Monday, August 31, 2015

48. Tough on Whom?
Before I left for the day, Carolyn called.  Phil had asked her to lie to his family about his last binge.  When Phil’s sister wanted to know how Phil ended up in rehab, Carolyn told her she’d have to ask Phil.  Carolyn was very upset, even though she thought she’d done the right thing.
“If it tore me up not to lie for him, how will I ever take a really hard stand, like not letting him in the house when he’s drunk?” she asked.
I said, “Tough love is rarely easy for anyone.  You’ll get tougher. Not meaner, not callous, but better at saying no when you have to.”

Today I will accept tough love can be tough on everyone.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Sunday, August 30, 2015

47. Sticking to My Guns
I thought the argument would last much longer than it did.  Mick said to Tara, “I’m happy.  You’re angry.  I’m gonna stay happy.  You do whatever you’re gonna do.” The less angry Mick got, the louder Tara became.  Tara took shot after shot at Mick, but Mick stayed happy and refused to fire back.  Tara stormed out of the group room. 

Today I will be happy to stick to my guns by not firing back.


Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Thursday, August 27, 2015

46. Ya’ seen one, ya’ seen ‘em all
I heard the argument start.  Mick was telling Sam she was ten weeks pregnant and her baby’s heart was fully formed.  Sam was a little sad, he had been high and/or drunk most of the time his girlfriend had carried their son. “I cheated myself,” he said with a sad sigh.
“Oh for God’s sake,” Tara said. “It’s a baby. There’s one born every minute.  I popped out two myself.” Mick wanted to know just what Tara’s problem might be.  I knew. Tara, like so many people, had lost her ability to be amazed. Because so many were born, she couldn’t see the astounding complexity of each baby. Because everybody had one, she couldn’t be impressed by a phone communicating via satellite with her bank’s computer 2000 miles away.  Because she’d seen it so often, she couldn’t appreciate the beauty of the sun setting behind the hills of Pittsburgh.  I had been angry with her earlier, but by then I just felt sorry for her.

I hope today I won’t lose my ability to be amazed by the commonplace.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

45. Which direction?
Tigger stuck his head into my office and asked if we could talk.  He’d been thinking his strengths were his problem.  “I’ve got lots of energy. It’s gotten me promoted and fired.  People like me, after they get past being annoyed by me.  That’s pulled me out of a few jams.  I’m not smooth, but I’m persuasive. If I couldn’t talk my way out of trouble, I think I’d have been forced to get clean a long time ago.” He paused for a moment. “So maybe if I go on some really sedating medication, stay away from people, and work alone, I’ll be better off. My strengths couldn’t get me into trouble.”

I said, “I think you’d be cheating yourself and the world.  Use your strengths, but use them wisely.  If you have a powerful engine, but poor steering, you don’t scrap the engine.  You fix the steering.  You have a lot of strengths, you just need some direction.”

We talked about how hard taking direction could be.

Today I will follow direction, I will help someone find direction.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

44. The Old Adages
After Tara left, I checked our publication sales figures.  Flat. I pondered Tigger’s suggestion I add more sex, violence, and vampires to my writing.  A quick look at Amazon’s bestseller list made me think he was right.  I sent The Boss an email.

I wrote, “Boss – Mourning Sun: It’s a YA novel about billionaire cattlemen vampires solving crimes and seducing interns.  Based on Amazon’s bestseller list, think this could generate $$$.”

The Boss wrote back “Not really sure how this ties into addiction/recovery?  I know this was tongue-in-cheek, but maybe you’re thinking about changing your style to sell more?   How well will you write twisting and contorting yourself to fit the market?  Write what you know, let the chips fall where they may.”

I knew she was right.   I’d heard the old adages many times: To thine own self be true. Do what you love.  You can’t please everyone.  Still, the idea of selling more books had its appeal.

I wrote: “What if all the characters end up in rehab, with the vampires attending the evening program?  Did I mention they have washboard abs?” 

She wrote back, “You need a vacation.”  I knew she was right again.

Today I will remember sage advice: To thine own self be true.

  Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Monday, August 24, 2015

43. I Want What I’m Entitled To and I’m Entitled To What I Want
When I got to work the next day, a well-dressed woman in her thirties was using my office phone.  I guessed she was a VIP touring the facility.  I waved at the door, and headed to the kitchen for coffee.  Ten minutes later, I walked back to my office.  She was still there.  I stood patiently at the door.
“Excuse me a minute,” she said into the phone.  “Private conversation,” she said to me, shutting my door.  I took a deep breath and made another trip down the hall to see who she might be.
Her name was Tara and this was her first day in treatment.  Had I been asked, I would have happily given her my office for ten minutes or so, longer in an emergency.  
“How rude!” she said when I asked her politely to wrap up her conversation.  “Call you back.” 
Tara wanted to know my name, my supervisor’s name, and just who I thought I was.  Given what she paid for treatment, we owed her a little privacy, among other things. As nicely as I could, I told her what treatment included.  I pointed out the Patient Bill of Rights was posted in the break room.  It outlined all she was entitled to.  She stormed off to find Miss Rella.
“She was talking to her boyfriend,” Mick said from behind me.  She must have been hanging out at the door to the group room, a few feet from my door. “She thinks she’s entitled to everything she wants.”
“You have to stop eavesdropping,’ I said to Mick, stifling the urge to ask her about their conversation. 
Today I will not confuse what I want with what I’m entitled to.
 Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Sunday, August 23, 2015

42. Calm Moments
I sat quietly with Blondie for an hour.  No TV, no radio, no laptop, no phone. Early in my recovery I couldn’t have stayed still that long.  Worrying about what might be and what had been would have kept me nervous and agitated.  I knew people whose brain chemistry didn’t seem to allow them to sit still, and no amount of exercise, meditation, or medication calmed their minds.  I was grateful not to be one of them.
Blondie asked me what I was doing.  “Nothing,” I said.
“Finally found something you’re qualified for,” she said.  I pushed her off the couch.   “Oh, it is so on, old man!” she said laughing as she climbed back onto the couch. “And believe me, you won’t see my revenge coming until it’s way too late.”

Today I will be grateful for calm moments.
Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Thursday, August 20, 2015

41. My Full Attention
“Did you ever find out what was bothering Demanda?” I asked Blondie when I got home that night.  She was sitting on the couch, finishing up her summer reading assignment for school.
Blondie said, “I talked to her sorta friend, Meghan, who said nobody but the boys at school pay attention to Demanda.  Her father’s some kind of big bossman in the gas industry. Her mother runs a bunch of dental practices.  They don’t make much time for her.  It’s worse when school starts because Demanda takes honors classes that keep her busy.  When they’re all in the same room they’re all on different devices.”
“Maybe she’s mean to boyfriends because their attention reminds her she’s not getting the attention she craves from her parents.” I said.
“That would explain a lot,” Blondie said.  “You should be some kind of counselor.” She picked up her book and curled up beside me.  I thought about how often people sat together but communicated with people miles away.  I decided to turn off my phone and laptop.

Today I will give people what’s becoming a rarity – my full attention.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

40. All Aboard!
After Mick left, Sam poked his head into my office. 
“My dad gave the lawyer $50,000,” Sam said. “We already paid him his fee.  Pretty sure the 50k is bribe money.”  He shook his head. “I know this could turn bad, but I gotta see my son.”
“The B.I. Express is picking up speed,” I said.  “Now is the time to get off.  The longer you wait, the harder it’ll be.” He asked what the B.I. Express was.  “The Bad Idea train.  It’s fueled by booze, drugs, lust, peer pressure, pride, ego, and in your case, good intentions.  You can’t really steer it. Even if it’s pointed in the right direction leaving the station, you can’t know where it’ll end up.  Once it picks up momentum, warning signs and commonsense won’t slow it down.” 
 “You ever ride the B.I.?” he asked.
“One memorable ride in college started with a lot of beer and someone saying, ‘We should visit the girls’ college.’  Someone else pointed out we didn’t have a car.  By that time the B.I. Express was picking up steam, so we stole the truck from the summer theater.  The ride went downhill from there.  Every now and then I still ride the B.I Express,” I admitted. “I just don’t have my own railroad car anymore.”


Today I’ll try not to ride the bad idea train.

 Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

39. Bad Habits
When I hung up my phone, I noticed Mick standing outside my door.  She readily admitted she had been eavesdropping on my conversation.
“Who were you talking to?” she asked without a hint of remorse.
“I can’t tell you because of privacy laws,” I said.  “Even if I could, I wouldn’t.  Aren’t you the least bit embarrassed I caught you listening in?”  She wasn’t.  In fact, she was proud of her eavesdropping. 
“Everyone needs a bad habit, and I kinda like that mine’s not so wicked.  What are your bad habits?”
I just shook my head.  She suggested I take up gambling.  I said I really didn’t think everybody needed a bad habit. “In fact,” I said.  “I’ve worked very hard to get rid of some bad habits.”
Today I will work on getting rid of bad habits, wicked or not.

 Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Monday, August 17, 2015

38. Tearing up the credit card or paying down the balance? 
Carolyn, Phil’s wife, wondered out loud why she put up with Phil. “I must be an idiot,” she said. “He makes me so angry sometimes.”
“You’re not an idiot,” I told her.  “Your anger at Phil is like credit card debt.  It’s human nature to pay down a credit card rather than tear it up.   Phil stays on the wagon.  He’s kind and attentive. He’s paying down the anger debt he owes you.  Things go back to normal.  Phil thinks he deserves a beer.  Soon he’s off to the races, running up that debt. The cycle starts over. One of you has to tear up the credit card.  He’s got to make major changes or you’ve got to.”
Today I will see what credit cards I need to tear up, literally and figuratively.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Sunday, August 16, 2015

37. Co-Dependency – Patience without wisdom
That afternoon Phil’s wife called to ask a few questions about treatment.  A friend had told her she was codependent, and she wasn’t sure what that meant.  I searched for a simple explanation.
 “Co-dependency is patience without wisdom,” I said. “You wait for something to change without making major changes yourself.  The irony is your patience delays what you’re waiting for.  The more patient you are with Phil, the less reason he has to change.”  She didn’t say anything, so I went on. “People around you can fuel your co-dependency. Na├»ve people admire your patience, call you a saint. That feels good when most of your life doesn’t. Others focus on your lack of wisdom, saying you’re foolish to put up with Phil.  I’ll bet at some point you’ve felt the need to prove them wrong.   And, we like to think love conquers all, including addiction.  It’s a romantic notion that’s a big part of co-dependency.”

Today I will beware of codependency, of patience without wisdom.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Thursday, August 13, 2015

36. Cold Hard Gratitude
Later that day Sam stopped by my office.  He stared at his shoes, rocking forward, then side to side. Finally Sam told me his father had hired a lawyer to help him regain custody of his son.
“Do you mean visitation?” I asked. “You said ‘custody.’”  Sam confirmed he meant custody.  The lawyer had a reputation for being corrupt but well-connected.  He had promised to use whatever means, legal or otherwise, to reunite Sam with his son.
“All I have to do is go along,” Sam said.  “I know it’s shady. I thought I was done with shady, but just once more, for good reason.”  He couldn’t look at me when he said it.  My heart broke for him.  He clearly loved his son, and regretted all he had done to lose him.  He desperately wanted him back.  On the other hand, he knew he was headed back down a dark path. 
Over the years I had developed many types of gratitude lists.  The coldest was my list of people I was grateful I was not.  I added Sam to that list.

Today I will make a list of people I’m grateful I’m not.
Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose
(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

LAST DAY FOR FREEBIES 8/14/15 at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S
·         Dancing with Rachel (a novella)
·         Heroin, Oxycontin, & Other Opiates: Breaking your addiction to them
·         Home Groupies ( a daily messages novella)
·         Meditations for the First 30 Days: How not to become roadkill on the highway to recovery

·         Staying Clean, Taking Medications

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

35. For My Sake, For Their Sake
The next morning I was eating a donut at the kitchen table when Blondie came charging down the stairs, phone in hand, ranting about the men in her life.   Her grandfather Grumpy, autocorrect for ‘Grampy,’ had set new highs for cholesterol, blood sugar, and weight, at his checkup. A friend who had joined the military to study computers now wanted to be an Army Ranger instead.  She showed me selfie her brother had taken from a boat in the middle of a lake.  He wasn’t wearing a life jacket.  It was then she noticed the donut.
“Grandma died from heart disease and Grumpy is diabetic.  Why do you live on a diet of sugary fat!?” she asked.  I tried to make a joke, but she wasn’t having it.  I saw the pain in her eyes and realized I owed her more than an apology.

Today I will take better care of myself, for my sake, and the sake of people who love me.

 Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose
(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

FREE THIS WEEK (8/10-8/14) at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S
·         Dancing with Rachel (a novella)
·         Heroin, Oxycontin, & Other Opiates: Breaking your addiction to them
·         Home Groupies (a daily messages novella)
·         Meditations for the First 30 Days: How not to become roadkill on the highway to recovery

·         Staying Clean, Taking Medications

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

34. Hammering a Screw
Later that day, Miss Rella stuck her head in my office just as I was staring at the computer, shaking my head.  She asked me if I was having a rough day.
I said, “Most days I spend an hour online before I write a word of my blog.  I read ‘thought for the day’ books.  I look through Face Book and LinkedIn to see what issues people have.  Sometimes I read online newsletters dedicated to recovery.  I re-read what I’ve written when I get home before I post it.  Other days I’m really busy and I write the blog in my head while I’m at the gym.  Those posts I put the least effort into are the ones people seem to like best.”
“So why don’t you just write your blog in the gym?” Miss Rella asked.
“Because doing things at the last minute, writing on the fly, that’s so much the old me.  That’s the baffle them with b.s., rely on my gift for gab, graduated near the bottom of my class, me.
“Or,” Miss Rella said, “You’re trying to hammer in a screw.  Doing things on the fly wasn’t a good idea in college, but maybe writing off the cuff is the best for your blog.”

Today I’ll try to match my abilities to the task at hand.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose
(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

FREE THIS WEEK (8/10-8/14) at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S
·         Dancing with Rachel (a novella)
·         Heroin, Oxycontin, & Other Opiates: Breaking your addiction to them
·         Home Groupies ( a daily messages novella)
·         Meditations for the First 30 Days: How not to become roadkill on the highway to recovery

·         Staying Clean, Taking Medications

Monday, August 10, 2015

33. The Advantage of Dulled Senses
As I walked into work on Monday, the smokers were standing in front of the building arguing about confidence and recovery.  Some were saying you couldn’t change any bad habit without confidence.  Others said confidence led to taking chances and probably relapsing.
I said, “There’s a lot of overlap between recovery and confidence. They both dull the senses.”  The group stared at me. “They make you a little deaf so you don’t hear the doubters.  You become a little blind to past failures, convinced this time you’ll succeed.  Recovery and confidence make you a little insensitive to pain so you don’t wince at every bump in the road.”
Today I will let confidence and recovery dull my senses.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose
(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

FREE THIS WEEK (8/10-8/14) at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S
·         Dancing with Rachel (a novella)
·         Heroin, Oxycontin, & Other Opiates: Breaking your addiction to them
·         Home Groupies ( a daily messages novella)
·         Meditations for the First 30 Days: How not to become roadkill on the highway to recovery

·         Staying Clean, Taking Medications

Sunday, August 9, 2015

32. Fun Failures
The next day was Saturday.  Brat Boy asked me if I wanted to build a home forge.  We watched the video online. Didn’t seem too hard.
I tore my thumb open with the drill.  Brat Boy broke the lid to the smelter, cinders flew everywhere setting the grass on fire.  We spilled plaster mix and tracked it into the house. My wife wasn’t amused.  My wife’s hair dryer attached to a long tube extending into the base of the smelter served as the bellows.  When I turned off the dryer, flames shot up the tube, out the back of the hair dryer.  She was even less amused.
The aluminum never turned molten.  We ended up with a lump of half -melted cans.  Brat Boy and I couldn’t stop laughing about everything that went wrong.  I knew we’d be laughing about it through the years.

Today I will remember success can be a fun failure.
  
Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

FREE THIS WEEK (8/10-8/14) at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S
·         Dancing with Rachel (a novella)
·         Heroin, Oxycontin, & Other Opiates: Breaking your addiction to them
·         Home Groupies ( a daily messages novella)
·         Meditations for the First 30 Days: How not to become roadkill on the highway to recovery
·         Staying Clean, Taking Medications

Thursday, August 6, 2015

31. A Good Day to Dodge a Bullet
I was walking up the stairs to our office suite when Mick raced past.  She waited for me at the landing.  When I caught up to her, she practically knocked me down the steps hugging me.  I thought I heard something in my spine crack.  Her doctor had run some tests.  They had all come back negative. So far, the baby was fine.  She raced off to tell Miss Rella.  Before she found out she was pregnant, Mick had done some serious drinking and drugging. I knew she had a long way to go, but so far, so good.
I thought about all bullets I had dodged, how many times things turned out well, despite my drunken efforts to ruin the day. 
Today I will be grateful for good days and bullets dodged.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose
(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

FREE NEXT WEEK (8/10-8/14) at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S
·         Dancing with Rachel (a novella)
·         Heroin, Oxycontin, & Other Opiates: Breaking your addiction to them
·         Home Groupies ( a daily messages novella)
·         Meditations for the First 30 Days: How not to become roadkill on the highway to recovery

·         Staying Clean, Taking Medications

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

29. Second Chance or Same Chance a Second Time?
The next day Tigger was sitting in front of the building, talking to Phil and Sam.  He wasn’t chain-smoking or pacing, which made me wonder what was wrong.
“It’s my ex,” Tigger said.  He told me a little about their relationship.  “I totaled Tim’s Porsche. He said things don’t matter, people do.  While he was on a business trip, I left our house unlocked for a week while I stayed with friends.  Thieves took everything, including some family heirlooms.  He said that’s why we have insurance.  We bought a riverfront condo and dock.  I crashed our boat and almost drowned.  He didn’t say anything.  I asked him if he was glad I was OK.  He said I wasn’t OK, and he couldn’t watch me destroy myself anymore.  I had to get help or get out.  I didn’t think I needed help, so I moved into the warehouse.  When the warehouse burned, I thought he’d take me back, at least until I got on my feet again.  I haven’t heard from him.  All I want is a second chance.”
“You don’t want a second chance,” I said.  “You want the same chance with him a second time.”
“He owes me that much,” Tigger insisted.
“I’m sorry but I gotta disagree.  Counting the Porsche, the robbery, and the boat, you’re asking for the same chance a fourth time. Nobody owes you that.  People who shake off an addiction, get out of an abusive relationship, maybe survive some trauma, they owe themselves a second chance at happiness. Get clean and sober and give yourself that second chance.”

Today I will remember nobody owes me the same chance a second time,
but I might owe myself a second chance.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose
(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

FREE NEXT WEEK (8/10-8/14) at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S
·         Dancing with Rachel (a novella)
·         Heroin, Oxycontin, & Other Opiates: Breaking your addiction to them
·         Home Groupies ( a daily messages novella)
·         Meditations for the First 30 Days: How not to become roadkill on the highway to recovery

·         Staying Clean, Taking Medications

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

28. Tiny Crosses
When I got home that night, Blondie and Brat Boy were sitting in the living room watching TV.
“Demanda was sobbing in Target,” Blondie said.  Demanda was their nickname for a sophomore named Amanda.  She was by their accounts equal parts beautiful, rich, and demanding.  My children were shocked and baffled.  Blondie added, “I came around the corner and she was standing by the office supplies, crying her eyes out.  I asked if she was OK, and she said she didn’t want to go back to school. Dad, she was bawling.”
Brat Boy shook his head. “She runs that school. She was dating seniors when she was a freshman.  All the girls are jealous of her.  The teachers treat her like she was their boss.  Her mother drops her off in a new Mercedes.  Next year she’s supposed to get one of her own.  What does she have to cry about?”
“I don’t know,” I said.  “Neither do you.  Something’s bothering her.  Even though you two may have good reason for not liking her, maybe you should withhold judgement until you know what’s wrong.” 

Today I’ll remind myself that like objects in the mirror,
the cross someone else bears is often larger than it appears.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose
Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

 (Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Monday, August 3, 2015

27. Persistent v. Pigheaded
 “The second brick I found was persistence,” I told Tigger.  “I hadn’t gotten myself into that mess overnight.  I wasn’t going to get out of overnight.  People weren’t going to change their opinions of me because I’d gone to an AA meeting or two.  I had to keep going even when I didn’t seem to be making much progress.  I couldn’t give up because other people doubted me.”
“I suck at sticking with things,” Tigger said.
 “It takes practice,” I said.  “But before you work on it, make sure you know the difference between persistence and pigheadedness.  Persistent people move relentlessly toward something, but are smart enough to change directions if they have to.   Pigheaded people plow ahead even when they hit a brick wall.  They can’t detour, they won’t adjust.”
Tigger smiled.  “My sister and my brother-in-law love my nephew.  They want him to get his act together, neither one of them will give up on him.   My sister just started going  to  Al-Anon to figure out how other parents deal with their kids’ addiction. My brother-in-law yells at the kid every day, all day.  She’s persistent, he’s pigheaded.” 
 
Today I will be persistent not pigheaded.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose
Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

 (Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Sunday, August 2, 2015

26. Pride v. Conceit
Tigger asked me if I had to rebuild when I got sober. “You haven’t heard my mantra?” I asked, laughing.  “It’s my story in a couple of sentences.  The last time I had a drink I made an illegal left at 3:00 a.m. and hit a county sheriff. I was $35,000 in debt, I’d just gotten kicked out of my Ph.D. program, and my divorce was a month from being final. I was living in apartment with no furniture, just me and a blind cat.”
“What bricks did you find in the rubble?” Tigger asked.  
“The first brick I found was pride. I had enough pride to know I deserved better.  I had enough pride to know I could make my life better.  But, I learned not to pride myself on being further along in my recovery than someone struggling to rebuild his life.  Feeling superior wasn’t pride I was told, but conceit. Conceit made for a poor foundation for rebuilding.

Today I will build on pride, not conceit.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose
Other publications available at: http://www.amazon.com/Ken-Montrose/e/B001K8MG0S

 (Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)