Finding Serenity Surrounded by Icebergs

Since I have been sober, it is rare that my past drinking behavior or the fact that I don’t currently drink becomes a topic of conversation, especially with people I have just met. I have found that people, in general, really don’t care whether I drink or not. However, on occasion, my sobriety inadvertently gets placed front and center. That happened during a late summer trip. What came from it was a total feeling of serenity riding on a ship surrounded by icebergs.

For those of you who don’t know, Nina, my father and I went to Greenland this summer. It was an amazing trip from start to finish. If you can, GO. Despite the occassional dose of exceptionally cold weather, it is a place that is indescribably beautiful and pictures really can’t do it justice. Imagine waking every morning, looking out of your window and seeing a bay filled with icebergs the size department stores. I never imagined seeing something so awe inspiring on a daily basis.

A Perfect Place

In addition to being in such a beautiful place, the people there are warm, inviting and always helpful. I have lived in the South all of my life. Often, people here are noted for their friendly demeanor as a part of Southern hospitality. Greenlandic people take that up a notch. Even with the language barrier, sadly I can only speak English, I felt at home.

Greenlanders always seemed ready to chat, offer a helping hand, or explain something about their culture or country. I have never been around so many people who whole-heartedly looked for ways to lift other up. For example, while the three of us were waiting for a taxi, a man who was waiting for his wife to finish shopping, spotted us and gave us a lift to our destination without asking for anything in return.

Being in Greenland was amazing because it is a world of rare beauty, but it was also a healing for my soul. Having said all of that, about midway through our tour, I was outted as an alcoholic, sort of.

Recovery Rarely Makes the Discussion

Whenever we travel, Nina and I do tend to get double takes. We are an age-gap couple, and while I often forget that, it does occasionally catch people off guard. Normally, if there is a question about us, whether we are in recovery, is usually not high on the list. Also, we don’t spend much time thinking about ways to slide our lives in recovery into normal conversation. It is entirely possible to be on a trip with us and never realize we are both in recovery.

In fact, I am sure that was the case of the other tourists in our group, until, that is, we crossed the into the Arctic Circle. We were onboard a costal ship bound for Ilulissat when our tour guide invited all of us to the cafeteria for a champagne toast as we crossed into the Arctic Circle. I am sure that crossing the Arctic Circle is mundane for Greenlanders, but for a bunch of tourists who have never been that far north, a small celebration seems like a good idea. I suspect there is a similar toast when crossing the equator, and I do hope to find out.

We met with the rest of our group that totaled about 15 people and sat at one of the tables. Our guide walked over and asked if I would open the bottle of champagne at our table and fill the glasses for our toast. That is no big deal at all for me. The irony of putting a bottle of champagne into the hands of a recovering alcoholic was not lost, but at this point in my recovery, being around alcohol really doesn’t matter. Well, except that Nina and I both had cups of coffee for the toast. That instantly drew attention.

The Question

After opening the champagne and pouring glasses for the others, Nina and I joined in a little of the idle conversation before the inevitable question was posed. “Will you not be having champagne for the toast?”

“I don’t drink,” I responded. “Plus, I have coffee.”

Besides the curious nod, what always follows is a conversation that includes similar statements. A couple of people mentioned they don’t drink often. A few others offered that they really don’t drink champagne. Thankfully, the toast was over soon and conversation turned to different things. Nina walked away from the table and one, rather brave, Belgian man, who was also traveling with his father, asked why I didn’t drink. I explained that I drinking had never been a problem for me, but stopping once I started had always been an issue.

“I have a friend who has the same problem,” he said with a genuine smile. “He still hangs out with us, but he never drinks. It is very good that your partner socializes with you in a way that is best for you.”

The last part is what stuck out. He didn’t assume that Nina was also an alcoholic or even ask. Perhaps he thought it might be rude. For our part, Nina and I try not to disclose each others’ status. We talked a little more about when I decided I was an alcoholic, but the conversation was more for curiosity than anything else.

Feeling left out

Soon all of us were back on the deck of the ship taking in the incredible views and enjoying the cool Greenland summer. Later, as the other tourists realized we were American, they had a host of questions for us that had nothing to do with drinking. They wanted to know our views on American politics, wanted to know what it was like where we lived, wanted to know what we did for a living. Most of it was the typical questions that people use for conversation starters with strangers. No one asked another question about my alcoholism, and I assumed most of the others did not know or didn’t care.

A couple of days later we all were on a tour boat tour of the Illussiat Icefjord. As a part of the tour, in addition to all of the tea and coffee you can drink, the crew netted a few pieces of ice from the water and made a gin drink for the tourists.

As a part of the drink preparation, one of the tour guides explained the differences in how the samples of icebergs had formed. He also explained that when we got our drinks we would be able to hear the ice crack in the glasses as it released centuries-old air, much like the booming sounds icebergs make when they do the same thing. For the first time, in a long time, I felt like I would miss part of the experience.

Not Drinking is Normal

Nina and I travel quite often, and we have been places where drinking seems almost a requirement. Rock concerts for instance, fine dining establishments where we have been repeatedly offered complimentary drinks. Ireland, the home of Irish whiskey and Guinness, where the offer of free tastes of both seemed almost everywhere you turn. In all of those occasions, I never really thought I was missing anything. But here, bobbling in the middle of towering ice bergs, the feeling hit.

While they were preparing the drinks, the younger Belgian’s father joked that all of the people had stopped looking at the icebergs and were waiting to get a drink. I looked around and he was absolutely right. Then, he joked that I could bring him my cup so he could have two drinks. That, I thought, was a genius plan.

As we continued talking, he explained that his doctor had recommended that he drink a small glass of whiskey each night before bed to help with chronic back pain. He said his son would bring him two large bottles and they would last him all year. I laughed an explained that the two bottles would last me one night.

Nina had overheard our conversation, called us lightweights, and said she needed three bottles. Soon the drinks were ready, and I took one to my father who had stayed inside the cabin of the boat. I didn’t know if he would drink it or not, he stubbornly resisted trying Guinness and Irish Whiskey when we were in Ireland.

The Unexpected

Nina and I grabbed cups of coffee and joined my father. We tried to convince him to come to the topside of the boat for a better view, but he said he had a good view where it was warm. I explained that the ice in his cup came from an iceberg and he did seem a little impressed. A few minutes later, two of our fellow tourists came to the cabin to let us know that we could get a non-alcoholic version of the gin drink encouraged us to go get one.

Two things became immediately obvious. 1. Our tour group now knew that Nina and I did not drink. 2. They wanted to make sure we got the full experience of being on the tour. It seemed that the being in Greenland does that to folks. They could have easily worried only about themselves, but they didn’t. They took time to ensure that everyone could be a part instead of being apart.

Finding Serenity

On that ship in a foreign place surrounded by deadly icebergs, I found what I had chased for years by diving into bottles of booze. All of my years of drinking never gave me the sense of belonging that I have found in recovery. I would catch glimpses of that feeling, but they would vaproize as I became maddeningly drunk.

I wasted years of my life trying to fill a hole inside of me with booze, but it always washed away. In recovery, I have found peace and joy in simple moments. There has never been a time that having a drink added anything of value to a day. The perfect moment was always there, I just refused to see it, and drinking clouded my vision even more.

That evening in Greenland, Nina and I had cups of sparkling water infused with Labrador tea and could hear the glacier ice in the cups popping with a sound similar to the booming cracks of the icebergs. As we watched the sun glisten off the white ice and crystal blue water of the bay, an overwhelming sense of serenity filled me. My fear of missing out had vanished. I was totally at peace.