Thursday, October 29, 2015

90. Listen, Friend
The next day I sent an email ad to 2,000 addiction and mental health professionals in western Pennsylvania.  Unfortunately, I was a little rusty on the software. I sent it before I realized I hadn’t changed the template. Instead of my information, they got suggestions on how to write the ad.  The sarcastic little voice in my head said, ‘Look on the bright side, only 70% of your local colleagues got that mess of a message.’
‘That’s harsh,’ I answered the voice.  I asked myself what I might say to a friend who had done the same thing.  I’d say apologize, correct your mistake, and move on. That’s what I did.

Today I will be no harsher with myself than I would be with a good friend.

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, October 28, 2015


89. Promises, Promises
The next day Phil complained that his wife Carolyn still wouldn’t let him move back home. He said he had learned his lesson, he was done with booze.  He couldn’t understand why she didn’t see he meant it this time.
I pointed out he had told her that many times. While he might feel differently, his promise sounded just like the promises he had made a thousand times before.   
“Promises kept become lenses through which people see the strength and goodness of their relationships,” I said.  “Promises broken leave shards that cut.  The more times you lie or break a promise, the longer it takes for people to believe you when you are sincere. Most people feel betrayed when someone they love breaks promise after promise.  You’ll just have to be patient.  Lord knows she’s been patient with you.”
Today I will keep my promises.

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.)









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, October 27, 2015

88. Can’t Win ‘em All
“How’s Amanda these days?” I asked the kids.  Neither of them knew Amanda’s mother Tara was in treatment. The whole family was struggling.  Tara, was working hard to stay clean and sober.  Amanda’s father had been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimers.  Amanda was trying to become a better person, changing the character traits that had earned her the nickname ‘Demanda.’ 
“People are starting to cut her some slack,” Brat Boy said.  “She’s like another person, someone you might actually like.”
“She still hasn’t won some people over,” Blondie said.  “Some she’s never going to win over. Idiots.”
I thought of people who, almost three decades into my sobriety, still wondered why I couldn’t have a beer or two, were insulted I wouldn’t drink with them, or insisted I must be getting chemically altered some other way.  I hadn’t won them over, and lost no sleep over it.
“Tell her you can’t win ‘em all, and you can’t win ‘em all over,” I said. “No sense in worrying about ‘em.”

Today I will remember, you can’t win ‘em all over, so I won’t even try.
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, October 26, 2015

87. Think Collectively, Respect Individually

When I got home Blondie was helping Brat Boy with an assignment. He had to come up with a slogan that would make people think about their actions. Then he and two classmates had to act out a scene where the slogan applied.

"It's got to convey a good message in under ten words, Daddy," Blondie said. "Something like
'think globally, act locally.'"

"Think collectively, respect individually," I said.  "You impersonate an actor who claims he supports the working class. That's the collective part. Your friend plays  a waiter the actor verbally abuses.  Your other friend plays a manager who politely asks the actor to respect the waiter or leave. That's the individual part."

"I like it," Brat Boy said.  "Can the waiter and the manager kick the crap out of the actor for being so rude?"

"Better if they don't," I said.

Today I will think collectively, but respect people individually.

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, October 25, 2015

86. Pull Ups

"Tim is going to Al-Anon," Tigger said when our paths crossed in the parking lot at the end of the day. "A friend of a friend saw him there."

"Good for him," I said.

"Yep," Tigger said. "Maybe he'll learn not to be played by addicts like me."

"You don't sound happy."

He ground out his cigarette.  Looked away, took out another, broke it in half, and threw it into the shrubs.  "I'm a horrible person," he said.  "I should be happy for him, but I'm not.  I hated how my addictions hurt him, but I .... damn .... I'm not a good person.  Part of me loved manipulating him.  He was so kind and thoughtful, he made me feel like something he forgot to flush.  Making him wonder what he'd done wrong, letting him think he contributed to my drinking, it kinda gave me a feeling of power, maybe leveled the playing field a little. Is that terrible?"

I shrugged. "Sounds human. When we're low we can pull ourselves up or other people down. Pulling them down is easier.  Give yourself credit for admitting you did.  And put all your effort into pulling yourself up."

Today I will put my effort into pulling myself up.

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, October 22, 2015

85. Say the Next Right Thing
Mick called us on Friday to say she was nineteen weeks into her pregnancy, the baby was fine, and she was still clean.  She choked up a little when she told us the baby could hear her voice now.
"What if I say the wrong thing?" she asked.  "From now on, my child will be listening."

Miss Rella told her to relax, kids never really listen anyway.  Mick laughed a little, but asked me if I'd ever said the wrong thing at a training or when I was running group.  A long list of bonehead, ill-advised, mistaken, and insensitive comments came to mind.  I decided repeating them served no purpose.

Instead, I said, "It's natural to worry about saying the wrong thing.  I purposely try to say the right thing when I can just in case I say the wrong thing accidentally.  For example,  I say I love you to my family as often as I can. That way when I call Blondie's boyfriend some other boy's name, she's not quite as mad at me.

The Other Ken studied me for a moment. "You call her boyfriends the wrong name on purpose," he said. "Nothing accidental about it!"

"We're fathers with daughters," I said. "It's our job to keep boyfriends off balance."

Today I will say the right thing as often as I can, 
especially if that right thing is 'I love you.'

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, October 21, 2015

84. Wings

"You know what's funny?" Sam asked me.  "My sister Gloria has been clean for eighteen months.  My parents are convinced she's miserable and gonna come to her senses any day now.  By 'come to her senses' they mean start getting high again. I wouldn't be surprised if my mom has a bottle of Xanax set aside for Gloria. They tell Gloria they'll always be there for her.  I don't think they even know they're waiting for her to fall so they can take her back to their sick little nest."

"Vultures and angels both have wings," I said.  "When you're really down it's good idea to look closely at whoever comes to be with you. You don't want to confuse one for the other."

Today I will accept help with a little bit of caution.

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, October 20, 2015

83. This Side of Reality

“How’s your mother feel about you not seeking custody?” I asked Sam when I ran into him at the end of the day.
“Totally betrayed,” Sam said. “Mom rewrites history making herself the hero. Any time you go against her, she reminds you how her heroics saved you.  You’re then supposed to melt into a puddle of guilt and gratitude.  Do you remember the story of my sister’s accident, how a drunk driver killed her boyfriend? In my mom’s version, Gloria was about to have a heart attack in the E.R.  Just in the nick of time Mom administered a Valium, saving the day.  She says the E.R. medications, not the Valium, almost killed Gloria.  In her mind she saved Gloria and Gloria stabbed her in the back by taking my side.”
“What do you think?”

“Mom loves me to death, but she’s completely irrational and unreasonable.   I have to love her from this side of reality, even if she hates me for it.”

Today I will love someone from this side of reality.
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, October 19, 2015


82. Aha! I see me clearly now!
The Other Ken was smiling when he walked into the break room the next day.  "Sam called off the crooked lawyer his dad hired.  Dad said he'd use the lawyer to get custody himself.  Sam said he'd make trouble for him and lawyer.  When that didn't get his Dad to back off, Sam called in his grandma and his sister!"

I was stunned that Sam had gone against his father, but there was more.  The Other Ken added, "Sam had this aha moment where he realized getting his kid back through bribery might mean he wasn't ready to be a good father.  That lead Sam to thinking his dad wasn't fit to be a father when Sam was born.  The thought of his father raising another addict infuriated him.  It's like that one insight opened his eyes to his whole life."

I hadn't had a lot of hope for Sam. Once again I was wrong, and happy to be so. I had underestimated the power of the aha moment.

Today I will hope for the aha moment, the sudden insight, and the 'what the hell was I thinking?' realization. 

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, October 18, 2015

81.Accepting Not Accepting
Tara was sitting in the group room by herself when I walked back to my office after lunch.  She looked like she wanted to punch someone.  As I approached, she said, "Amanda and her father watched that movie about the college professor with early onset Alzheimers. They never do anything together. They don't eat together, they don't talk a lot, and they sure as hell don't share a blanket, laughing and crying over some stupid story!"  

She was shaking with anger. Tara resented her family for dealing with his diagnosis better than she was. Resenting their acceptance left Tara feeling petty and small. 

"Acceptance is not a competition," I said. "Besides, we're all better at accepting some things and not so good at accepting others." It took a while for her to calm down as we talked about things hard to accept. We wound our way from the serious to the silly, from cancer to endless lists on the bottom of every webpage.

"Six ways noisy toys shorten your life," I said. "They left off buying a friend's kid a loud toy could get you killed."

"Ten celebrities who were actually aliens," she added. "Can't accept there were only ten."

Today I will accept some things are easier than others to accept. 


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, October 15, 2015

80. Healthy Appetites
The next day Mick, who was changing her name to Ashley, called to let us know she was doing well.  We put her on speaker phone in the counselors' break room.  The Other Ken joked with her, pointing out she had only been gone two days.  Mick was excited.  Her baby was doing well.  
"I'm eating healthy," Mick said.  "Can you believe it? Do you know what I had for lunch? Broccoli, chicken breasts, and brown rice.  I had a ton of each, but that's still healthy, right?" She went on to say she was feeding other healthy appetites. She had joined a book club, gone to church, and was looking a gym memberships.  She told us she felt better than she had in years, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. 
 
Today I will feed my healthy appetites. 

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, October 14, 2015

79. Another Point of View
The first person to share at an AA meeting that night called himself a traditionalist. He spoke at length about AA's shortcomings.  I’d met many like him. They accused anybody who disagreed with them of stinkin’ thinkin’.  Claiming to follow the ‘real AA’ more closely than others, they overlooked AA’s Conference-Approved Literature.   They ignored Bill W.'s advice on cooperating with doctors, including psychiatrists.  Believing they had been misdiagnosed, many felt all mental health diagnoses were false. They were traditionalists who picked cafeteria style which traditions they followed and which they ignored.  Their type I was hardly unique to AA. 

I’d learned not to argue with them.  The best I could do was offer a patient, kind, and reasonable point of view to counter their extremism.

Today I will try to offer a patient, kind, and reasonable point of view.

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

78. Being There
That night Blondie’s soccer team honored the seniors, including Blondie. 

A little blond girl about the age Blondie was when she started playing soccer sat several rows in front of us in the stands.  She wore a jersey from the league Blondie had played in when she was just learning the game.  I had to look away.

“Are you crying?” my wife asked.

“Allergies,” I said turning away and wiping my eyes.

“You’re not allergic to anything,” she whispered.

I thought about all the games I had watched, all the club teams, the school teams, the tournaments, and the leagues.  When I had missed her games I was with Brat Boy at one of his.  Years earlier I had written that one of recovery’s greatest rewards was being there when loved ones needed you.   I was right, and maybe a little sad, thinking of the people who couldn’t  be around for friends and family.


Today I will be grateful whenever I can be there for a loved one.

Monday, October 12, 2015

77. Small Changes
The next day Mick finished treatment.  She told the group she was changing her name.
“I can’t stand my real name, Glinda, and Mick is short for Michelob.  Both names make me think about drinking.  I’m legally changing my first name to Ashley ‘cause I feel like I’m rising out of the ashes,” she said with a smile. I might even name the baby ‘Phoenix.”
“What will changing your name accomplish?” Phil asked, rolling his eyes.
Too my surprise, Tara defended Mick. “Any little thing you do to change the people, places, and things of your addiction improves your chances of staying clean,” Tara said.  She had been struggling to be a nicer person, but she couldn’t help but add, “You should try changing something, Phil. I’d start with that shirt.”  Group went a little downhill from there.

Today I will be happy with small, positive, changes. 

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, October 11, 2015

76. Of Mice and Moles
Five days earlier my wife had laughed at me for believing the cat understood my instructions to catch moles rather than mice.  When I got home that day two dead moles rested eternally on the deck.  Normally I would have buried them immediately.  Instead I opened a can of tuna for the cat. “You are the best!” I said. I could see in his eyes he knew what I was saying.
I wrote a note for my wife: ‘Ain’t it nice, caught two moles, and no mice?’ Signed it, “Kitty” and drew a paw print. I made two tiny cardboard grave markers with the names ‘Ima Mole’ and ‘Ken Was-Wright’
Blondie asked me why I was putting so much effort into two dead rodents.  I told her celebrating the little things helped me stay sober. “Gloating over a coincidence is part of your recovery?” Blondie asked.
“Don’t you have homework to do?” I answered.


Life may be tough today, but I will be grateful for little things that go my way.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

75. It’s Only A Never Until You Do It
“Seventeen weeks,” Mick said. “I never thought I’d get this far without drinking.  Did you know I’m done with treatment tomorrow?  Never thought I’d complete successfully.”
 “You know what you should do today? Write a list of nevers – things you didn’t think you’d ever be able to do that you did.  Start as far back as you can remember. Include things you didn’t think you could do as a kid that you grew into.  Remind yourself you’re capable of more.”
“What nevers would make your list?” Mick asked.
“I didn’t ride a roller coaster until I was in my forties.  We made a trip to Disney and I wasn’t going to let my daughter ride alone. On Space Mountain I thought I was going to hit my head and die.  I rode it twice anyway.”
Today I will write a list of nevers, things I thought I‘d never be able to do, but did.
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, October 7, 2015

74. Help By Not Helping
Phil snorted. “I’d like to go home, but she won’t let me in.  She says I can’t come back until I finish the program here. I’m sleeping on my brother’s couch.  Me and that shaggy mutt of his. People think my wife’s such a saint.  Would a saint ignore her wedding vows?  For better or worse, in sickness and in health.  Well I’m sick and she’s not helping me. I should be home and she should be looking after me.”
I stifled a laugh.  Carolyn and Phil’s family had agreed he should stay with his youngest brother knowing Phil hated the dog.  They didn’t want Phil to be homeless, but they also didn’t want him to be too comfortable with his relapse.
“Sometimes we help people by not doing things for them. If she was taking care of you, you’d have less incentive to complete treatment.  Besides, you’re a grown man.  Isn’t it time you looked after yourself, maybe accepted the consequences of your actions?”
“Of course you’d side with her,” he said, walking away.

Today I will accept some people help me by doing nothing for 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.)

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

73. Stranded in a Wasteland
Phil came back the next day. The police had been called after he passed out in public. They dropped him off at the hospital. The hospital discharged him back to the shelter. Phil didn’t think his binge had been a big deal because he hadn’t gone to jail.  
 “You were stranded in the middle of a wasteland,” I said. “That’s just as bad.”
“I wasn’t stranded, I was in the library.”
 “Drunk as you were, nothing in the library was any use to you.  Seems like a waste to me.  Nobody wanted to be near you, you were all alone. You couldn’t get home on your own. In a wasteland, all alone, with no way to get home.  Isn't that being stranded?”
“Still don’t think it was a wasteland,” Phil said.
“Wastelands are everywhere.  People drinking to get numb, working long hours to avoid a home life, having sex instead of relationships, are all stranded in wastelands.  And those are just a few of the wastelands.  You gotta stay out of the wastelands and get home to Carolyn.”
.
Today I will stay out of wastelands.

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, October 5, 2015

72. Strange Love
“I heard you,” my wife said.  I decided to go with my strong suit – I played dumb, staring blankly.  “I heard you explaining to the cat why he should catch moles rather than mice.  Do you really think he understands?”
Maybe telling the cat my rodent preference was a little odd, but given all the times I’d drowned my brain in alcohol, I thought I could have ended up a lot stranger.
“That cat will catch nothing but moles from now on, and you will owe me a huge apology,” I said.
“You are so strange, but I couldn’t love you more,” she said with a smile.  “Why don’t you convince the dog to sleep in on weekends?”

Today I’ll be grateful I’m no stranger than I am.
Today I will be grateful for the people who love me despite my peculiarities.

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, October 4, 2015

71. On Thinking Clearly and Gratitude
Two days later Tara joined me at the edge of our parking lot, watching a hawk circle overhead. 
She said, “Since I turned fifteen I’ve tried to spend as much time as possible being just a little drunk. When I wasn’t drunk, I took Valium, anything not to think about my boring job.  Anything included fantasizing about the dentist I was sleeping with.   That hawk is like dementia, circling until it swoops down to carry my husband’s mind away.  I’m the one who never valued thinking clearly.  The hawk should be circling for me.”
“You’re clear-headed now,” I said.  “Does it make sense to beat yourself up for not having a dreaded disease? Or do you think you might grateful you're thinking clear, and put that ability to good use?

Today I will be grateful for the ability to think clearly.

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, October 1, 2015

70. This Will Cheer You Up
Mick stood in the doorway and said, “Sixteen weeks pregnant and all is well.”
I congratulated her. She started to cry.  She said pre-natal testing had confirmed her boyfriend was the father.  
“This is good news,” I pointed out.  She cried even harder.  Tigger tried to help. “Your cheating probably made him wonder how often you got drunk with your coke dealer.  The other guy’s a real stud, right?  I’d bet boyfriend pictured you with a long line of coke dealers, each of them better looking than him.  And he stayed with you? He must really love you. He’ll be a good daddy.”
I looked over at Mick, expecting her to be furious, bawling, or both.  She was smiling. 
“Tigger you suck so bad at cheering people up, it makes me laugh,” Mick said, wiping a tear from her eye.  “You’re really saying only someone really in love could partner up with a drunken, coked-up, tramp like me.  That’s supposed to make me feel better? It worked!”
  
Today I will be grateful for whatever works, for whatever reason.

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.)