Sunday, January 31, 2016

49.  Starting Here
After the game, Brat Boy was disappointed. He’d played good defense, but the tape and cast had interfered with his shooting.
Blondie said, “Dad was right about doing the best you can under the circumstances.”  They got into a long discussion about the last time I’d been right, agreeing it hadn’t been recently.
“Can we get back to the point?” I asked
Blondie said, “So Brat Boy, at first, you passed every time you got the ball.  By the end you were dribbling and shooting. So what if you missed? You did the best you could with that cast on.  I’d say you made progress.”
“And you can’t measure progress without looking at where you started,” I said. “You started thinking you couldn’t play at all.” I told them about people I’d met who’d come a long way, but were miserable because they weren’t where they wanted to be. “They cheat themselves of a little bit satisfaction.”   

Today I will measure my progress from where I started, as well as where I want to be.
Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Thursday, January 28, 2016

48. The Best I Can, With What I Have, Right Now
Later that day I went to Brat Boy’s basketball game.  Earlier in the week he had landed awkwardly on his right hand, bruising a joint and tearing a tendon in his little finger.  He wore a plastic cast with his last two fingers taped together.  This arrangement hindered his dribbling and shooting.  He was clearly frustrated by halftime.
I said to him, “You’re not always going to be 100%.  The game is now, you’re in the game, do the best you can with what you got.” 
I thought of the people I had known who were waiting to be 100% ready to make changes in their lives.  They didn’t seem to realize the game was on, the clock was running, and they needed to do the best they could at that very moment.

Today I will do the best I can, with what I’ve got, right now.
Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

47. Get Through
Norman said, “Don’t know how I’ll get through this.  My wife and my kid hate me.  I hate me. Marcus next door would hate me if he understood how this is my fault. His parents don’t like me very much.  Neither do my son’s teachers and his coaches. No, don’t know how I’m gonna get past this.”
“You’ll get past this,” Andra said. “But when you do, don’t forget what you’ve been through.  I did, and that’s how I relapsed.” 
She took his arm in hers and they walked down the long hall to the group room.
Today I will remember what I’ve been through.
Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

46. Making a Habit of It
Andra, who was seven years sober before she relapsed, joined the conversation.  “You know that slogan, ‘do the next right thing’?  Doesn’t go far enough.  Do the right thing once, that’s nice. Do it over and over, that’s a habit. Doing the right thing out of habit is much easier than doing a single right thing.  Norm, you have a mess to clean up. You’ll have to do the next right thing a lot.  Sounds like a burden, but it might get you into the habit of doing the right thing, of cleaning up after yourself.”
“Still sucks,” Norman said, shaking his head. “Even if I do get into some good habits.”
“It does suck at first,” Andra said, “but sometimes the habits morph into something good.  When my husband was killed, I spent three years resenting him and drinking.  Then I didn’t drink, over and over, one day at a time.  I started writing about my feelings every day.  That prepared me to visit his grave.  In a year or so I was saying a daily little prayer of gratitude for time spent with him. None of that would have happened if I had just done the next right thing once.”
Today I will do the right thing at least twice.
Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Monday, January 25, 2016

45. Dump Trucked
While I was still in Ms. Rella’s office, fighting with the copier, Norman shuffled in with his head down. He said, “My wife is kicking me out of the house. She can’t forgive me for what the accident did to our son.  When I told my sponsor, he said I should ask Ken about the dump trucks.”

My heart broke for him.  I said, “We order loads of garbage in our addictions. The garbage is the consequences of our bad decisions.  If we’re lucky, the dump trucks hauling our garbage get lost on their way to our door.  Sometimes we get away with things that could have destroyed our lives. Other times the trucks arrive long after we get clean.
I added, “The garbage you ordered before you got sober has found you. I know you feel dumped on, but it could be worse.  Imagine you got sober only to discover you were HIV positive, or you had a lump in your breast you never noticed because you were high for most of ten years.  Imagine you killed someone in a blackout and after five years clean, the police were able to track you down.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” he asked.
“To stay clean, you gotta keep cleaning up.  And you have to stay clean, and not order any more garbage.”

Today I will stay clean, I won’t order any more garbage.
Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Sunday, January 24, 2016

44. Express Line
Later that morning, DUI Dave was at the front desk signing in. 
He said, “I was in the express line at the grocery store.  The woman in front of me had at least fifteen items in her cart.  I fantasized about hitting her in the head with each item, counting them as I went.  I wanted to tell her she was too stupid to shop, storm out of the store and get drunk, and blame her for my drinking. Instead I pointed out the eight item limit.  Since I had just one, I asked if I could go in front of her. She huffed, the woman at the register frowned at her, and she stepped aside like I owed her for giving me a kidney.  I thanked her.”
“That sounds great,” Ms. Rella said. “You handled that well.”
“Yeah, but in the lot I made a rude gesture at somebody taking forever to park.  Passing by, I saw he was a really, really, old priest.  He smiled.  I don’t think he saw I had waved with just one finger. I felt like a total jackass. He wasn’t taking his time just to annoy me.  He probably did everything slow.”
“Progress not perfection,” I said.
Today I will be grateful for any situation I handle well.

Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Thursday, January 21, 2016

43. Summer is Coming
The next I received an ad from a company selling outdoor gear.  The photo showed a young couple fishing from a boat, sunlight reflecting off the water. He was shirtless and wearing flip-flops.  Barefoot and smiling for the camera, she wore a t-shirt and bikini bottoms. I sat in my office, still huddled in my coat, cold from the short walk from my car to the building entrance. Slush in my shoe had numbed half my left foot. A blizzard was expected to blanket the region over the weekend.
‘Summer is coming,’ the happy voice in my head said.  I looked out the window. ‘In five months,’ a less cheerful voice answered. “But it is coming,” I said out loud. 
When I first got sober, I annoyed everyone by asking daily when better times were coming. People told me to be patient.  I stifled the urge to strangle them.  Until, one day, like summer, better times arrived.
Today I will remember summer is coming.
Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose


(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

42. A Little Piece of Peace
As I walked out of the meeting, Tucker amazed me by sticking out his hand. He said nothing, stared off to my left, and shuffled his feet. I shook his hand, knowing this was a close to an apology as he could manage. I still wanted to say ‘told you so,’ but my relief outweighed my anger.  He shuffled away and gratitude replaced relief.
“No more stupid arguments, old man,” I said to myself when he was out of earshot.  “And I did tell you so.”

Today I will be grateful for anybody with whom I’ve made peace.

Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Tuesday, January 19, 2016

41. I Won’t Say ‘Told You So’
Two weeks later I ran into Tucker, the most miserable dry drunk I’d ever met, at an AA meeting.  He had been discharged from the hospital the day before, having survived his wrestling match with a moving car.  To my amazement, he only nodded his head in my direction as I passed him in the doorway.  No snide comments, no name calling, not one sarcastic remark.
Later that night, I learned his accident had been an eye-opener.  To his horror, he’d found he needed certain medications.  He’d discovered he preferred not to be awake for surgery, antibiotics help with the healing process, and sometimes even tough guys get overwhelmed by pain. 
For years he’d sneered at anyone on medications, going so far as to label insulin a mood-altering drug, and antibiotics a ‘crutch for impatient people whose bodies would heal naturally.’ Oh, how I needed to say ‘told you so.' I wanted to ask him if he still thought taking medications was a sign of weakness.
Unfortunately my conscience woke up. I realized Tucker had just discovered he was human, and not immune to the illnesses and injuries that plagued the rest of us. He was down, and kicking him wasn’t likely to make me feel good for long. I swore under my breath and went home without saying anything to him.
Today I will think twice before I say ‘told you so.’

Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Monday, January 18, 2016

40. Get it?
Weeks after my birthday, my son handed me a card.  Scribbled above his signature were the words ‘You are arguably the best father I’ve ever had.’  I laughed. I was the only father he’d ever had.   Months earlier I had written on his birthday card ‘you’re like a son to me.’

“You two are strange,” my wife said, smiling.

“Yeah, we are.  But we get each other’s sense of humor.  It’s good to have someone who gets you.  I think that’s why things like AA and survivor support groups work.  You know that old expression, ‘joy shared is doubled, sorrow shared is halved’?  The more the people you share with get your joy or sorrow, the truer that saying is.”

Today I will be grateful for people who get me.

Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Sunday, January 17, 2016

39. One Decent Act
I asked Marjorie how she ended up a soccer mom.
She said, “I woke up in bed in a strange apartment one morning.  I was fully dressed. A guy was sleeping on the couch when I stumbled into the living room.” She laughed, “The first words I said to my future husband? ‘Who the &^%$ are you?’  He said when we got to his apartment the night before, he realized I was more drunk than I had seemed in the bar.  Apparently I still wanted to, but he got me into bed, put a bucket by my head, and went to sleep on the couch. I had a vague recollection of arguing with him, so I thought he might have been telling the truth.”
She added, “You know what word you don’t hear much anymore? Decent. My husband wasn’t a saint, but just his one decent act got me thinking.  In a couple months I got back to the path I’d been on before my mother died.” 

Today I will celebrate the power of one decent act.
Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Thursday, January 14, 2016

38. Stronger?
Later that day Marjorie and talked about things that strengthen us.  She said, “My father abandoned my brother and me right after I was born. My mother remarried two years later.  My stepdad was wonderful.  He had two older boys my brother idolized.  They treated me like a princess. When I was twelve, one of my stepbrothers died of leukemia. The week I went to college my stepfather and my brother drowned in a boating accident.  My other stepbrother drifted away from us.  I haven’t heard from him in years.  During my senior year in college my mother and I were diagnosed with breast cancer a week apart.  The day after I graduated she pulled into the garage and left the motor running. Life kicked me. Now I know I’m stronger for it.  But back then, I wanted to kick Life back.”
“What do you mean by ‘kicking Life back’?” I asked.
“To show Life I wasn’t afraid, I put myself in jeopardy.  I drove drunk all the time.  I slept around, putting myself in dangerous situations with scary people. Now I have blank spaces in my memory and nightmares.  Images I’d rather forget. Guilt and shame.  Kicking myself to punish Life never made me any stronger.”
Today I will remember some things that don’t kill me don’t make me stronger,
especially things I’ve done to myself.
Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

37. Back to Reality
Dave left for group and I turned my attention to my email.  According to the messages caught in my spam filter, life was about to get much better.
I called my wife to share the good news. “For $100 you can buy a device that cuts your electric bill by two-thirds. Power companies hate it.  That may not matter because a woman in Qatar will split her inheritance with me if I’ll pay the processing fees with my credit card. Might be a scam, but I have a backup plan.  Did you know you could make $8,000 a month working an hour a day from home? I hope being rich doesn’t change us.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her about the Russian women lining up to meet me.
She laughed. “Hate to bring you back to reality, but we’re out of milk. My car’s due for state inspection. Two hundred thousand miles – you know it’ll need work.  Don’t forget you’re taking Brat Boy to the orthodontist tomorrow. Since we’re not rich yet, how does ordering pizza and watching a movie sound?”
It sounded like heaven. After I hit bottom, getting to where I could enjoy reality had taken some effort.  I wasn’t about to pass up a chance to do so.

Today I will enjoy reality whenever I can.

Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

36. A Certain Kind of Tired
“What brought you to this insight?” I asked DUI Dave. “Something happen?”
“Nothing happened,” he said.  “Maybe tomorrow I’ll be back to my old, angry, never-wrong self, but today I’m out of venom. I’m tired.  Sounds crazy, but I’m kinda grateful I’m so worn down.” 
For the first time, I heard him laugh, not a mocking laugh, but a real laugh.  “Now if I could run out of jealousy and stupidity, I’d be OK.”
“AA has that slogan ‘sick and tired of being sick and tired,” I said. “Mostly it’s to remind you why you quit in the first place.  I think it has another meaning.  You know how they say a crisis is also an opportunity?”
Dave finished my thought for me, “A certain kind of tired is an opportunity, too. You’re forced to slow down and take a look at yourself.  Maybe change something before you get your second wind.”

Today I’ll be grateful for being a certain kind of tired.

Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Monday, January 11, 2016

35. Fault lines
When I got to work the next day, DUI Dave was sitting by himself in the group room, staring at the floor.
“I’m an ass,” he said.  “I’ve know it for years.”  I could have argued with him, but doubted I’d sound sincere.  I waited for him to speak again.
“Mostly I drink ‘cause I like to,” he added. “But a lot of times I drink ‘cause I hate when I’m wrong and can’t admit it. That happens a lot.  The more wrong I am, the louder and drunker I get. It cost me my first marriage. I’d like to make a 180 degree turn, but if I do, I’ll have to apologize to a million people. ”
I said, “You won’t change overnight and you don’t have to apologize to everyone all at once.  Most people don’t demolish their faults, they chip away at them.” I brought him into my office and showed him my filing system, spread sheets, and other tools I used in a semi-successful attempt to stay organized. “I’ve been chipping away at my tendency to be disorganized for more than a decade.  Progress, not perfection.”

Today I will chip away at my faults.
Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Sunday, January 10, 2016

34. Ga – gratitude lists
The rest of the day had been long and disappointing. That night at the gym, I picked a difficult course on the stationary bike, knowing a good workout always lifted my mood.
The bike’s screen filled with images of a mountain trail.  A group of computer generated cyclists raced ahead of me on the course. I peddled furiously, muttering insults as I passed each one.   The guy on the bike next to me got up abruptly and left.
I switched from insults to a consonant/vowel combination gratitude list.   Quietly I said, “Ba – bagels, salt bagels and peanut butter, mmmm.  Be – my friend and sister Beverly.  Bi –binges I didn’t go on anymore. Otherwise I would have been throwing up over the handlebars.   Bo – boxers, great dogs, I was sorry the one next door was moving.  Bu – but I had my own dog.  By – good to say ‘buh bye!’to people I wouldn’t miss. Bl – Blondie, my daughter, fierce, determined, kindhearted, and forever my little girl.  Br – Brat Boy, my son, funny, considerate, and loving.
By the time I got to “Zo – zombies, glad they’re not real” I was almost done with the course and in a great mood.
Today I will put together a really long gratitude list.

Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Thursday, January 7, 2016

33. Bored, Busy, Happy
The next day I asked Terrence how his recovery was going.  He said life seemed bland and boring at times.   I told him brain chemistry was probably part of the problem, and to be patient with the healing process.  I also told him how I learned to be proactive about boredom.
“My mother’s eyes would light up if you said you were bored,” I told him. “‘You’re bored?’ she’d ask. ‘Let me find something for you to do.’  The next thing you knew you’d be picking up after the dog, or cleaning the basement.  We all learned not to be bored.  I think my mother had the right idea.  Faced with something you really hate doing, you’ll find something else to do.  Maybe not something thrilling, but something.
“My mother used to say ‘bored, busy, happy,’” Terrence said. “If you’re bored, at least get busy. If you stay busy long enough, you’ll likely end up happy. ”   

Today I will get busy getting past boredom.
Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Wednesday, January 6, 2016

32. Beware The Cure
Marjorie knew she got addicted to alcohol self-medicating her anxiety and depression.  She also knew what hadn’t worked.
“I used to take antidepressants and drink,” she said.  “The pills didn’t live up to the TV ad hype.  I quit them, and stopped drinking.  I got on the most depressing diet imaginable until I drank again.  For a while I exercised twice a day.  I was one buff, sad, alcoholic.” She laughed, and added, “I’ve glued magnets to my temples, and worn copper wire woven into my socks.  I bought a radio wave machine for three easy payments of $99. Enemas. Coffee enemas.”  
I said, “Decide there’s just one cause for your problems, and you’re likely to look for just one cure. Plenty of people want to sell you that one cure.  Whatever problem you have, use all your resources:  ‘carrot and stick, tough and love, all the above.’ Don’t drink.  Take the medications, but do everything you can to need as little as possible.  Exercise, eat better, pray, meditate, do yoga, get some cognitive therapy, work a Twelve Step program. Whatever common sense approaches help.”
She laughed again, and said, “You really don’t want to know about the coffee.” I assured her she was right.
Today I will stop looking for ‘the cure’ and start using all my resources.
Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Tuesday, January 5, 2016

31. Almost Ready
After I finished with Terrence, I got a text from an old friend. After five years, he was almost done researching his novel.
I wrote ‘A guy sent us a ten page questionnaire on our treatment program. He looked into methadone, nutrition, and acupuncture. He’d call me to discuss Twelve Step programs, going over every little detail, including their history.  He did a spread sheet on the cost of treatment, how much insurance covered, and benefits of upscale facilities.  He OD’d. The hospital sent him from their ER to the first recovery program they called that had an open bed.  He’s clean maybe ten years now.’  
‘What’s your point?’ my friend typed.
‘All that research was a way to put off getting help. Stop researching and write the novel now. Procrastination often disguises itself as preparation.’

Today I will remember procrastination often disguises itself as preparation.

Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Monday, January 4, 2016

30. Who’s to Blame for That Sinking Feeling?
The next day Terrence needed a urine drug screen.  As I got the paperwork ready, he shared a little of his story.
“I never abused the medications,” he said.  “I was in a lot of pain, and I took them as prescribed.  After I realized I was hooked, I spent a lot of time trying to decide whose fault it was.”
“What did you decide?” I asked.
“If you’re a marine, on a sinking ship, it does you no good to curse the Navy.  It’s too late to ask yourself why you didn’t join the Air Force. I decided rehab was my life raft, and it was time to forget about blame.”
“You’re a wise man, Terrence,” I said. “I couldn’t tell you all the people I’ve seen sink while they looked for someone to blame.  Kids running amok while parents blamed each other.  Businesses failing while people cursed the economy rather than dealing with the problem.   The list goes on.”

Today I will set aside blame to deal with the issues at hand.

Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Sunday, January 3, 2016

29. Only Human
That night at an AA meeting I heard that Tucker, the world’s most miserable dry drunk, had been hit by a car and was in the hospital.  Tucker hated rehabs, newcomers, me, the entire mental health treatment system, and dogs.  I tried to ignore and avoid him when I could. 
Even so, I thought I should feel bad for him.  I tried to work up some sympathy, but failed. After an hour or so of feeling guilty about my lack of compassion, I gave up.
“You’re only human,” I said to myself, accepting the obvious.  

Today I will accept being human.
Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Friday, January 1, 2016

Happy New Year!


Today I will make one small resolution. If that goes well, I'll make another tomorrow.