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Let me start this with a question: What is the definition of being a great person?
I was watching a TV show the other day where one character is a rich CEO type who thinks his future son-in-law is a loser, and he tells him so. He talks to the guy about wealth, running a company, hiring and firing people, having tremendous power, providing for his family, and lots of the other standard ingredients we often think about when it comes to describing success.
The implication was that he, the father-in-law, was what people should aspire to be. “You’ll never be a great man,” he tells his daughter’s boyfriend. Ouch.
It hit me because I took a moment to think about how I used to define greatness, and how I define it now. I grew up thinking along the same lines as that dad in the TV show. I started out wanting to be a great athlete—I wanted the fame and adoration and money and fancy cars. I also liked the idea of winning over other people in a very direct, public way. Maybe then I would feel complete.
But I went to a very good sports high school, and it quickly became apparent during my teenage years that I wasn’t even the 10th best athlete in my class, let alone the world. So then I started daydreaming about acting, or standup comedy, or writing—I wanted something that came with all the trappings of how I defined a successful life—big house, important job, fame, adulation and, ultimately, validation. I would have made it. I would be a great man, then.
Except that’s mostly a fairytale. I’ve met rich and famous people in my life, and I gotta say, not all of them seem content. The rich people often think they should be more rich. The famous people always know full scouting reports of the more famous people—I’m always surprised by how many say stuff like, “I only need 82,000 more Instagram followers to get to 1 million, and then I’ll only be 400,000 behind so-and-so.” It sure sounds like a bottomless pit for an addict like me. How many dollars until I feel fulfilled? How many likes and retweets would it take to make me smile and believe I’d made it?
To get back to my sobriety, I do think I still had warped ideas about greatness when I went to rehab. I thought maybe I would stop drinking and drugging and then get back on track to getting rich and famous. I thought that was still a cool goal for me to pursue.
I don’t think that any more. I think if I somehow ended up rich and famous, that’d be a nice byproduct of what I actually need to do. Which is this: I need to live a spiritual life. I need to be of service. I need to find things to earn money that I believe are of benefit to others and also drive me toward a recovery life.
That whole “great man” thing? That’s probably not even a phrase I want to kick around in my head too much. What is a great life? A good life? A bad life? I don’t know, and I don’t need to establish any metrics for defining that.
I can say this, though. The times in my life when I have felt the best, like I am doing some real good in the world, haven’t been when I have a lot of money or are on national TV or anything like that. It’s been speaking at a rehab, or driving a guy to a treatment facility, or hugging somebody when they have one year sober.
In my home life, it’s been seeing my daughters do well at dance or soccer or in school. It’s when their teachers say, “Holy crap, your kids get good grades and all, but they are so kind to others!” Man, those are the things that have actually made me smile in a way that let me be present and feel gratitude.
I don’t know if that makes me great, but it sure feels great. And I’ll take that.
ALCOHOLIC/ADDICT JOKE OF THE DAY
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.
They say that alcoholics have three kinds of memory loss: short-term, long-term, and convenient.
(Credit: AA Grapevine, August 2000, Peter M. from Putnam, Connecticut)
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