Hello again, Seekers (sorry, couldn’t resist an old Firesign Theatre reference). This little blog is still here and it’s about time we reawakened our interest in it. So, here we go down the rabbit hole…

An Anniversary of Sorts

I’m a late bloomer. Maybe it’s more accurate to say I’m a slow learner. Either way, it took my approaching my 50th birthday before I started to live my life. I don’t mean the previous 49 years were wasted, not at all. I grew up, went to a lot of schools, got married, had five kids, worked several different jobs, had my share of joys and sorrows. But, all during that time I felt unbalanced. Weakened by fear, fear of failing, fear of living.

I, like many people in my demographic, tried to placate my fears with various substances and quick fixes. I adopted unhealthy thought processes and set about, intentionally unintentinal, to destroy myself and everything I loved.

I did these things for a long time and bemoaned the fact that I was unsatisfied with my life. I didn’t enjoy my work. I didn’t have enough money. “Things” were not working out.  I wasn’t particularly happy or unhappy, really. I guess Iwas depressed — physically, emotionally and spiritually unwell. Despite it all, I continued down that path waiting for “something” to make “things” better. I’ve heard it said that the definition of insanity is continuing the same actions while expecting a different result. That was me. Insane.

The funny part of my story is that all the aspects of my life, professional and personal, emotionally and physically, all seemed to reach a nadir as my 50th birthday drew near. Mid-life crisis? I suppose so. Now, the residual effects of my unhealthy lifestyle (sedentary, poor eating habits, substance abuse) were becoming more evident. I had a heart procedure in 1999 that was the first glaring “sign” that maybe I had better do a better job of taking care of myself. I didn’t pay much heed and quickly set about reviving old, bad habits. Making bad decisions and expecting better results. Insane.

Particularly damaging was my penchant for the Demon Rum. Alky-haul. Yep, I liked to drink. A lot. Given my personal history, booze was the lesser of several other “evils”. I never really considered drinking a “problem”. It was far more socially acceptable than some of my other vices and it was always readily accesible. It filled the hole in my life that I didn’t want to admit was there. I’ve always tried to ignore problems hoping they would just go away. Well, we all know how that works.

Then, suddenly, it all came to a head late in my 49th year. I was a drone at work (I was definitely what they call a “functioning” alcoholic), my wife was fed up watching me kill myself and was making new, separate, plans. My health was shot and I felt like shit. It was all collapsing.

Throughout my life I had a bad habit of pushing myself the utter brink of disaster and screeching the brakes, stopping just as my toes hit the edge of the precipice. I’d do a “whoa!” and manage to pull myself in just in the nick of time. Not so this time. I’d pushed too hard, gone too far. Fortunately, I still had a little something left. Faint, but alive. Just barely.

We’ll talk about what it was  next time. Stay tuned.