Tag: family

Change is in the air

I love Autumn. Please don’t tell “Summer Me”, I don’t want any hurt feelings. Summer is my favorite season because I love long days, the feeling of the Sun beating down on me, and all of the activities that we cram into a very short season. I romanticize the glory of Summer all winter long because I certifiably hate winter. It’s not so much the cold, but instead the short days and grey skies. SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) is a real thing. But after Summer and before the dreaded Winter is Fall. And I love it, despite what comes after it.

About mid-August each year I begin looking forward to Fall weather. The cooler air is a nice break (my asthma welcomes it), a whole new set of outdoor activities awaits, the bugs are gone, and, at least in New England, the scenery is magnificent. Bring on the Fairs, cider, pumpkins, and sweatshirt weather.

This fall will be special for me for 2 reasons.
First, I can coast a bit after a very busy, not-very-fun Summer. I dedicated this summer to working. I really dove into promoting my side hustle of cleaning cars and also worked a part-time job. I had a very successful summer. For a person with my health history, I really pushed myself. I did well with it, I am much healthier as a result. I am also much better off financially.
Additionally, and most exciting, there are some significant changes in the coming weeks. Due to my revived health and improved finances, I am finally moving out of Mom’s house.

Moving away from Mom is bittersweet. We get along great and she is sad to see me go, but it’s time. Whether it is valid or not, I cannot get past the notion that a grown-ass man shouldn’t be living with Mom. There are those that disagree but I can’t get past it. I need to feel like I’m on my own to a degree. Moving in with my good friend and podcast partner Steve will benefit me. We’re very close friends and it should be productive as well as fun.
Mom will be fine. I’m only doing this because she spends half of her time in Florida now. She doesn’t need me as much and I hate being alone when she’s gone. Also, I’m only 2 hours away.

I’m on the precipice of getting my life back. Seeing my friends and family more often (I have no friends where I am, it’s a much older community). Also, my beloved Masonic circle is based where I am moving and after almost a year away from it, I am eager to dive back in.

Here’s to change. The changing of the seasons and the changes in my life. After years of setbacks and lateral moves, I am finally moving forward.

purpose

I need to find something gratifying to do with my life.

Despite some recent emotional ups and downs I must concede that my life is going fairly well right now. My health is excellent, which is paramount to all else. My numbers are perfect, my Doctors are nothing less than thrilled with the performance of the new kidney.
I have been working hard all summer. This is satisfying on more than one level; I am pleased that my body had risen to the task of long days and physical exertion. 3 years ago I was nowhere near able to do what I have been doing this year. I really feel great.
Additionally, I have really built up my savings. While I am nowhere near financially secure, I was destitute not terribly long ago.
Because of my financial improvement, I am about to get a very large monkey off of my back. I am moving out of mom’s house. This is bittersweet because I really like it here. It is a nice place. I’m surrounded by beautiful country, the people are nice, and my mother and I really get along well. Still, I have yet to embrace the notion of a man my age living with his mother. It’s something I can’t get past.

I am moving in with a friend next month. He’s a good friend. He welcomed me into his home when it all fell apart in 2016. I had to move when I got real sick but he has welcomed me to return. He is being very fair with the rent as a favor to me. He is looking forward to the company as well. We are doing a podcast together as well as tossing around some other ventures and getting in the same room should yield some positive results. The biggest bonus, the driving force behind my wanting to move is that I will be closer to my children, friends and my Masonic community.

Yes, all is going well. I have put the desire for a companion on the back burner for now and it feels like the right decision. I have only one thing left to feel semi-complete. I need to find something that is gratifying to the soul. When I promised the Universe that I would give back as often and as generously as I could in exchange for the gift of another chance I meant it. When I was working with addiction clients I was living up to it. Unfortunately, I had to stop that. Now I need to find something else. Either as a part-time position or as a volunteer.

I am only happy when I feel I am living a life of purpose.

Nostalgia

Every once in a while, Netflix gets it right and they actually add a movie that I want to watch. Imagine my joy when I stumbled across one of my all-time favorite movies, George Lucas’s 1973 hit American Graffiti.

Where do I begin? The cast?
Ron Howard, six months before he would debut as Richie Cunningham on Happy Days. Cindy Williams 3 years before she became the infamous Shirley on Laverne and Shirley. Richard Dreyfuss. Mackenzie Phillips, Suzanne Somers, and Harrison Ford were all in their first big role. Add to the mix Wolfman Jack and you have a heluva cast.

The cars?
John Milner’s chopped ’32 Ford Standard coupe. Bob Falfa’s (Ford) badass ’55 Chevy Belair. The mysterious ’56 Silver Thunderbird with the porthole windows driven by Somers. Steve Bolander’s (Howard) cherry ’58 Impala. Oh man, for a Detroit muscle buff such as myself, it is a veritable wet dream.

The story?
It is 1965 Modesto California. It is a typical Saturday night and the locals are blowing off steam. Typical of the time, looking “cool” was the law of the land and, given the puritanical nature of the time, there was not much else to do except ride around in cars, go to arcades and sock hops, and create a harmless ruckus while driving around. We are introduced to the players; the too-old-to-be-hanging-out-with-teenagers guy with the hot car who is always being challenged to race. The local young people that have menial 9-5’s and live for the weekend. Gangs, car clubs, and packs of teenage girls defying Daddy for a few hours. Add to the mix that this is no typical Saturday night for a small group of teens, for it is the eve of them leaving for college the next morning. Relationships are called into question(should we see other people?), feet are getting cold as one promising student is thinking of not going. They are all grappling with change and fear of what the future will hold. I won’t ruin the ending for you other than the inevitable drag race ends up altering the plans of two of them.

It is a wonderful character study about fear and uncertainty. Of the familiar and the question of whether it is better to be comfortable or to try something new. All against the backdrop of 1960’s America.

And there it is, that is what I love about the movie. The era.

I was born in 1965. A mere 3 years earlier my mom and dad were likely in a similar scene. My dad was a car fanatic and he belonged to a club. He was an amateur stock car driver. He was also a bit of a hellion with that fast Lincoln of his. Cruising the strip, bantering with other drivers with my mom under his arm is totally conceivable. My mom telling him to slow down, not get a ticket or into an accident, and to have her home before her father “grounds her” is also very believable. They lived the movie. The two of them could have been dropped into the set of that movie and nobody would have blinked. The guy in the white tee shirt with the Camels rolled into the sleeve? That was my dad. The girl in the Pencil dress and sensible shoes? That was my mom.

I often fantasize about being a teenager back then. While they may have thought that they were pushing the envelope, we now know that their version is pale compared to today. It can almost be considered tame and wholesome. But they didn’t know that.

They also didn’t know what would happen just a few short years later. Vietnam would escalate. Draft cards were coming. Parents and authority figures, particularly parents, became the enemy as generations clashed. People would be forced to tune in or drop out. EVERYTHING would change soon for the innocent, harmless locals.

But there is always the movie. A reminder of a better time. A more innocent time. A time that ceased to exist not long after. Oh yeah, did I mention the CARS?

On associations

Even when I’m doing a good job of not dwelling on the past, it still rears its ugly head. If I had to guess, it is almost always in the form of association.

I came across the movie Johnny Dangerously on HBO MAX today. There really aren’t words to describe how much I love the movie. It’s just the slapstick, parody silly shit the doctor has always prescribed. I know every line. Of course I watched it.

So where does my mind go? Ernie.

Ernie is not his real name. I wouldn’t give up his real name. It’s a nickname and a funny one at that. His premature receding hairline and oddly shaped head gave him a striking resemblance to Ernie of Ernie and Bert fame. He was a good guy and, like everything else in his life, he rolled with the nickname. He never had it easy. Girls eluded him, he never got his shot at Stand-up Comedy, he lost his brother to a tragic suicide soon after High School, his relationship with his family was very complicated.

I was there for all of it. We were, after all, best of friends. After High School, we both attended the same College. I was a year ahead of him so I spent my Freshman year without my sidekick but once he arrived, goofy smile and Pork-Pie hat in hand, we were inseparable. When we weren’t in class, we were in the cafeteria, smoking, drinking coffee, and socializing. If we weren’t in school we were probably playing hooky and underage drinking in our favorite bar down the street.

I shared my difficult times with him also. When my relationship with my father took a bad turn, I stayed at his house many nights. I was very close to his family. They treated me as another son.

We leaned on each other and got through those times. Often with the aid of laughter. Never underestimate the power of a warped sense of humor. Comedy specials on HBO, cartoons and movies were our refuge. We shared a love for Bloom County. I think the lovable oaf Opus the penguin was a relatable character to us. We could quote both the cartoons and the movies line for line. And we did that a lot.

Johnny Dangerously was our favorite. Now, it brings back the sense of loss of how we drifted apart for so many years. Of not seeing him, along with the rest of the guys that I spent all of my time with in my late teens and twenties, since we all went the married with kids route.

And,of course, the shock and heartbreak of learning that he was recently arrested for sexually abusing his own son. My friend (can I still call him that?) is going to spend the rest of his life in jail.

Between the shock, disgust, anger and countless other confusing emotions, I still cling to the memories of a better time. Thanks to associations. Silly movies, in this case, stand for the good and the bad times alike.

A jury of his peers

The fragility of freedom                

A friend of mine was acquitted by a jury of his peers on Thursday. It was the correct verdict in my opinion. The jury apparently agreed, given that they deliberated for less than an hour. Considering the gravity of the charges, his ex GF’s young daughter accused him of some very inappropriate acts, the jury must have found them as unlikely as I did.

As you can clearly see, I am of the belief that he was not capable of the acts he was accused of. As a character witness for the defense, I was not tasked with offering platitudes regarding his character or my opinion on the veracity of the charges. I was only asked to describe the household when I was renting with him. I wish I had been afforded the opportunity to offer up my understanding of Steve as a decent, virtuous guy who treated the young lady, the accuser, like his own daughter and acted as the only father she had in the prolonged absence of her own.

And I’m also a bit relieved that I wasn’t asked to do that. Because at the end of the day, despite how unlikely I believe the alleged behavior to be, I could never say for sure that it didn’t happen. I just do not know. Having said that, the prospect that I may in some way either help a predator go free, or discredit the testimony of a possible victim is a terrible position to be in.

Let’s say the jury got it right and the truth is out there. It’s also safe to also say that the truth is my friend could have spent 10 to 20 years in State Prison, where he would have probably been killed in the first year. It’s also the truth, as proven by the accuser’s mother (the ex) on the stand that her daughter was coerced into pressing charges by her friends in order to “save face” from being caught in a lie. It is important to know that this child has a long history of troubled behavior ranging from promiscuity at a very young age to lying frequently.

To think that they would allow the charade to continue when it was clear, even to the jury, that it was a face-saving situation, sickens me. The man has already lost everything. His job, future prospects and most of the relationships he cherished. When an accusation of this magnitude is made, it doesn’t matter if you did it.

Everyone thinks you did.

Jeremey

A story of addiction, recovery and a friendship for the ages

I got a text today from Jeremey.
Hey buddy, just wanted to let you know that I’m doing great. Love you and appreciate you.
It warmed my heart to hear from him. It also served to remind me of how much I miss my job. Two things you need to know here:
I took a hiatus (possibly for good, I just don’t know right now) from a job that I love.
Jeremey is letting me know that he is doing great not only out of friendship but over an incredible bond that we formed when I was his Case Manager at a Drug/Alcohol Recovery Center. Affectionately known as a Rehab.

When I met Jeremey he was not great. Anything but. I met him at the lowest point of his life.

It was a cold December morning when I made the 1500-yard trek to the Detox building to meet the new client assigned to me. I walked in, shook the cold off of me and went to the common area to find my Client. I called out the name and a man about my age weakly forced himself out of the deep cushion of the sofa and slowly trudged his way towards the chair I motioned for him to sit. I was amazed at the effort it took for him to get to it. Then he spoke. Over the course of the interview, as I explained our program, my role as case manager and his expectations for treatment, I must have asked him to repeat almost everything. He was too weak to speak clearly and with any volume.
What he was able to say was nothing but pure denial and resistance. The broken man before me was utilizing all the strength he had to fight me on whether he needed treatment or not. He wanted to leave after Detox, I politely suggested that a full program would do him better. I didn’t fight him. At the Detox level, that is not atypical. As they say, De-Nile (denial) ain’t just a river in Egypt.

This went on for days. Despite my requirement of seeing a client twice a week, I met with him every day. As his strength grew, so did his insistence that he didn’t have a problem. Recognizing that I had a challenge, and a chance to do some good I pushed back. Day after day. Finally, he agreed to stay for 2 weeks. This was a victory. This one became, against all judgment, personal for me.

Jeremey would fight me on everything for those 2 weeks. I dug in and challenged him. I couldn’t work harder on his recovery than he was willing to, but I really wanted to see him get better. 3 weeks became 4weeks. He began to buy in and just when I thought that the therapy sessions and meetings were working, after 4 weeks he made a huge push to leave. I worked with him more, throwing everything I knew about the model of addiction I had to have discussions. I paired him with other clients that were where I was hoping he would get to and he still wanted to leave. Finally, everything combined wore him down. He finished the program.
And in the process, we became wonderful friends. It evolved to the point that when we saw each other we would hug and often he asked how I was doing before I could ask him.
On the last day of his 9th week Jeremey left our care. The man who was too weak to speak, a disbarred lawyer and 25 year career-alcoholic whose most recent memory was waking up in his brother’s recliner (he was homeless), vomiting on himself in front of his 2 nephews, swigging a beer and passing out again, was leaving with a reservation at a Sober House, a job (we coordinated interviews while he was in rehab) and an entirely new outlook on life.
I was so proud to have been a small part of such an amazing story.
So back to the text.
We parted as amazing friends. He made a commitment to check in with me periodically, knowing that my failure to hear from him may indicate that he may have relapsed. I hadn’t heard from him in a while. To get that text means that he is still doing great.

That’s why I became a Case Manager. To become part of something like that.

Inventory

Having gone on a retreat/hiatus of sorts, I have had some much-needed down time to decompress and do some thinking. The deep thinking predictably led me to assess my life and do a proper inventory. Inventories are difficult and can be painful. If a business owner were to become complacent in the inventory of his goods, he may find that he is in worse off than he thought financially. It works the same way when you inventory your own life. You may not like what you come up with and at that point you are faced with a choice; to accept it as it is or to seek a solution. To seek a solution requires asking questions, and that is where I am at in the process. I began questioning everything.

The first thing major question I addressed was whether I left my job for the right reasons. I had put in 6 months as a Recovery Case Manager working with those struggling with addiction. I loved it and by all accounts I was great at it. Entering a field such as Recovery without a background (educationally or by virtue of being an addict oneself) is difficult and requires a specific skill set and a proven ability to display empathy, understanding, and listening skills. Despite not using my Psych degree since I graduated in the early 90’s, it was a roll of the dice. But the complicated series of events that I call my life qualified me just fine. I became a thorough, relatable, competent and effective Case Manager and I was making a difference.
 But it kicked my physical and emotional ass. Health reasons, physical more than mental, drove my decision. I am immunocompromised due to my Kidney Transplant and I was working in a fucking Petrie Dish. After contracting COVID twice, a stomach flu and a cold that I couldn’t shake for over a month I made the decision. But the job satisfaction aspect nagged at me. If you need to know just ONE thing about me to understand the possible loftiness and intense nature of my statements, know that I am ALL about purpose. I have received the gift of life and have escaped the Bastard known as DEATH more times than any one many should be allowed. I therefore have the attitude of gratitude. If I stopped doing a job that satisfies my mentality of giving back and paying it forward, what am I going to do in its place? 
It didn’t take me long to realize that I am not going to lose that side of me, as I have lost so many other things that gave me joy. Therefore, I resolved that I would continue to volunteer my time and resources to causes that matter to me. That gave me comfort about my decision to leave a job that satisfied my soul. I vowed to research local charities that I could volunteer for; Make-A-Wish, Animal Shelters, Veteran’s causes and Motorcycle groups that focus on charitable rides. Therein would lie my answer.

I was then troubled to realize, after a few weeks of semi-retirement that another question had risen up and begged answering. Why was I not full of that desire to go do all of those things that would adequately fill the void created by leaving my job? Where was that motivated guy? That guy was laying on the sofa, eating junk food, watching TV and not doing anything productive at all. I will cut myself a small break, I wasn’t feeling good. I was still recovering from the virus that made me leave my job. And it was Winter. The cold weather, constant snow storms and lack of sunlight are not my friends. Not excuses but worthy of mention. Still, I was concerned that I was going to fall into a regrettable cycle; lazy, unmotivated, unaccomplished, and lacking purpose.

That is when I decided to head to see Mom in West Palm. I vowed to get moving physically and mentally. To walk, workout, read and write at a pace that I have never before. I have checked all the boxes so far. But to write everything I have come up with is going to take some time, due to the number of questions that I have raised and, thankfully, I have the desire to put to paper.

Fortunately, time is something I now have a lot of.

Question Everything

Question everything. That is where I am now. I do not know how it happened, but the way I look at everything seems to have changed lately. Two things come immediately to mind; it happened quite quickly, and I love what I am seeing. In short, everything is upside down and on its side. As Dr. Venkman so eloquently stated in Ghostbusters…

Things happen that way with me. I have epiphanies, moments in which my eyes suddenly open, my mind shifts, my vision becomes clear, and things suddenly make sense. Not always forever in some cases, but enough to enable insight and encourage change. My most recent epiphany is here to stay. It is not a fleeting thought or a passing fancy that serves to temporarily inspire or provoke thought. Instead, as a result, the world around me presents if I were a young child. A world in which everything is a new and exciting experience.
Somewhere, at some point in the last 6 or 8 months my understanding of countless aspects of life, my own and those of the wonderful world around me, shifted (morphed?) in such a way that I am questioning, with the intent to be and do better, my understanding and perception of everything. To name a few,
Relationships.
Friendships.
Politics.
People.
Family.
Conversations and events old and new.
The world around me and,
My role and purpose in it.

I find myself very motivated by what I am feeling. I feel like I am on the right track. In many ways, I feel like a different person. Where there once stood a man that, while mostly positive, was prone at times to see things in a very cynical and unproductive light, now stands a man that looks at every interaction, recalls every conversation, and replays every situation to assess if there is anything that could be learned from it and what could have been done better? It’s truly a liberating and exciting feeling to experience such an injection of emotional vitality and intellectual stimulation at a time in my life in which I was dreading stagnation and lack of interest in learning or applying anything new.

This, in conjunction with my current deep dive into the Stoic Lifestyle, is giving me the exact boost I desperately craved.
That’s enough for this post, but expect more (I do hope you read it and share it with me) as I share that which is in question, my old take vs the new, and the effect it will have on me as I continue to work towards “better”.

Del Boca Vista revisited

Nothing makes you ask yourself “what kind of an old person am I going to be?” more than spending a few days in a Florida Condo Association. 
I’m visiting Mom at her winter hiatus, God bless her she has earned it, and I am being bombarded with flashbacks of Del Boca Vista. 
Any Seinfeld fans out there? 
I so enjoyed the Seinfeld episodes that featured the delightfully and absurd antics of the retired Senior Citizen. If you’re not familiar, they had great fun with early dinners, over tipping, the political shenanigans of Condo Association leadership and the ever-present busy bodies that everyone kisses up to but secretly fear and despise. In short (or can I still call it that), stereotypes of the retired life. 
After spending 4 days here, I am not so sure that the stereotypes are entirely unearned.
Before I go on, I want to clearly state that I love the elderly. Anyone who knows me can confirm that. When I was a child, I spent as much time as I could with my Grandparents at the Senior Center. My grandmother loved to show me off and once that wore off, I found myself enamored with the wisdom, sage advice and overall attitude of the seniors. Some were grumpy but most were lovely. I spent most of my time with the Veterans and I had earned a middle-school level education of history by hearing the war stories, edited for my age of course.
This fondness of the elderly carried on through High School as I frequently visited shut in neighbors and volunteered at the local senior center. 
In College, my favorite professor was an elderly gent who taught “The Psychology of the Elderly”. I thought the course was eye-opening about the challenges faced by and the particular traits of the elderly. The professor was a charming, youthful old guy and I became very close with him. I truly was saddened by his death. 
I have maintained a healthy interest, and perhaps more importantly, a respect for the old. Having many a challenge to my own mortality, I am aware that reaching old age is a privilege denied to many. Therefore, when given a chance to hear a story, I listen. When a different perspective is available, I take the opportunity to learn it. But I have learned one valuable truth; there are several categories of elderly; among them are the forever young and enjoying life type, the “I do my best to keep up and tolerate life and it’s changes” type, the “I don’t want to learn anything new I’m too old” type, the busybody with the nose in everyone’s business, and the “get the hell off my lawn type”.
In one small development in West Palm, in less than one week, I have met them all. It hasn’t been all bad, many people here are a delight. And then some are tolerable. Some are humorous in an unflattering way. One was bad, in fact there were two.

Sunday I was walking the dog. I was on a paved path, well within common areas, and we walked past a first-floor condo with a screened in Lanai with 2 small yippy dogs. At the sight of us, the small dogs barked their tiny balls off at us, prompting the owner to come out and reprimand me for having the nerve to walk by her unit and upset her dogs. The sheer absurdity threw me a bit and I asked if she was serious. She was. I shook my head in disbelief and walked on, ignoring her fading chirping.
The day after I was again walking the dog and I encountered what appeared to be a pleasant elderly woman walking up and down a row of cars. When close enough I offered a “good morning”. What I received in turn was a angry lecture about “outsiders” who “don’t belong” parking illegally in what I can only assume was in the general vicinity of her guest spot? I shut myself off to it and when she attempted to engage me further I said, “I have absolutely no interest in any conversation about whatever this is” and kept walking. I’m pretty sure I heard a pronounced Hmmmph!
That was the worst I have encountered.
Somewhat less uncomfortable but annoying nonetheless is my mother’s friend who likes to boycott events (big stuff like movie night and appetizers by the pool) to send a message that nobody cares about to someone who doesn’t understand the message or the reasoning behind it. To make it worse, she tries to dictate who can be friends with whom, with the threat of excommunication looming over them if they don’t comply. Why?
But to balance things out, last night I had a cocktail with 2 gents hiding from their wives at the pool and we had an amazing conversation. They were charming, pleasant and enjoyable to talk to. I chose to sip my drink and predominately listen. The military history, the jobs they held (one of the gents was the national distribution manager for the first incarnation of the Cabbage Patch Doll (remember what a sensation that was?). The other was a former executive director of Habitat for Humanity. These gentlemen were a delight to be around. 

They definitely are the cream of the crop of Del Boca Vista. The other are interesting to say the least. My respect for their generation and obvious longevity remains. But the question arises…What kind of old person am I going to be? That’s a whole other post.

Inevitable

I always knew it. I’ve known it for years, but I didn’t want to admit it. But after diving into the model of addiction as a profession, I’ve realized that I am no different than the people I work with.
I am an alcoholic.

All the signs are there. As we say, the circumstances vary but the progression is the same. There is no exact template; you don’t have to drink every day, you don’t have to have hit “rock bottom”(I believe absolute Rock Bottom is death), you don’t have to lose everything, you don’t have to have experience “blackouts” nor do you need to have crushing consequences of alcohol use. You merely have to admit that alcohol has affected your life irreparably and that is a problem that you have no control over.
That’s me.
I have been drinking at an unhealthy level for 40-plus years. I haven’t always consumed alcohol every day and I haven’t always gotten drunk. But it has been a destructive force in my life. I have drunk at the expense of my health. I have lost my temper with my family and other loved ones. I’ve driven intoxicated more times than I can count (the words “incredibly lucky” come to mind) and I know that I have set a terrible example for my children. I have made an ass out of myself in front of friends and co-workers more than I want to admit and I have wallowed in shame and regret more often than I care to consider. Even now that I’ve been able to achieve long periods of sobriety, I think about it every day. Not a day goes by when I do not think about going to buy a bottle. When I do buy one, I may not get plowed that day but I will drink out of it every day until it is gone. That means that working out, blogging, preparing meals and any other worthwhile pursuit will be left by the wayside as I feed an old, tiring habit. And I get zero value or reward from it.
It’s time for a change. I feel good about it. I don’t enjoy it anymore, I rarely get intoxicated, and when I do I beat the hell out of myself emotionally during and after.

Alcoholism is about control. I no longer have control over it. Being able to avoid it is a mild accomplishment but I need to change my mindset and work towards a healthy and fulfilling life. Yes, I already crave this, anyone who knows me can confirm it. But I can do better.

I always tell my Clients that the key to embracing recovery is to not look at it as a continuation of the Old Life, but instead to look at it as a new beginning. It has occurred to me that I may be full of shit when I offer advice but I know I’m not. I am knowledgeable of the model of addiction and can speak with some conviction. But I need to go one step further and join them in doing the work. I can live the life that I want for them by joining them in the battle.

Today I am beginning the 1st of the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. I am admitting that I am powerless over the lure of alcohol, and that I currently live a life that is unmanageable. This is an important step in my overall goal of being an honest, accountable person of substance. It makes sense finally.