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I saw a 25-second video recently where Tom Hanks was asked what advice he would give to a younger version of himself. And he said, “This too shall pass.”
But then he explained when he would give that advice, and I expected him to say some moment when he was struggling in his personal life, or when he lost a loved one, or a low point in his Hollywood career.
But instead, he talked about how he would tell his younger self “This too shall pass” when he was getting Oscar nominations and making millions every time he signed a contract. He explained how he would tell himself “This too shall pass” so that he could live more in gratitude during those great moments.
Wow, that hit home for me. I always forget that I handle success about as badly as I handle failure, and I need a program during both good times and bad.
I recently had a great run of professional and personal success where I did an okay job of staying present, being grateful and not setting expectations that my winning streak was going to continue forever. But I said okay for a reason—I think I did just okay.
One of the things that creeps into my mind a lot during good times is, “Well, this is great… but I bet it will end soon, and that will suck.” I don’t get it, because I never think that when the going gets rough. When I am in the middle of a tough situation, my brain tells me it’s going to last forever and we’re doomed and what can I do RIGHT NOW to make it stop.
My guess is, that’s not just an addict’s brain. I bet lots of non-alcoholics and non-addicts have that mindset, too. But I do think my addictive brain makes it worse. I desperately want the good times to continue every single second of every single day, and I want the bad times to reverse instantly. I used to grab drugs and alcohol to make a good party or football game great, or a bad day to be over as soon as possible.
So sure enough, my winning streak ended. I had a tough road trip where I spent three days by myself in airports and hotel rooms, which is a bad recipe for somebody like me. Then I got home and tested positive for COVID. So now I am in solitary confinement in my own house, and can hear my little 7-year-old buddy on the other side of the door laughing and getting ready for school, and it is pretty agonizing.
Last night, while I swam around in a warm bathtub of self-pity in my basement, I thought, “You know what would help right now? Cookies and peanut butter cups. I deserve that, anyway. Poor me.” It was the same seductive voice that used to whisper that a beer or two at dinner wasn’t enough, that maybe I should take some pills and vodka and more beer and also some more pills, because it was a long day at the office.
I did put in an order via text message for six Oreos and four peanut butter cups, and somebody put them on the top step of the basement and then closed me back in my cell.
Then I had second thoughts, so I called some sober people, meditated and said some prayers to my Higher Power, and I left that plate at the top of the steps.
Ah s**t, who am I kidding here, I ate all six Oreos and four peanut butter cups, and they were delicious, and I loved every second of it while I was crushing them.
Did they really change anything? Nope.
Did they make me feel a little gross? Yep.
Would I still probably do it again? Uh, probably?
But then I thought of that Tom Hanks quote, and I said to myself, “These Oreos and peanut butter cups shall pass, too,” and I went to bed. I’ll try to do a little better the next time!
This newsletter is a place of joy and laughter about the deadly serious business of sobriety. So, as I will often do, let me close with a joke:
A heavy drinker finished his meal and was offered grapes for dessert.
"No, thank you," he said and pushed back his plate. "I don't take my wine in pills."
(Credit: AA Grapevine, by Marvin D. of Regina, Saskatchewan, August 2006)
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