Talk Sober To Me

Sober goals. Got to meet Dev of at Kings Theater before the show. All is love!

[Photo of a poster on my wall by Paul Cooley - https://www.instagram.com/thanksnyc/]

This post was inspired by one of your emails to me—thank you! I welcome all of your feedback, and this time it was a reminder of something I said in a group back when I was in the very earliest days of my sobriety. Touching back to those moments gets more difficult as the days and months and years pass. It’s not that the memories are so painful, but more that new habits have pushed out the old and I’m not as hyper-focused on the hour-by-hour job of not drinking.

​I’ve talked about my 10 day brick wall before:

"My brick wall was 10 days. I would commit to stopping, but at 10 days I would slip. This seems to be common, and there are physiological reasons for it. [...] After a few of those 10-day rounds, in community, being vulnerable, doing all the new things I was learning (meditation, routines and habits, etc.) [...] I broke through. Eleven days. Twelve. It didn’t stop. Seriously - once I got past 10 days the brick wall never reassembled itself."
If you’ve been on this ride with me for a while (and you can always read through my archives at https://www.talksobertome.com/email-archives if you want to catch up), you might know that I don’t credit my sobriety to any one event or habit. I think it was more of an accumulation of habits and attention.

Another useful lens for this is stoicism. Marcus Aurelius wrote much about this, but here’s one of my favorite bits:

“[R]emind yourself that past and future have no power over you. Only the present—and even that can be minimized. Just mark off its limits…”
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book 8

We are present only in this very moment. For me this means I can choose to:

Not drink right now
Practice piano right now
Write my sobriety newsletter right now
Kiss my partner right now
Hug my kid right now
Pet a cat right now
Bang out a work project right now

I don’t have to fantasize about what might happen if I were to be sober tomorrow, and I don’t have to beat myself up if I didn’t meet a deadline yesterday. No hope, no fear. Just right now.

Thinking back, a large part of the churn of getting sober was being stuck in the past and being hopeful or pessimistic about the future. Now I know I don’t need to do that, and I don’t have to regret that time spent back in those days. I can just keep being here right now.

If you’re interested in practicing being in the present, stoic philosophy is a great place to start. The stoics were interested in crafting a good life, in harmony with nature, and grounded in the right-now. You might have seen “stoicism” illustrated as a stone-faced person, withstanding the buffeting winds of the storm. I guess that could be the case, but it’s a reductive cartoon that doesn’t reflect the joyful possibilities of living in the present and, well, just living. The classic “serenity prayer” that we’ve all heard (“Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference…”) is straight-up stoicism. If you’re at all inspired by it, you will probably dig stoicism.

Books
I highly recommend two books:
​(the affiliate links are for your convenience - if you're interested in one or both of these books, please try to get them from a local bookstore! I'd say library, too, but these are books I use every single day)

The Daily Stoic by Ryan Holiday and Stephen Hanselman

​https://bookshop.org/a/57814/9780735211735

This is a one-page-a-day thought book, with each day starting with a classic quote, followed by a very short commentary. It has a ribbon bookmark so you can just flip open to the day’s thought. I love it because it paces me to just sip from the font rather than grinding through an entire book. It’s useful any and every day that I read it.

Meditations by Marcus Aurelius, translated by Gregory Hays

​https://bookshop.org/a/57814/9780812968255​

This translation from the early 2000s is accessible and modern. You can open the book anywhere and start reading. Aurelius’s insights are short and to the point. I pretty much carry this book everywhere I go so if I have time to read, I can just jump in. Among the timeless advice are some thoughts rather specific to the governance of the Roman Empire, but Aurelius was the Emperor, so you’re bound to have a little of that.

I want you to remember that we have as many tries as we need to get through this wall. I had hundreds, maybe thousands of day ones. The self-care, the meditation, the talking kindly to myself, the going to bed early, all of these things and so much more eventually assembled into a ladder that got me over the wall, and if I could say with any confidence what the magic combination was for me, I swear I would tell you.

I have a poster on our living room wall (and at the top of this post) by Paul Cooley, an artist and person in recovery. It pretty much sums up how I greet the present each day.

It reads “Probably in my best interest to love myself and cut myself some slack.” It’s probably in your best interest, too.

I love you,

David

If you want to subscribe to these posts as emails (which would be awesome!), you can do so right here: https://www.talksobertome/email-signup

Sorry! I promised an email at least every Monday but I’ve missed the last two. Why is that? I’ve allowed my morning and evening routines to be disrupted and run out of hours in the day, run out of days of the week.

I think the intense humidity of the last few weeks have made it difficult to get to sleep, so I’ve shifted my bedtime, against my intention, and shifted my wake time to make up for it so I can still get my 7 to 7.5 hours. It’s maddening, because I’m tired at the end of the day, which is good, but then I can’t fall asleep as quickly as I had been, which isn’t good.

Anyway, I’m working on it.

Adding to that, my workload is large, which is good, but my homeload is unusually large at the moment, too. I’m working on rebalancing it all, but it will take time.

Stoicism is part of the solution. I accept what’s not in my control, and I act on what is in my control.

This is important: I act on what is in my control. When difficulties arise, I meet them. It’s not always graceful or artful, but I meet them nonetheless. When I was drinking I wouldn’t do that. I would postpone dealing with difficulty or just push it off altogether. I would just drop it, creating a pile of crap that became so seemingly insurmountable that I felt like I was suffocating. I didn’t act. I slept in. I let things go.

This time I let the newsletter go for a couple of weeks, but I did it intentionally if not artfully (I didn’t let you know). It’s hard for me to know what my priorities should be in real-time. At this point it’s been a process of trial-and-error to realize a few things:

Practicing piano and having my lessons is important
Staying in touch with friends is important
Hanging out with my family is important
Writing and maintaining this newsletter is important
Being creative is important
Working for wages is important
These past few weeks I’ve been great about work and hanging out with my family. For a couple of weeks I’ve gotten back into scheduling time in the day to practice piano. Everything else I’m trying to figure out but I’m getting there.

True to my stoicism, I’m not beating myself up over any of this. I prioritize a full night’s sleep over everything else because I’m not healthy and useful without it. It’s the bedrock of my well being. I cannot control the disruptions to my home life so I accept them and meet them. I can control my workload at my job by asking better questions and delegating more intelligently. I cannot control the fact that my child is growing up but I can prioritize spending more time with my family and making the most of our time together.

Trying to achieve anything close to balance is messy, literally and figuratively. I’m not going to make everyone happy (gasp!) and that’s OK.

I’m making better use of my calendar to prioritize my time in a way that fulfills me, so hopefully this newsletter can get up off its knees and brush itself off.

Thanks for being here.

I love you,

David

So hard, so easy

Getting sober is hard. Looking back, I think about how I didn’t really see what was on the other side. Sure, I had a community (once I wised up to getting a community) that talked about the “pink cloud” and lots of other rainbows-out-unicorns’-asses stuff, and I heard and read about the ways being sober freed you from a lot of s**t and how it was easier to get up in the morning. I read about the ways the liver can repair itself and how health can almost magically reappear. But I didn’t know what any of that meant for me.

Given how many times I said “I’ll quit tomorrow,” I didn’t really see myself crossing that bridge in a way that made any sense other than having blind faith that it would be a good thing. I was struggling and didn’t know any other way forward. I was desperate to quit and willing to try almost anything, especially if it didn’t involve admitting to other people that I had a problem. (Surprise! I did admit it to a lot of people.) So I had direction in the same way that someone might give you a map but you don’t really understand the destination. It’s just not where you are right now.

So anyway I got sober as you know if you’re reading this, and it was difficult. But now it’s pretty easy to stay sober. I don’t crave alcohol, though I do crave having something different. Not necessarily checking out or getting high or anything like that, but just something different. I found it in carbs, in pints of Ben & Jerry’s, in that toffee crunch stuff you can buy in bulk, in lots of stuff that I actually avoided while I was drinking. Long-time readers will recall that I pretended to be high-fat/low-carb for a while. I would put my thumb on the scale by binging on carbs in the form of lots of beer every single night. But because I was binge drinking in secret, it didn’t count. Right? So while I posturing as high-fat/low-carb, I was actually high-fat/high-carb. I gained unhealthy weight. My blood sugar was insane.

Now I have type 2 diabetes. Well, s**t. I’m not surprised. I saw it coming. My doctor saw it coming when she said I was pre-diabetic. And she really saw it when I got my blood tests back recently and she said “you’re diabetic.” But she offered me a path. This one was to cut back on carbs (I’m on medication, too) drastically. No more pints of ice cream. I track my meals with an app to make sure I’m getting the nutrients I need. I read the labels, which I learned to do when I was pretending to be low-carb (and then googling “carbs in Lagunitas IPA” at midnight on the regular).

It’s hard. I crave carbs. I’ve said this before: it feels like the craving for alcohol. And many many times when I knew better I said “I’ll cut down tomorrow” and had a “last” pint of ice cream. But I know I can do this because I did it before. And this time I have an idea of where I’m going to end up. I’m going to have more energy. I’m going to not feel flushed and tired after meals. My heart’s not going to race when I go to bed. Basically it’s going to be like quitting drinking, again.

It’s been about three weeks of this, and I’m doing it. I eat funny compared to my family, but I can feel the changes, and they feel good.

The part of me that doesn’t want to do this wants some ice cream, wants a French baguette, wants the crunchy toffee stuff. But even when I was forgiving myself for indulging in these things because at least I’m not drinking, I could feel what they were doing to me. It’s like having an allergy and sensing that you’re in a dusty room. You know something’s wrong.

But it’s also kind of easy because this time I know two things: it’s OK to not know the final destination, and I’ve totally done this before. I know how to work really fu***ng hard to get myself out of something unhealthy. I can do this. It’s a skill I’ve learned and use every day.

And I’m admitting that I have a problem, sharing it with my family, sharing it with you, my community. I’m accountable. Mostly to myself and my family, but to all of you, too.

I love you,

David

First: be safe today. We don’t have to drink. We don’t need a last hurrah. I promise to you that we can have a great day without drinking. I can’t promise a great day, but I can attest to the drinking not making a bad day better. Grab a pack of seltzer or AF beer if that’s your thing, smear on the sunscreen, and go have fun.

Second: if you feel burned by the current situation (choose anything going on), drinking only kicks it down the road. The bad s**t is still there. A lot of mine is still here and I find it easier and more fulfilling to face it and use other tools to manage or even eliminate it.

ADDENDUM (if you subscribe to the emails, this wasn't in there but it just struck me that it should be): IT IS TOTALLY FINE TO STAY IN BED AND PLAY CANDY CRUSH ALL DAY. Use that money you used to spend on beer and sparklers and buy lollipop hammers and smash away. You don't need to participate in the party if you don't feel like it or if it would make you want to do things you don't want to do.

I love you all!

Good sleep as a habit
https://www.talksobertome.com/email-archives/good-sleep-as-a-habit

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Love,
David

Blog — Talk Sober To Me David Bivins 6/6/22 David Bivins 6/6/22 Our only job is to not drink Read More David Bivins 5/30/22 David Bivins 5/30/22 Memorial Day: on death and bullying (warning: violent content) Read More David Bivins 5/23/22 David Bivins 5/23/22 Thickening this web Read More David Bivins 5/16/22 David Bivins....

Every day we don’t drink it becomes a little easier to not drink the next day. But every day is different. Some of the stressors in my life that were “soothed” (but postponed) by alcohol still exist. To be honest, I don’t always cope with them in healthy ways. But I don’t drink. That’s a solid line I’ve drawn and I thank myself every day for sticking to it. Every day I don’t drink gives me a little more energy to put toward developing healthier habits and reducing stress.

Let’s face one thing that stresses us today. Acknowledge it. Respect it. Know it a little better. We may not be able to fix it, but knowing it’s there makes it a little easier to deal with rather than letting it grow unaddressed.

Tell yourself “I love you.” Tell yourself “I’m working really hard on this.” Tell yourself “I care about myself.”

I love you,
David

PS - if you want these emails in your inbox, 2-3 times a week, you can subscribe at talksobertome.com

The hardest thing for me to do when I was actively trying to get sober was not drink. I was attending group calls almost daily, meditating, practicing self-care, journaling, changing my routines. I was doing all the things. I remember with bone-chilling clarity walking down the sidewalk toward the bodega around my corner, imagining Holly on my shoulder, telling me “your only job is to not drink.” Going to the cooler in the back and selecting two six-packs of craft beer and telling myself “you don’t have to do this, David. You can choose not to do this right now.” Paying for the alcohol on the thin margin of what was left on a credit card, my head clanging with cognitive dissonance. I was beyond any excuses. I was no longer saying “I can quit tomorrow.” I had become a zombie to my addiction. I just simply existed in this turmoil.

I was practicing sobriety, but I hadn’t yet unlocked and accessed the top level—not drinking. In every other part of our lives, we practice. I practice piano not expecting to play perfectly. People practice zen buddhism without expecting to attain any particular state of mind. We practice to get better at something. I was practicing sobriety to get better at being sober.

I’ve often tried to figure out what tipped me over the edge into not drinking at all. I don’t think it was any one thing, but dozens of big and little things that I worked at—practiced—diligently, even if I wasn’t attaining that last one, the ultimate habit, the ultimate goal.

This isn’t a checklist to hand to someone else who’s struggling to stop. This was my own list.

I made my bed every morning
I participated in group calls
I read the mantras
I was vulnerable
I loved myself
I drank water
I meditated
I flossed
I cried

And each one of the items in the list unfolds into many other micro-habits.

I made my bed every morning
​I did all the family laundry and folded all the clothes

I participated in group calls
​I made the time in my calendar and blocked it out, exercising my boundaries

I read the mantras
​I took the time to focus on them with my full attention

Etc.

And after a while, with no fanfare, no “a-ha” moment, I didn’t drink.

I did my job.

I’m still doing my job, and I’m still doing almost everything on my list. I don’t have any group meetings right now, and my mantras have been replaced by other readings in zen buddhism and classical stoicism. But otherwise, I’ve cemented these habits into my life. I think they’re all good for me, and just as importantly, every one of them reminds me of the reason I took them up in the first place—to support my sobriety.

I find that habits are a good way to ground my daily life. When there is so much that is out of my control, both inside my home and outside these walls in the world of climate change and other rotten news, these habits are some of the control I can exert on my life. After the September 11, 2001 attacks, I read that New Yorkers' apartments were cleaner than they had ever been. In the uncertainty and confusion, we took control of our homes, doing what we could to maintain any kind of order.

Control is important to me, even if part of it is realizing what I can’t control. I can reflect now that I was imposing a kind of control on my drinking, too. I kept track of how much I drank in spreadsheets. I kept tight control of my budget, making sure that the requisite amount was available to support my habit, even if that meant scrupulously collecting quarters into old film canisters as a backup plan. But now I think I’ve shifted the habits of control into the positive realm. Nothing harmful is supported by a made bed, daily meditation, and clean teeth.

We all have this job, and we all have our practices. Let’s try to do them well.

I love you,

David

Today I choose to meditate. I choose loving-kindness.
Today I won't drink, I won't get high, I won't blanket over these feelings.
Today I will sit with these feelings. Anger. Grief. Sadness. I will sit with them naked and raw. They're mine.
I won't let the fu***rs get me down.
Please join me.
I love you.

I found out another friend is sober and has been for about as long as I have. He’s someone I’ve only kept in touch with on the periphery, without any in-depth discussion of how and what we’re doing. I was delighted to learn it, to have another in our “gang.” We finally got to talk a little bit (not enough), and I was even more delighted to find that he’s really happy being sober and expanding his life. This web of friends, of acquaintances, even of people I see across a room, drinking a seltzer when everyone else has a beer, it’s growing and firming up. I love it.
The web is still porous - there are plenty of friends who still drink, and that’s none of my business. But I’m constantly amazed at how my own non-drinking affects others. Someone who decides to join me with a seltzer instead of a beer when they see me snap open a LaCroix. Several sets of friends who offered non-alcoholic drinks or mocktails at a get-together realized that they like them, too, and have decided to make an effort to not drink as often, but still have “fun” drinks.
What’s even more amazing about this is that I am just being myself, not drinking. I’m not preaching. I can only think of a couple people who asked me why I quit drinking. I don’t drink, and some other people choose to not drink, or to not drink as much. In Tempest, there was a mantra: “I am a lighthouse.” I thought I understood it then, but now I really get it. The lighthouse doesn’t say anything. There’s no loudspeaker on it. It just stands there with its light, indicating its presence.
When I was getting sober, I often heard about people who are still drinking turning the mirror on themselves when faced with a friend who isn’t drinking. They make excuses, maybe say things like “well, I only drink on weekends.” To instead make a decision to drink less oneself is a powerful action. It strikes me as the action of someone who is willing to look into that mirror and see beyond self-judgment into different possibilities.
I’m taken aback by it, to be honest. I’m not comfortable with someone telling me that I had an effect on their life, whether positive or negative. I’m not sure why, but I would guess it has something to do with my upbringing, of being careful not to puff out my chest or stand taller than others. Not that anyone told me to act like that, but somehow I understood that instruction as the proper way to be. There is a bright side to that personality trait: as a sobriety coach, I was trained to not think I’m better than anyone on account of my sobriety. I can only offer my hand and ear. I can’t walk ahead. I’m not to lead anyone. It’s a comfortable role.
I think of a person who will speak quietly amongst a group of loud people. The room quiets down to hear her. The listeners become more receptive. Pulses slow down. She doesn’t yell out “Quiet! Listen to me!” She just is quiet.
You are a lighthouse. Even if you’re not yet sober, if you’re putting in the work, you are a lighthouse. It’s beautiful work, even when it hurts. And I know it hurts so much.
I love you,
David

May you be filled with loving kindness
May you be safe from inner and outer danger
May you be well in body and mind
May you live with ease
May you be happy