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I wrote about the Super Bowl earlier this week, and I wanted to say one more thing about it.
I often beat myself up a bit for getting frustrated with people driving, or with a long line at the grocery store, or with inconsiderate people at the gym. It’s often a very silly, very self-centered moment where I feel like I should be more patient, more kind, more forgiving, more able to live and let live.
But on Super Bowl Sunday every year, I always have a moment where I watch the commercials and realize, “Wow, the world these days isn’t trying to help me with those character defects.”
By that, I mean that our brains get pounded with the next thing that is going to make our life easier and faster and more fun and happier and sexier and…. on and on and on. Buy this, buy that. Lots and lots of alcohol ads. The Super Bowl was in Las Vegas, so there was a vibe to the whole thing that reminded me of “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” Everything about the whole game and the whole production was preying on my worst impulses as an impulsive addict.
That’s certainly not limited to the Super Bowl. The world moves faster than ever, and if you want to get into trouble, it’s easier than ever—with smartphones these days, trouble is literally in the palm of your hand if you go looking for it.
Actually, you don’t have to look very hard to find trouble. I’m on a bunch of social media platforms, and I get bombarded with ads for sports gambling. They always offer you a few hundred bucks for just opening up an account, and that feels quite a bit like a drug dealer giving the first taste for free. I always realize I am about 60 seconds and one bad decision away from starting down a path toward having a gambling problem, too.
I know this post probably seems like an old man yelling at the clouds, and that’s not far from the truth. But the biggest point I wanted to make was to be gentle with yourself if you struggle with bad behaviors that get thrown in your face all the time. Maybe cut yourself a break today because it ain’t easy out there!
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:
AN OLD MAN WHO LIVED ALONE wanted to hoe his potato garden, but the work was getting too hard on his aging body. His only son used to help, but had gotten into trouble while drinking and was now in prison. The old man wrote to his son.
"Dear Son, It looks like I won't be able to plant my potato garden this year; I'm getting too old to be digging. If you were here, I know you would help hoe the plot for me. Love, Dad."
A few days later, he received a letter from his son: "Dear Dad, For Heaven's sake, don't dig up the garden! That's where I buried the guns!"
At 4 A.M. the next day, a dozen FBI agents and local police showed up and dug up the area. They didn't find any guns, so they apologized and left.
The same day, the old man received another letter: "Dear Dad, Go ahead and plant the potatoes now. It was the best I could do under the circumstances."
(Credit: Grapevine, by Norman H., July 2008)
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