Estimated read time: 11 min
While I was sitting in a treatment center, three days out of medical detox, I first began to formulate an idea of what my life in sobriety could be like. I knew it would be boring. No more hanging out with friends while having a drink. No more rock concerts because booze and drugs are always there. No fishing trips, good restaurants, cookouts, weddings (not that I go to those often), football games, baseball games, mowing the lawn, going to the beach, or camping trips.
Basically, I would lead the life of a cloistered monk, and people would sadly recall what a cool person I was until I stopped drinking. The only silver lining being, at least I would have more money…
Four days out of detox and still in the treatment center, my understanding of life in sobriety had greatly changed. I met people who traveled to Alaska just to see glaciers. Others went to concerts all the time. All of the counselors in my treatment center were in recovery and seemed to be enjoying every day of their lives.
Life in sobriety would be much better than my initial thoughts, and most of all, I would be RICH. I would have all of the money that I spent drinking at my disposal to use on anything I chose. (I can tell by the expression on your face that you know where this is going).
First, let me say that I was not an expensive drunk, nor did I drink near the quantities of some of the people I have met on my recovery journey. Still, by the end, I was blowing $210 a week on cheap wine. So by my calculations, I would have almost $1,000 per month to spend on concerts, a new car, or anything else I needed or wanted. Finally, I would have more money. I was sure that I would be a millionaire in no time. (I’m not an economics professor, I teach English so pipe down).
I was PROMISED to be rich by the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, which says and I quote, “Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us.” I took this to mean, I would no longer have to worry about money or lack thereof.
I clung to that line of the promises like a man-over-board clings to that giant-cheerio shaped life preserver. “Economic insecurity will leave us.” Forget that I was in early recovery. Forget that I had no job. Forget that I had a hefty bill for treatment still to pay. I was gonna have cash. I even recited the song lyrics, “I want money, lots and lots of money. I want the pie in the sky. I want money, lots and lots of money, so don’t be asking me why. I want to be rich!”—“I Want to be Rich” by Calloway, as inspiration.
With my teaching career over, I decided to find a high-paying job, collect wealth, build a mansion, and live happily ever after. I dusted off my resume, that basically said I was a highly qualified teacher, and began applying for all kinds of jobs, especially those that were offering twice my teaching salary.
I often wonder what the department of human resources employees thought when they saw an English-teaching, basketball coach felt qualified to be CFO of a mid-level company. I tried to be a project manager for a computer science project and was still having trouble operating my newly, opened face-book page.
The scary part of all of this was just how sure I was that I could do all of these jobs with no experience and no idea what the program director or some other fancy title actually did. I figured someone had to get paid to do these things and I was someone, so why not. I even sent a letter and resume to the head of human resources of a company to take over her job. I’m sure she still chuckles quietly to herself when she thinks about that to this day.
An even more scary thing happened. Some of these companies actually called me in for interviews or tests as a part of the hiring process. My stir-crazy, chemically-strained brain may have talked me into and out of those jobs within a minute. I do remember several raised eyebrows and squints of confusion as I explained why I would be a good fit for the company. I am grateful now that all of them took a pass. I am sure that all of the employees at least one manufacturing company are safer without me as the safety control manager.
At least part of what was going on in my brain was not all of my fault at this time. I had nearly thirty years of hard drinking under my belt, and my brain was trying to make sense of what it meant to not be awash in alcohol. It is true, my own decisions in active addiction created the insanity my brain was bringing forth, but I couldn’t see it for what it was in early sobriety.
The elevator was no longer making it to the top floor. The cheese had fallen off my cracker in rehab. I was away with the fairies. You know, insane in the membrane.
Fantastical ideas at times seemed to be completely reasonable. For example, I started researching a new vehicle to buy that I could drive around and would easily carry my two sons who were then in high school and rapidly approaching being taller than me if not already there. I had a tiny Ford Ranger pick-up that at best seats two. Reasonable idea, right?
Reasonable until you realize the only vehicles I looked for were brand new and I could design to fit my needs by using a company’s website. Once again, I didn’t have a JOB, but I was designing a car that cost more than I make in two years because I needed it, and was promised economic security.
I also decided that I needed to be a land owner. I had managed to get a part-time job teaching GED classes, and was waiting for one of those high-paying jobs to fall into my lap when I began looking at tracts of land to buy. My excuse was that I needed a place where I could go, maybe camp out, but most importantly not be bothered by humans.
At the time I was living with my parents, rent-free, paying no bills unless you count dropping a dollar or two at an AA meeting a bill. But, I was sure I could buy a tract of 100 acres or so. This is a part of being chemical-free, but not sober in early addiction. I wrote a post about that very problem and what it can cause.
I remember hearing a person share in a meeting about how all of his needs were met and he was happier than he had ever been. I knew that could not be true because he lived in a camper, and drove a car with no air conditioning. Another guy, whom I still consider a friend, spent more than a year of sobriety living at a men’s shelter and riding a bicycle to his job at McDonald’s.
I was never, ever dropping to his level, I arrogantly thought. The truth is I was below both of them, financially, mentally and emotionally, and I didn’t know it.
I have always been and will always be the baby of my family, and a rather spoiled one at that. My parents, who, I think, were just grateful I was alive, bank-rolled my early sobriety until I could get on my feet. They even helped me get a small piece of land, which they mostly paid for.
Meanwhile, I slowly added more jobs. I worked as a substance abuse counselor in a prison, and I did some sort of sales job that I never really figured out what I was doing other than drawing a check and driving to various locations to do small tasks. Oddly, it paid well, but I don’t think I ever did the actual job. I was making enough money to take care of myself, but I kept dreaming large.
I remember talking to my sponsor one day about how the promises really do come true, but not very quickly at all. Considering I hadn’t completed my Fourth Step at that point, let alone Step Nine, my sponsor wondered what promises I could be speaking about. I mentioned about how we are supposed to be free from economic insecurity.
I was trying to get there, but I couldn’t get the job that I needed. He covered his mouth and stared. It looked to me like he was considering an answer to my problem. I later learned he did that when he was trying not to laugh in my face.
He grabbed his Big Book, a worn-out, wreck of a Big Book, and flipped to page 84 and told me to read the high-lighted words and emphasize the part underlined. “FEAR of people and economic insecurity WILL LEAVE US,” I read. “Fear will leave us.”
“You might live the rest of your life without two nickels to rub together. You just won’t be afraid to do it. That’s the promise,” he said. “There is no guarantee you get rich. Hell, there is no guarantee you can stay sober. I would focus on that for now. The rest doesn’t matter if you drink yourself to death.”
I looked at the passage again, inspecting it for loopholes, handed the book back, and ever so slowly what I thought I knew faded behind what was high-lighted and under-lined on the page. The reality of my financial situation would present itself much later, and like so much of my drinking days there is always more to be revealed as a grow in sobriety.
After that conversation, I began looking for jobs for which I was qualified, and soon I was teaching again. After actually paying my bills, and taking care of things like an adult, the $1,000 surplus I had planned to make me rich was used up.
So much of my adult life had been spent convincing myself that my drinking had no impact on the people around me. In truth, it affected everyone in my life mentally and emotionally, and my family had an extra financial burden of fixing the ever-growing hole in my budget booze created.
I was so far in denial that I couldn’t begin to see the surface of the river in Egypt. In those early days, I needed a constant ego deflator and my sober friends always had a pin ready to burst my bubble, but they did it gently—most of the time.
With the help of my sponsor and others, I began to realize that sobriety was not about counting money it was about accountability. All of those things I thought I needed, I didn’t. What I needed was to be able to be honest with myself and others, and I began to find a fulfillment in being reliable that I never found as a drunk.
The hole that I had been trying to fill with booze for decades, and then tried to fill with possessions and cash in early sobriety began to be filled with a colorful, exciting world full of people who are just like me.
I think about my friend who rode the bike to work and meetings and realize now he was miles ahead of me in recovery. To this day he still is. But, I’m a slow learner when it comes to these things and I have begun to accept that more each day. He had figured out that the secret to happiness doesn’t lie in possessions or trying to prove that he is better than others. The secret to happiness is wanting what you have.
Today, I have a better idea of what is important, and I am a lot happier because of it. When I took my fledging steps into recovery, I relied on others to keep me honest, give me a shoulder to lean on, and call me out when I started to slide back to my old habits. Today, I still find that “We” works so much better than “Me” when it comes to recovery. And, when I begin to think I deserve more than what I have to be happy, someone I love is always ready with a pin, to remind me… it’s not about the money.
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