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I was in a rut on Wednesday night with a writing project that I am working on, and it followed me into Thursday morning. I woke up and tried to get rolling… but it just wasn’t happening. Sometimes with writing, it pours out of you. Other times, there’s nothing to pour.
By about 9 am, I was pretty grumpy, barking at my kids and traipsing around the house with my fists balled up. But then something incredibly helpful happened: My basement flooded. We had a steady downpour outside, and we had about six inches of water in the basement.
Now I was really livid. I was doing that thing where I kind of looked up into the heavens and wondered, “Why me, Higher Power?”
My wife and I started busting our asses to lug the water out of the house and into the backyard. Our neighborhood was practically a pond. It was bonkers. At one point, some neighbors down the street were rowing a boat down the street. Not exaggerating—an actual boat cruising the streets.
For a half hour, I went up and down the stairs with empty cat litter tubs full of stanky basement water. But we eventually cleared the whole basement out. I went back upstairs for a work call, covered in sweat and flood water, and I realized… I somehow now knew what I wanted to write. It had clicked into place.
I immediately thought, “Wait, what just happened?” Then I had to laugh. What I wanted was to sit in a chair—the same chair I’d sat in all day and come up empty on the words to put on the page—and hope that the writing would somehow just kind of happen.
What I got was carrying water and breathing hard and… well, what is that thing we say all the time in recovery? Move a muscle, change a thought. That’s exactly what happened. Isn’t it funny how if you’re trying to live a sober life and do the next right thing, sometimes the universe hands you exactly what you needed—even though it’s something you never would have thought you needed. No way would I have come up with, “Hmmm, hey clouds, could you please dump five inches of rain on my house this morning? I need to lug 50 gallons of water out of the house to get my brain cooking.”
And yet that’s how it played out. It’s a good reminder that when I pray, I probably shouldn’t be asking for specific things that I think I need. Because I’m never right about what is best for me. I should be asking for guidance and for assistance on becoming aware of what my will should be.
And yep, sometimes the answer might be: Chop wood and carry water. Or in my case from this week, just carry A LOT of water.
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.
Several years ago, my wife and I took a vacation in Las Vegas. Sandy, our 65-pound boxer, came along. The motel allowed pets, and everything went smoothly until the manager asked us to take the dog out in the afternoon so the maids could clean our room.
My wife had made the plans to go shopping, and I wanted to make a meeting. But the temperature was in the mid-90s, and we couldn’t leave Sandy in the car. So I got the number for the local AA clubhouse, called, and explained the situation. “Could I bring my boxer to the meeting with me?” I asked.
The man who answered the phone was silent for several seconds. “Sure,” he finally responded, “as long as she doesn’t talk more than a few minutes when it’s her turn.”
(Credit: AA Grapevine, October 2001, Pat O. from Indiana, Florida)
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