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I was thinking recently about some of my internal dialogue when I meet somebody coming back from a relapse. It’s not great sometimes. I really wish I had undercover footage of me in 2011, when I had about three years of good sobriety and then decided to stop going to meetings.
We had moved from New York to Connecticut, and it was a busy time. So I took a little breather from getting to meetings and connecting with local sober people. It was all the traps that sober people fall into sometimes.
“I’d learned a lot already, so what would I hear at a meeting that is new?”
“I’m so busy. I don’t have time.”
“I’m coaching my kid’s team in the evening, and I have to get the kids to school in the morning, so I’m tied up when there are meetings.”
B******t. All b******t.
I bring it up because a funny incident with a raccoon happened to me just as I was thinking about how I need to make sure I always stay empathetic toward people who don’t stick their sober landing the first time.
My wife made chicken and potatoes one night early last week, and she threw the trash bag into our can in the back. Big mistake. The chicken guts and potato peels basically cooked in 90 degree heat for a few days, and sure enough, she grabbed me one day at about 3 pm and said our trash can was moving.
When I went out, the temperature was about 88 degrees and extremely humid. I could hear whatever creature was trapped jumping and clawing and then jumping and clawing again. Over and over again. I could tell it was bigger than a squirrel and definitely not as big as, say, a bear. Something in between. But big enough to have a stick in my hand just in case.
I finally popped the lid open just enough to peek in, and there sat a raccoon. He started hissing at me and making a racket. I threw the lid open and got back from it. But then I saw that he wasn’t going to be able to jump or climb high enough to get out, even with the lid open.
So I put the lid back down and wheeled the can into my yard. Then I swung the lid open and got back. It took the poor guy about 10 seconds to finally wobble out, and he eventually did. He was moving slow and making loud noises, something like a screech. I was struck by the fact that this nocturnal animal didn’t even have the gas tank to run away after being freed from potential death. He just kind of slinked into the trees near my house.
I took a picture of the woozy little guy just as he popped his head out of the can. I swear I could feel a little gratitude from him, because it sure seemed like absolute panic in the blistering heat for hours and hours before I opened that lid. I couldn’t help but feel in my soul how active addiction does a similar thing: It traps us in a garbage can of s**t that makes us feel better for awhile. Then the fun runs out, and you start to try to get out. There are stops and starts, and then the panic hits you—I can’t get out of this thing alone. But how do I get help? I’m scared of what help looks like, and also of the pain that will happen once the truth is out.
The funny thing about the raccoon was how slow he took the help when it arrived. After suffering all day, when the lid flew open magically, he took his good old time taking the help that plopped down in his life out of nowhere.
OK, I’ll stop. I can’t tell if this whole thing might be either absolutely brilliant or complete nonsense. Be sure to tell me in the comments!
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:
TONY AND JOE, NEIGHBORS, both get DUIs around the same time and are court-ordered to AA meetings. Joe stops going as soon as he gets his last paper signed, but Tony admits defeat and sticks around. A few months later, they run into each other in a store. After some small talk, Joe asks, "Where are you headed?"
Tony says, "To an AA meeting."
Joe says, "Really? How long do you have to go for?"
Tony replies, "Probably for the rest of my life."
"My God!" Joe exclaims. "What judge did YOU have?"
(Credit: Grapevine, January 2008, by Bob C.)
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