mid-right-turn, about 6 inches from a crossing pedestrian. And as I (and everyone in a half-block radius) registered what had just happened, the jeep remained motionless while the pedestrian, a woman frozen in place, broke down. I walked into the intersection, took her by the arm and led her, sobbing by now, to the sidewalk where she leaned against a lamppost.

The jeep pulled over and just sat for a few minutes while the woman and I stood there, sort of holding one another up, breathing deeply, and fully realizing what could have just happened. This would only happen to me, she said, I’ve just come from radiation. And my own eyes welled in response to her thinking she could be responsible for this near-miss. And maybe even her cancer?

Then the driver got out and came over, visibly shaken himself, and said, I am so sorry, I can’t believe this just happened, I didn’t even see you. To which she responded without a hint of anger or self-righteousness, It’s alright, nobody got hurt. The three of us just stood there, a little triangle of basic goodness, feeling our own pain and that of the two other people in front of us. Raw and honest.

Had this unfolded slightly differently (and no one in New York City would be particularly surprised if it had), the same near-miss might have led to a screaming match about who was right and who was wrong between two people (and any number of onlookers) who felt vulnerable, fearful, and painfully aware of the difference a half a second or a half a foot can make. And the opportunity to allow those feelings and that awareness, and the choice to be kind to one another, would have been lost.

In those few moments, three people – three strangers – were there with one another. To hold that discomfort. And after those moments passed, we went off in our separate directions.

Posted in Alcoholism, Awareness, Meditation | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments »

Resistance Is Futile

May 28, 2013 by drinkingtodistraction

Recently, as part of Susan Piver’s Open Heart Project, we learned about the lojong slogan “3 objects, 3 poisons, 3 seeds of virtue.” The three objects are things we want, things we don’t want, and things we ignore; the three poisons passion, aggression, and ignorance; and the three seeds of virtue freedom from passion, aggression, and ignorance.

In delving deeper into this slogan, contemplating it and reading Chogyam Trungpa’s and Pema Chodron’s thoughts on the topic, I recognize how my drinking covered all of these bases. I used drinking to hold on to pleasurable experiences way past their expiration date; I never wanted the party to end and I thought it couldn’t end as long as I kept drinking. Other times I used alcohol to try to change the way things were, to counteract feelings of anxiety and fear, to replace them with the joviality and good times I thought were to be found in the bottle. Last, my drinking allowed me to zone out, to disconnect from issues that needed attention – a relationship that was hurtful, an unsatisfying career.

This is not to say that alcohol is inherently poisonous; but the way I used it was problematic for me. That kind of self-awareness has helped me to see how I engage with the different aspects of my life. It’s also shown me that while all three poisons are present at different times, I tend toward one in particular: aggression, or as I think of it, resistance.

From the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep, my mind is constantly resisting the way things are. “I should have done this…or that,” “I shouldn’t feel this way,” “I wish I were more…,” “I wish…,” “If only…,” these are a constant refrain, like elevator muzak that has been playing in the background so long you almost don’t notice it anymore. Sometimes I even hope that things will turn out differently in a movie I’ve already seen or one in which I know the ending; I spent the majority of the film Titanic hoping there would be some twist that saved everyone.

In Start Where You Are, Pema Chodron writes “resistance to unwanted circumstances has the power to keep those circumstances alive and well for a very long time.” She also writes about how the 3 poisons provide fertile ground for change, a rich source from which we can pull self-awareness and gentleness, and can open up to the much wider possibilities life has to offer.

As I write this post, I feel immense confusion as to what to do with my life. My severance period is about to end, I’m completing a small business course that I took with the hope of starting my own nutrition counseling and writing business, I’m about two-thirds of the way through writing the Drinking to Distraction book, and I have the outline of another book I would like to write when the first is completed. I feel at once exhilarated, overwhelmed, frightened, capable, and bereft of the stamina needed to take the next step. My tendency toward aggression makes me resist this confusion; I have a strong drive to exorcise it, oust it, banish it, even if that means making a decision that I haven’t completely considered, or reverting back to a professional plan that seems more of a sure thing.

My challenge, if Piver, and Chodron, and Trungpa are right (and I know they are), is to hang out in that confusion long enough to really experience it. To drop the story about how my life will end up in the shitter if I made the wrong decision. And to feel my way toward the next step, and the next, and the next, knowing I can change course at any point. First, I must give up the fight against reality. This is the way it is, for now. Resistance is futile.

Posted in Alcoholism, Meditation, Recovery, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments »

Have You Been Helped?

May 22, 2013 by drinkingtodistraction

 

When I was younger, so much younger than today

I never needed anybody’s help in any way

But now these days are gone, I’m not so self-assured

Now I find I’ve changed my mind and opened up the doors

~”Help” by The Beatles

Have you ever noticed something, seemingly for the first time, and then you hear or see it everywhere? You finally learn the definition of “the canary in the coal mine,” and then three friends use it in separate conversations.

Lately, I’ve been hearing and reading the suggestion to allow people to help me:

Sooner or later we admit that we cannot do it all, that whatever our contribution, the story is much larger and longer than our own, and we are all in the gift of older stories that we are only now joining. Whatever our success at work, in the financial markets, or in the virtual worlds now being born, we are all in the gift of much older work, we are all looked after by other eyes, and we are only preparing ourselves for an invitation to join something larger.

  • In “Intuitive Eating,” the authors write about the common tendency to eat when what we really need is support and/or nurturing, something that we can often easily receive if we only ask for it:

When you find yourself reaching for food when there is no biological hunger, take a time-out to find out what you are feeling…Call a friend and talk about the feelings…Talk to a counselor or a psychotherapist.

  • In my Kaufman FastTrac NYC small business course, we discuss establishing a personal network of individuals who can broaden our perspectives, provide information and feedback, and be objective.

The ubiquity of the advice to ask for help caught me by surprise. (Sort of like that ‘w’ in the word answer. Really? Was that always there?) Why does asking for help seem counterintuitive? Why is it so difficult? I can only surmise that my resistance stems from my fear of appearing foolish, a wish to have my proverbial shit together (or at least seem to), and my striving for perfection.

When the shoe is on the other foot, however, and I am asked for help, I am more than happy to oblige. I feel a sense of purpose and connection with that person, as if I’m growing and nurturing not only that relationship but contributing to a bigger picture in which we are all interdependent. Why not extend such an opportunity to others by allowing them to help me?

In “Ocean of Dharma,” Chogyam Trungpa writes:

We can afford to open ourselves and join the rest of the world with a sense of tremendous generosity, tremendous goodness, and tremendous richness. The more we give, the more we gain – although what we gain should not particularly be our reason for giving. Rather, the more we give, the more we are inspired to give constantly. And the gaining process happens naturally, automatically, always.

I spent this past weekend with my parents, my sister, and her family, including my 4.5- and 2.5-year old nieces. The girls reminded me of that instinctive drive to “do it myself,” and how that seems to be the very definition of growing up and becoming independent. At the same time I found myself asking my mother for help: I always find it difficult to maintain my meditation practice whenever I am away from home, but by asking my mom to sit and practice with me, we both benefited. This simple act of asking for help strengthened our connection and broadened our perspective.

Perhaps the definition of growing up is not the ability to be completely self-reliant but rather knowing when, how, and who to ask for help. Allow me to be your canary in the coal mine: Have you been helped yet?

Posted in Awareness, Meditation, Recovery, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments »

Have I Told You Lately That I Love Booze?

May 7, 2013 by drinkingtodistraction

Last week, my boyfriend brought home a bottle of 10-year-old single-malt scotch. We keep alcohol in the house – wine, gin, beer, and Italian liqueurs – and so far it hasn’t been a problem. Scotch never appealed to me. But for some reason, this lone bottle had a different effect than all the others that have come and gone without issue (or relapse).

The night he brought it home, my boyfriend poured a meager amount into an ice-filled glass, and sipped at it leisurely. When I caught a whiff, it turned my stomach, and transported me. The smoky-oakiness of the scotch reminded me of my last night in Oaxaca about 10 years ago, a night when I drank far too much mezcal and ate nothing but the accompanying orange wedges and a handful of cayenne-fried crickets (yes, crickets). On the overnight bus ride back to Mexico City, I threw up into a bag of souvenirs I’d purchased from Oaxacan artisans, surrounded by what I’d imagine were several native Mexicans rolling their eyes: Dumb drunk gringa.

Like a lot of my darkest drinking moments, this happened while I was alone, or at least not surrounded by people I knew and who could hold me accountable. This is partially what allowed me to convince myself that I didn’t have a problem and to continue drinking for so many years.

A few days after my mental Mexican journey, my boyfriend left for the second-to-last of several work-related trips. He packed his things and got on yet another airplane, obviously leaving the nearly full bottle of scotch sitting on our kitchen counter.

Alone on the couch that night, I felt bored and lonely and in desperate need of distraction. I ate an unsatisfying meal purchased from the market and watched end-to-end episodes of Wallander, Project Runway, and Hannibal. Still, a feeling of dissatisfaction and emptiness persisted and I craved something to fill the void.

I was very aware of the bottle of scotch on the kitchen counter. Even though the smell and taste bordered on nauseating, I was acutely aware of the potential to be found in that bottle.

The concept of satisfaction has been on my mind lately. Having reread the new edition of Intuitive Eating, I was reminded of my own tendency to make consumption-related decisions in response to external stimuli. For example, eating foods I consider “good” as opposed to “bad,” eating at conventional mealtimes regardless of physical hunger, and the tendency to disregard my desire for certain foods in favor of what I “should” be eating.

In some ways, drinking alcohol was very satisfying to me. Without it, I recognize that I often feel deprived. What I choose to eat and drink is thereby often in response to this feeling of deprivation. Whereas I could make up for an unsatisfying meal by having an extra glass of wine in the past, that same unsatisfying meal now feels more troubling, and there is a greater sense of urgency to find something that satisfies me. I now have a tendency to purchase expensive indulgences like imported artichoke hearts, Marcona almonds, macadamia nuts, and fine dark chocolate in an attempt to substitute them for the missing indulgence (and satisfaction) of drinking.

If someone so much as suggests that I stop drinking coffee for some reason, I hear myself vehemently scoffing, I’ve given up enough! I’ve certainly emptied more breadbaskets and consumed more desserts since I stopped drinking, not to mimic the physiologic effects of alcohol’s sugar content but as a psychological substitute, a reward for teetotaling.

Some friends of mine gave up drinking for a year or more and now are able to drink moderately. I envy them but don’t dare try it for myself because I fear nothing has changed in my relationship with alcohol except for the choice not to drink it. While I miss drinking a glass of wine while cooking or having a cocktail with friends and family, I also miss drinking alone, on lonely, bored nights like the one I described above. I miss nursing my feelings of dejection, like wrapping myself in a warm blanket to ward off the cold. I miss the privacy of it and the indulgence of finishing a bottle of wine without any judgmental onlookers.

If I were to start drinking again, I’m fairly certain I would rely on external stimuli to determine how much I drank, for example, controlling the amount of alcohol I have in the house, something that becomes more difficult when you live with someone who can drink moderately and does not have to limit available quantities.

This is all to say that for all my thinking and writing about Buddhism, impermanence, and learning to become comfortable with discomfort, I still miss booze. It is true that if I sit with the discomfort and the desire, the moment eventually passes. But by no means have I meditated away my desire to drink. It is something I think about regularly and for good reason: by keeping it front of mind, by noticing the different drinking behaviors that distinguish my boyfriend’s healthy relationship with alcohol and my abusive one, perhaps I reduce the risk of being blind-sighted by a relapse.

I should say that I resisted the bottle of scotch that night and every night since. It’s still sitting there, the level dropping by a half-inch or so every couple of nights as my boyfriend enjoys it moderately. I, on the other hand, am still learning to sit with the knowledge that I’m different and the awareness that not drinking is one of the tradeoffs that comes as a result of being honest with myself.

 

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Posted in Alcoholism, Awareness, Meditation, Recovery | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments »

Can We Break Free of the Perfection Prison?

April 29, 2013 by drinkingtodistraction

A couple of weeks ago, I read an article about why everyone hates Anne Hathaway. I always thought she was an intelligent, beautiful, uber-talented young woman, but apparently she is utterly detested by many. The author posited that perhaps her too-perfect-ness was at fault for her abysmal approval rates. Ironic, I thought: since most of us wish we were perfect, do we also wish to draw such ire?

One quote from the article made me choke on my own saliva: “’We love authenticity, that’s why we have a billion reality shows,’ said Neal Gabler, an author of several best-selling books on Hollywood culture and history.”

Oh, right! OUR LOVE OF AUTHENTICITY is the reason for the out-of-control reality TV show phenomenon!

With all of the staged, alcohol-soaked drama and creative editing, there is nothing real or authentic about reality television. Rather, I think we want to see one another’s frailties, neuroses, warts, and cellulite. We want to see Bethany Frankel peeing in a bucket in her wedding dress or Kim Richards drunkenly making moo-moo faces in the mirror as she plummets toward her alcoholic bottom. “Sure, she’s rich and skinny, but she’s a narcissistic mess.” “At least I’m not as bad as her.” Ironically, rather than uniting us, all of the imperfections immortalized on reality television serve to separate us from one another.

It’s clearly not limited to reality TV. We extrapolate the innumerable messages we receive to our own lives. We take on the artificial deficiencies created by advertising agencies and seek to fill the void. We imagine our neighbors, friends, and well-put-together strangers having perfect lives. We try to retrofit the story of our lives into some narrative arc, a hijinx-y Rom-Com starring Katherine Heigl. But secretly we suffer.

In my own efforts to practice imperfection, I’ve started to ask myself about my idea of perfection. What does it look and feel like? Where does it come from? What does it cost me? How does it keep me in line and, in so doing, how does it affect my authentic experience?

As part of this, I’ve taken a mini inventory of my own behaviors and beliefs. The following is only a partial list of the things I believe I have done as a result of comparing my life to some “perfect” ideal:

  • Pretended I was asleep when my painfully shy high school sweetheart finally kissed me because I couldn’t take responsibility for my own raging teenage hormones
  • Sat in college courses and obsessed over how I could ask the most brilliant, astounding question to gain the admiration of the professor and my fellow students (thereby missing the dialog that would have made my question even remotely relevant)
  • Spent unknown amounts of money (and time) on cosmetics, skin care products, and laser procedures to “improve” the appearance of my skin
  • Showered, got dressed, and even applied makeup in the dark because I couldn’t bear to see my face and body in the mirror (I still do this one)
  • Compared myself with every woman I have ever met since the age of about 10 on a complex scale involving measures of age, beauty, physical fitness, intelligence, interestingness, sexiness, and desirability
  • Spent many hours tipsy at home alone after work because I felt paralyzed, unsure of how to move my life in a direction that would be more satisfying and bring me more happiness
  • Wasted more than a year working on a book proposal because I was afraid to just write the book
  • Bottled up my feelings (and sometimes later exploded) because I was afraid of losing someone’s love
  • Perseverated on small tasks like cleaning and organizing because they gave me the illusion of control
  • Failed to give my full attention to any number of work or writing projects because of a fear that I would not do them perfectly (this is a big one for me)

At first glance, these may not seem related to perfection but upon closer examination, I see that I think and do things as if someone else is watching and judging. As if there is a master scorecard hidden somewhere, and I clearly do not have home-court advantage. But the watcher and judger is ME.

The problem with dismantling my allegiance to perfection is that the information that sculpts my perfection ideas is everywhere. It came from my childhood, from my family, my friends, friend’s families, television, advertising, dating, relationships, job interviews, and interactions on the job itself. When one is exquisitely sensitive to external information, as I tend to be, it can become very confusing to assimilate it all into a life and a system of beliefs.

The inability to see myself for who I really am – to accept and make myself known, to communicate authentically, to ask questions and talk about what makes me uncomfortable, fearful, and ashamed – has deep repercussions. I keep it in. Bottle it up.

What if we all realized that, as pointed out to me by a wise friend several years ago, the consequences of being ourselves were not so dire? That would mean there is no reason to keep our true, imperfect selves hidden. No reason to react hurtfully rather than dealing with what is really happening. No reason to kill yourself, hurt someone else, or suffer in silence.

Where does one begin though? At what point during a conversation between two friends does one of them say, My partner and I haven’t had sex in 6 months. When does a woman admit, Sometimes my kids are out of control and it makes me feel like failure as a mother. Or, when asked, How are you?, someone admits, I’m sort of sad, actually, unsatisfied with life and not sure what to do. Or, Sometimes I think it would be better if I didn’t exist (in all the permutations and combinations of significance that one has).

Since I started writing Drinking to Distraction, people have come out of the woodwork with words of love and support, as well as their own stories. I believe this is because I openly revealed my weaknesses, or at least the things that tend to be viewed as weakness by current societal standards. Quitting drinking and learning to deal with my life as it is, it’s about as real (and imperfect) as I can get. It has created a space for me to become curious about myself and the world, and perhaps a little space for others to do the same.

How will you begin?

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Posted in Alcoholism, Awareness, Meditation, Recovery | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments »

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