The days leading up to new years eve were an annual tradition of mentally running through the seismic changes that I would be undertaking in the following year. From sobriety to relationships I would plan them all out. I would be convinced that the changes would happen just by thinking they would. That making the list would be enough to conjure the fairy of sorting shit lives out. It never did and I never enacted those changes. I would profess that new years eve would be the last blow out of the year and hit the drink hard. “One last hoorah,” I would profess “for tomorrow I will be reborn!”
I would enter the New year as I would continue it; in a state of drunken stupor and lying to myself. When I would eventually wake I would be too hungover to do anything. The compromise that I would negotiate with myself would be dry January. It is a start I would think. If I can abstain for a month then obviously I don’t have a problem and those changes I thought about won’t need to be enacted! A genius plan. The pressure to prove to myself that I didn’t have a problem meant that I ALWAYS completed dry January. I just rolled into February a month behind quota on my intake and upped my consumption to compensate. And the cycle would continue.
On reflection, I was trapped in a routine. A soul-sucking cycle of addiction that I couldn’t see the harm of and as such saw no reason to need to escape. There was so much I wanted to do but much like the new years’ resolutions, they could be done later. All the while life passing me by. Unbeknown to me I was the hamster running on its wheel hoping to escape its cage. Then one day life and my body had other plans I was offered a way out of the cage. That’s how I saw it, my rock bottom, I saw it as an opportunity to rebuild. I had nothing to lose now, only my life, but there was much I wanted to see and do. I felt like the universe, god, life, luck, chance, whatever you want to call it was pointing to a door marked exit. I took it but I had to build the stairs to the floor I wanted to be at. Rock bottoms come in many shapes and sizes. Some people need more of good kicking until the message gets through. I was lucky. I only had a liver that was temporarily knackered and twenty grand in debt. I have seen people come back from much worse. People who thought they were done and dusted. People who thought they would never see their kids again. People who fell to their knees and prayed to a God they didn’t believe purely because they had no other option. No matter how low, how hard you crash down or how much you think you won’t be able to turn it around. You can. Or be smart and don’t wait. I should have started those changes I dreamt about on the run-up to new years eve. I shouldn’t have waited until I was desperate. I was lucky and it took a lot of work. A lot of work that could have been avoided if I’d just have pursued my goals instead of putting them off.
Sitting on the beach in Sri Lanka, I think about those days. About how I would lie to others and myself. Promise after promise broken. It was always going to be tomorrow and it was always someone else’s fault. Mostly, about how each new year was going to be the one, the catalyst for change but never was. Each New Years eve just like the last. Like a terrible sequel to a movie; the venue would change but the story would remain the same.
But what about this years resolution?
As I sit listening to the waves I contemplate what will be this New Years change. What do I want? I guess the answer is more of the same. Imagine that? I struggled for a long time to accept that it was my life that I enjoyed so much. I had serious imposter syndrome because life had been so shit for so long. Now I just want to continue what I have started and keep practising the simple steps that make it possible.
I find it still strange that I had faith that it would work out. I was convinced that sobriety had to be better.
Other than the health and the debt, why did I decide to give change ago? The answer is simple; because trying to turn it around couldn’t be any worse than I felt on a daily basis. Dripping in shame and feeling like my life belonged to someone else. Lead by an impulse, that I lost a daily battle to, made me feel weak. The rock bottom freed me from any fear of failure and allowed me to test a strength I didn’t believe I had. I never expected to succeed. I never expected to get this far. I never expected to do this. I never expected to be sharing this message in the hope that it would encourage someone to try. I never planned that. I just planned not to drink and then began to pursue goals that were healthy. Slowly, I created healthy routines and patterns. Negative routines are the death of life. Positive routines are the start of it.
Sitting on the back seat of a bus, somewhere in Sri Lanka, waiting for the rest of the passengers to return from the off-license and it made me think what has kept me sober all this time?
It is Christmas time which promotes excessive drinking to either celebrate one’s life or block it out, it is part of the seasonal festivities. Christmas was a gift to me as an active alcoholic. I could pass off excess as a celebration and get lost in the crowds for a few weeks. In January, the crowds went back to living and I would carry on, alone.
It would be easy to focus on the two weeks of inclusivity at Christmas and pretend that was a reflection of life. It would be easy to fall into the dream and let the romanticised memory sweep me off my feet but it cannot. The memory of me drunk, crying, being lonely and lost still hangs in my mind. It is the reminder of the potential outcome for any urges to test my resolve with controlled drinking. I can’t I tried.
A healthy fear keeps me sober. Irrational fear kept me prisoner for a long time. Irrational fears that would hold me back and stop me from quitting drinking; “What will people say?”, “What will people think?” “How will I do XYZ?” All nonsense.
The fear I now have around alcohol is very real but very rational.
I have worked so hard to get to where I am and I no longer see the benefits of alcohol. Before, I NEEDED it. Now I don’t need it. I actually think that the negatives outway the positives. The only positive I can think of is that it would make me feel included in social settings with heavy drinkers. Social drinkers don’t give a fuck what I am drinking.
Would I throw away everything I have worked for to gain the respect of people whose respect I no longer need? Of course not.
Even in the direst of situations, a little voice somewhere in the recesses of my mind suggests that a drink would smooth it over but I know that to be false. It is just escapism. I learned that suffering is part of life and learning to accept that is a gift. Avoiding suffering is desirable but also detrimental.
“A man who conquers himself is greater than one who conquers a thousand men in battle”
There is a saying that goes “You won’t find the answers to your problems in the bottom of a glass!” I did. My problem was in the glass.
When I stopped drinking many of my problems vanished and many more become manageable. Some were daunting but sobriety gave me the strength I never knew I had and the rest is history. I have had some of the best times in life in sobriety. It is the greatest gift I ever gave myself and something so beautiful cannot be given away frivolously.
At the back of the bus, I wait patiently. I am not missing out. I have a life beyond my wildest dreams and it is simply because I accept that I have no self-control. I don’t trust myself with alcohol but that doesn’t matter because I love the person I am without it.
This is my fifth sober Christmas. They get easier.
After just over a month of having my perception of central America and Mexico blown to smithereens, it was time to move on. I boarded the flight from Cancun to Cairo with a heavy heart but a good amount of excitement. The pyramids of Giza had been on my list of things to see for a long time and now I was on my way.
The flight with Turkish airlines was much better than expected, with plenty of room and good food it was a nice flight. The trip through customs was a breeze and then I braced myself for the shysters at the airport. They are at every airport I have been to. It’s to be expected. I take the hit and forget about it. This time was no different and they were primed and ready with the catcalls. I negotiated a price that was still overpriced but not enough to make me feel too cheated.
My initial reaction was that my taxi driver was insane but so was everyone else on the road. I couldn’t figure out if the horn was attached to the brake pedal or the accelerator pedal as it was constantly blaring to zero effect. There was a lot of rubbish lying around. Maybe it was a poor area? I thought at first but as we progressed it seemed to be everywhere. I reserved my judgement until later. Never judge a book by its cover and all that.
I had prebooked my hotel online and when I checked in the guy on reception asked me twice how I would like to pay for my room. Even though the first time he had accepted that I had already paid. An oversight I thought. I had a shower and then went to find something to eat.
I hadn’t noticed the air pollution during the taxi ride but walking down the street was almost impossible due to the number of cars on the road. The smog hung over the city like an imposing Villian watching and waiting. I didn’t realise it at first but it would make for a great metaphor. The oppression was stark in contrast to the lively optimism that I had seen in Mexico. Almost as if a smile was an affront the mood seemed low. With the pollution gripping my throat and stinging my eyes I headed into a restaurant.
The owner was very welcoming and sat me down, took my order and I watched the world go by. First, he brought over a starter I didn’t order and a bottle of water “Very kind,” I foolishly thought and tucked in without consideration. The food was very nice and when my main course came it was wonderful. So much so that I thought that over the next few days I would use the restaurant again. That was until the bill came and items beyond the salad and water had been added. It was $2 or so and I couldn’t be arsed to argue so I paid and left. Now, that proprietor might have made a couple of dollars extra but he lost my business. I put it down to a dodgy owner but over the next few weeks, I found most interactions to be similar. To the point that getting a good deal meant that the person was ripping me off a bit less than another person was trying to rip me off.
I tried not to let it bug me and sought out places that were less underhanded. I stopped in Costa for a coffee. I abhor using places like that but thought it a safe bet… that was until the guy on the till tried to short change me. In the end, I found a few places in the downtown area that could be trusted; La Poire cafe, Eish + Malh, Koshary el Tahrir and La Chesa.
I’ve heard people say “That is the culture. You have to adhere to their customs when in their country!” If it is cultural to try and rip people off then it is a terrible culture. Simple as that. I have travelled around. I expect to be exploited but not constantly.
The following day, I braved the smog and took a walk to the Cairo museum. It is a shame about the air quality because there are some beautiful buildings around Cairo but walking around is unbearable for long periods due to the noise of constantly blaring horns and the life-shortening pollution. Even the random smell of incense that sometimes appears isn’t enough as that is also consumed by the noxious fumes.
The museum was a welcome break from the insanity of the streets. A huge array of artefacts from ancient Egypt displayed from the old kingdom to the new kingdom. The peace to stand and appreciate the beauty for as long as I wanted was also a delight.
On the walk back I couldn’t help but notice the litter lying around everywhere yet the people were well turned out. With nice clothes and haircuts. It’s almost as if the pride of self isn’t transferred to the pride of place.
As I was walking and pondering the litter an Egyptian man fired up a conversation with me and told me he was an artist. He asked if I would like to see his work. “Why not,” I said, I had nothing else on. He described the revolution and pointed out some of the places where it had happened as we walked along. We eventually arrived at what was quite clearly a papyrus shop. He tried to hand me some and said “it is a gift. Egyptian hospitality!” Thankfully I had been done with this trick before in Italy. I refused to take the item and left. Maybe it was genuine hospitality but I was starting to lose patience with the duplicity masquerading as pleasantries.
The following day I took a uber to the Pyramids. I was excited I have to admit. I was even more excited, when, through the smog, I saw the pyramids. This excitement was soon replaced with concern as the car was pulled over and the driver had a very heated argument with some men trying to get him to drop me off in their “ticket office.” I thanked him and tipped him for not stitching me up. There are some good eggs out there.
With my ticket in my hand, I walked into the Giza complex and stood in awe at the Pyramid in front of me. Within seconds I was offered a scarf. Within minutes, I had been offered 5 camel rides and 10 scarfs. I guy tried to hand me a “Free” scarf under the guise of it being Egyptian hospitality…
It is the entrance I thought. It is probably where they hang out. Nope. It is one giant cash grab. It also turns out that “No, thank you” in english is “Keep asking me over and over again,” in Egyptian. Who would have guessed. In the end I put my headphones in and just ignored them being polite had no effect.
I thought “Maybe it’s just the Pyramids,” but no. Alexandria and Luxor were the same if not worse. There it spilt out beyond the sights and walking down the street was like being a beautiful woman on a building site constantly being shouted and harassed. Camel rides, felucca rides, horse and carts, market, constantly. Every day a route had to be planned like a scene from the walking dead. “We are here and we’ve got to get down the street for a coffee. How do we avoid the horse and cart salesman?” I was terrible at avoiding them. In Luxor, I was offered 20 house and cart rides in a one-mile walk.
I have spoken to some women who visited Egypt and most said they felt uncomfortable. Many felt unsafe. All of them said they would not advise their friends not to visit. Especially as a solo female traveller.
The counter-argument I have read many times is that due to the economic downturn in Egypt people have become desperate. I have to say this is no justification. There are many desperate people in the world and they don’t treat tourists like shit. This is cultural. I spoke to a person who visited Egypt before the tourist decline and they said the harassment was the same if not worse. To treat your customers like shit during an economic downturn makes no sense.
The other thing I have heard is “You should do your research before you go!” I am glad I didn’t because I probably wouldn’t have gone.
Beyond the annoyance, I always felt safe. I met people who were cycling from Cairo to Cape Town and the Egyptian police were giving them an escort to ensure their safety. The support was never in question and I felt very welcome. I just left feeling like I was a walking ATM.
I don’t expect preferential treatment in places because I am a tourist. Nor because I a British or white. I just want the opportunity to experience places without being offered a camel ride every second. Ironically, Egypt was the only country so far where I didn’t buy any souvenirs.
The oppression I felt in Cairo lessened somewhat as I headed south but it was still there lingering. Many people I spoke to looked over both shoulders before saying anything even slightly critical. Reading reports about people disappearing and critical journalists getting arrested it is easy to see why. The situation there was made more apparent as we crossed over into a Sudan, a country that seems worse off economically yet I saw more people smiling and laughing in three hours than I had in the previous four weeks.
Despite my annoyance, I found the ancient ruins we visited to be beyond my expectations. Especially the valley of the kings which demonstrated the artistic ability of the Egyptians. A side which I had previously not known about.
And despite the constant badgering of the felucca salesmen, I found Aswan to be a nice place to watch the world go by. (From the inside a cafe!)
I would love to see the places again but much like the restaurant owner who lost my business, I doubt I will ever return. Which is the first time I have ever said that about a country. It is also a shame that the incessant salesmen ruin it for everyone. One afternoon, I was drinking coffee and talking about football with the waiter. The language barrier created a few problems but there was a general understanding. As I left the lad stopped me and showed me his phone. Translated into English were the words “You are our light,” I thanked him and said, “No you are.” Hopefully, his light is a sign of things to come.
“You’re travelling to find yourself aren’t you?” she said with certainty.
“That’s such cliché bullshit,” I said
“So why are you travelling?”
I didn’t get into the whole conversation about the journey I had undertaken to get this point. How I had crawled from the brink to liberate myself and was now celebrating my freedom from addiction. If I had been honest I would have said: “I found myself many years ago whilst working on an oil refinery.” Not the usual place for a profound and life-changing experience. Well, not a positive one anyway.
The “finding myself” experience came about because I had been given an easy job to do. It involved turning bearings to stop them from getting flat spots. The whole process would take about an hour each day. The other seven hours were mine. I had a cabin that I could sit in and very few people would come and go. So I would sleep and read the paper. Eventually, this got tiresome. I would pace up and down. It was kind of like being in prison.
At the time I had started to practice yoga and part of the DVD I had been following involved ten minutes of meditation at the end. That spiked my interest in meditation so I read what I could and had started to practice a simple breathing exercise. Focusing on the breath but not forcing the breath. Watching it come in and go out. So after I finished reading the newspaper one day, I decided to try some meditation. My ear defenders blocked out the sounds around me and for a few minutes, I focused on my breath. It was tricky at first as thoughts came to pull my attention away from my breath but over the next few weeks, I managed to acknowledge the thought and return to my breath. I started to feel a lot calmer and my mind began to slow down.
One day I had an experience that I was travelling down a road. I had no idea where the road was heading or who was in control. I manoeuvred to the side of the road and decided to proceed at my own pace. It was a strange experience but I knew what it meant. I had been unhappy in my job for a long time and felt that I was just doing it for the money. Which is a lucky position compared to some people but I felt I had no purpose. No direction. That all I was doing was working to consume, mostly alcohol and mostly to forget about work. It was a vicious, directionless existence but I needed the job for the money.
When the contract for the job finished I vowed to change careers and I did. Strangely I had the same experience whilst meditating after I had changed careers. Except, this time I got back onto the road, now in control. Still not sure of the destination but comforted by the knowledge that I could change direction anytime I wanted. It was a profound experience. One that had a knock-on effect that freed me to pursue new goals.
“Man is made or unmade by himself. In the armory of thought he forges the weapons by which he destroys himself. He also fashions the tools with which he builds for himself heavenly mansions of joy and strength and peace.”
James Allen, As a man thinketh
I try to meditate as often as possible but I do let it slip when I’m feeling well. Then usually I start to see the signs that I need to calm my mind; irritability, anxiousness, overthinking. I usually take a moment to calm my mind and it usually makes me feel better. My mental health is much like my physical health; with maintenance it is manageable. Little bits here and there instead of letting it collapse and then having to work hard to bring it back.
I do check in mentally. I ask myself how it is going. Hows the whether up there? I learned it from mindfulness; finding peace in a frantic world. It has been a great addition to my toolbox. To check in every now and then. To have a deep connection to parts of my mind that I once avoided is a great privilege. More often than not the weather in my mind is good and I am content. I find it amusing that as a content person I am a bad consumer. A terrible customer. A salesman asked me in the street the other day “What are you looking for?” and my honest answer was “I have everything I need.” For that I am lucky and grateful.
I’m not saying that you can’t find yourself travelling. It just wasn’t my story. I had to find myself first and the courage to travel came along with that. I HAD to find these things because the inquisitiveness that burned in my soul was ceaseless. The only thing that calmed that yearning to explore was alcohol. When I quit drinking my wanderlust returned in force. Thankfully, I was lucky enough to have the freedom to pursue that desire and allow my outer world and my inner world align, even for a short time.
For me finding myself started that day on that refinery. I just needed to take the action to become that person. Because even though I found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, it was locked and I had to work to get it open. That’s how I see personal development. That’s how I see my potential. Locked away. Supressed. Yet yearning to be explored.
“Not to know one’s true identity is to be a mad, disensouled thing – a golem.”
Those fateful words “I’ve been here a couple of weeks now and I’m ready to go home! I’m bored!” I just don’t understand it. I am very rarely bored. Especially when travelling. I know people are different but even in countries, I didn’t particularly like I was rarely bored. The only time I find myself bored is when I spend hours staring at a mobile phone, scrolling endlessly, as if Instagram has the answer.
I noticed my mood changing as I increased my use of technology. I was less engaged in life and started to feel lonely. So as an experiment I left my mobile in the hotel and went for a coffee. I was a bit edgy at first but then accepted my situation. With nothing to do other than people watch, I sat and watched the world pass by. I felt far more connected. I felt awestruck. I was blown away by the simplistic beauty of life. Just people passing by in varying states of mood. Some young lovers holding hands like the other will make a run for it if they let go. A couple having a full-on domestic in the street, my Spanish not good enough to translate but neither looks happy. A young woman talking to herself until she sees me and stops, embarrassed. It’s a great reminder that life is happening now. Right now. In front of us. Not in some distant land. Life is not the images served up by social media. They only serve to create the illusion that everyone is doing better than you. A photograph is a snapshot in time. An easily faked snapshot in time. A fake smile presents a false reality.
I recently posted a photo of a beautiful beach in Cancun. The photo tells the story of an idyllic existence. One of carefree wonder. It doesn’t tell the story of the four days of thunderstorms that happened after the photo. Nor does it tell the story of the thousands of mosquito bites. It is easy to fake existence on social media. Hence the divide between the perceived happiness and the actual happiness that has been documented recently. People living to an illusionary audience at all times. Our “followers” have become an omnipotent deity that lives in our heads. Every photo, every status, every tag, all ran through the filter of what will people think? Another thing to be worried about in a simple world resplendent with worry.
Since turning my phone off I have written thousands of words. I am not completely free of technology as I am using this tablet to write on but I feel freer. I feel present and I feel happier. Without the constant bombardment of negativity that is served up by the news and social media, it is easy to see why. I think I will incorporate it into my life, a day without technology. Just to connect to the world in a more healthy way than the illusionary connection that technology serves up. Spending my time staring at a phone makes me feel like I am never really were I am. I am somewhere else. Living someone else’s life. Or feeling bad for some terrible incident that has happened somewhere.
When I engage in life and the people in it I rarely feel bored. I feel alive. I have to avoid boredom. Boredom led me down some dark roads in the past as I sought ways to escape the boredom. I thought that the cure for boredom was stimulation. What I have found in sobriety is that boredom is cured by connection. To life. To myself. To another. To the world around me. I think that is why technology leaves me wanting. I find it to be a poor imitation of life.
I have also noticed that one of the things I miss is peace. Being constantly on the move, consuming activities and experiences, leaves me yearning for time to reflect. I need that time to digest and process what has been going on. Otherwise, I become overwhelmed. My mind becomes backlogged with information waiting to be filed. There is always something to do.
Maybe it is my fear of boredom that won’t allow the feeling into my life. Boredom was the precursor to drinking. In lieu of actual life, I would fill my time with drinking. It filled the emptiness and created the illusion of doing something. Also, the effects of alcohol switched off my brain and silenced the inner critic. So it was useful on many levels.
That’s why now when I feel bored I know it is time to do something… productive, creative or useful. Something that helps maintain my sobriety. I still remember the early days of sobriety, sitting in my house, my life now empty of the social aspect of drinking, climbing the walls. I was fighting the urge to drink constantly. On reflection, it was because I was sitting at home twiddling my thumbs waiting for life to happen. That’s where AA was useful, it got me out of my house and got me connected with the world. There is an abundance of things to do in the world, to say “I’m bored” is to say “I am too lazy to pursue a meaningful activity!”
The modern world is resplendent with distraction yet we remain bored. That could be because the electronic devices that are the main source of entertainment are a poor substitute for actual engagement in life. These devices that are meant to connect leave me feeling empty. I would much rather sit in a coffee shop or walk in the park and watch the world go by.
Being present in life seems to be the cure for me. When I am engaged in my thinking and in my environment I find it difficult to be bored. And when I am in a new place it is nearly impossible.
“What are you running from?” A question I was asked often when I stated that I intended to travel for a period of time. “Nothing, I’m running to. Not from.” Would be my retort but it would fall on deaf ears. Dismissed as an excuse. I would be labelled as immature for refusing to accept responsibility. I would then be given a list of things I “should” be doing. There are no shoulds there are options. A mortgage, kids, marriage, career, are AN option. Not THE option.
To call travelling escapism is to generalise a lifestyle embraced for many reasons.
I hear the same stories from people of varying ages. That they are not bold adventurers throwing down the shackles of expectation but children. Peter Pan syndrome; refusing to grow up. Just a phase that will pass. Once it has blown out like a storm, they/we/I will return to the fold. Happy in a career and comforted by the memories of a juvenile jaunt.
So far, it appears that it is a generalisation to say that everyone is running from problems. I would dare say that it is nothing but a slur used by some people who believe a huge house, a car on credit and an expensive phone is the purpose of life. Maybe it is a slur used by some who are too weak to pursue their own dreams that they use it to diminish the achievements of those that do. I meet people of varying ages and most understand what they are leaving behind. Many have tried the “Normal” way of life and were left wanting or realised that it was an endless cycle that was ultimately unfulfilling. Some felt like a hamster running on a wheel in the belief that it would free them from the cage. They stopped lying to themselves and started to pursue something that aligned more with their innate desires.
There are some clichés of course “I want to find myself,” is the most popular. An interesting proposition as you are yourself and always have yourself with you. It is more likely that people who question the suitability of the “normal” lifestyle that is bestowed upon them are often marginalised. It is not themselves that they seek but people like them. People who make them feel accepted and less isolated. Confirmation that their belief that there is more to life is correct.
Personally, I commend the young people who have the courage to try and pursue their dreams. The young entrepreneurs who aren’t interested in millions but are interested in experiences. They seek a passive income to ensure their survival. It’s almost as if there are two worlds running concurrently; one that is filled with stress and busyness. The other of liberation and freedom. Maybe the hippie movement never died it just went underground after big business turned it into tied dyed T-shirts and beads. The ethos still exists in the transient nature of the hostels that I frequent. People brought together for a temporary time. United by their freedom and connected by their passion for adventure. Unlikely friends sharing a common goal and sharing tales. Like cowboys around the campfire sharing tales and horror stories. It is a culture. A culture that reflects a truer image of the human experience. One of compassion and collectivism. The marginalised become the group. The strong become united. Maybe with more organisation, Herbert Marcuse’s theory could come to fruition. Many of the people I meet are intelligent. They understand what they are sacrificing and where they heading. They are not the people portrayed by the media. They are varied, yet the wanderlust connects them.
“The real home of man is not his house but the road. Life itself is a travel that has to be done by foot.”
Bruce Chatwin, What am I doing here?
Who we are and where we are heading is a question that scares many. It could be argued that a large part of our life is either trying to escape this thought or make sense of this thought. The expectations that many believe to be normal, house, car, family, job, is not normal for all. In fact, it is detrimental to many. The inner light slowly dims as conformity consumes the individuality. Who we are and where we are heading is a decision we make when we have the courage to make it. My life was on a road I did not like. I drank because I wanted to escape it and also because I hated the fact I didn’t have the courage to change it. I was waiting for the change to happen. Praying for a miracle that would come and save me but it never came. I realised eventually that I had to step up to the plate and become the change. Force the change. It was scary. That’s why anyone who attempts to pursue a goal, change their life for the better or makes positive steps in that direction is impossible to be a failure. Because to try and fail is not to fail. To try and fail is to learn that you have to try again. Not to try is to fail. To spend your days escaping life through overconsumption whilst dreaming of a brighter future is to fail. To never realise that the cyclic lifestyle that we adhere to is not progression but stagnation. Many people know what they want. Many people know who they want to be. Yet they are fearful of doing it, being it or living it.
The question is that where does that courage come from? Is it innate? Or can it be learned? Well in my experience it can be learned. It can be learned by setting goals and either failing or succeeding. Both are equally important. I started out by setting small goals and either failing at completing them or completing them. When I completed one I would be inquisitive to know what I could do next so I would set more. This method enabled me to progress.
Many people I meet in my normal life would love to do new adventurous things but do not want to lose the security of their current situation. Yet they are unhappy. This unhappiness causes them to pursue methods to escape the unhappiness; shopping, food, drink, drugs, sex, gambling. This then creates guilt which only worsens the situation. It is a vicious cycle. I know not everyone can walk out on their lives and pursue a dream but there are many that do and are chastised for it. Courage should be promoted not criticized. The easiest way to stop someone doing something is to discredit them and criticize their desires to devalue them.
So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservatism, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more dangerous to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.
John Krakauer, Into the Wild
To the people who identify as being a resident of earth, a member of the human race, a person whose purpose it is to evolve grow and make humanity a better place. I salute you. The world needs difference. The world needs individuals. Yes, it needs stuff. Yes, it needs production. Yes, it needs food and services. But humanity needs art, music and alternative opinions. The people who are happy in offices are not to be slurred. Nor are the people pursuing goals that don’t align with that vision.
2000 days of hangover-free, personal growth. Moving from self-loathing and into self-love. 2000 days of learning, reflecting, processing, releasing and understanding. A 2000 day journey from misery to liberation and contentment. The constant barrage of negativity that bombarded my psyche with the ferocity of a howitzer has fallen silent. An amnesty that I thought was impossible. I never thought peace would be possible. I have created a sanctuary of serenity and thanks to the journey of the last 2000 days I have learned to set boundaries. Any drama merchants are ushered away. Chaos is no longer the way I get my kicks. I used to believe that it was required to add meaning to my boring life. I used to believe that to have a steady demeanour was to flat line. Now, drama and chaos are unwelcome to the point of being offensive. I no longer need the distraction from my own mind.
To coincide with this milestone I have ticked off another dream. Another item off the itinerary of things I never thought I would experience for real; the pyramids of Giza. The question I asked myself after this experience was “What am I getting out of this?” I mean it would be easy to fly around the world taking selfies next to objects I had no prior claim to and pass it off as some success…
Is that really the achievement? It seems a little empty if that is what I am doing it for. If all I am collecting are photos for the “Gram” to demonstrate my value on a social level or demonstrating to the world how “awesome” my life is, then it seems a little pointless. If those are the reasons then I am back to people-pleasing and I worked so hard to get away from that.
There has to be more to it than that. So what is it?
Firstly, I am just happy not to go to work for six months. The last time I had six months of work I had major depression and couldn’t leave the house. So this is a marked improvement.
Secondly, the journey to get here has been a difficult one for me. Like turning the Titanic it has taken a lot of focus and determination to step out of that life and into this one. So much work has gone into changing my psyche and outlook that I feel like I am closer to the best version of myself. That is all I ever wanted when I vowed to turn it around.
When I was slumped on a bar, slurring about all the wonderful places in the world, I never thought I would make it. It seemed so far away. It still does. The fact that I have walked around these places still takes a little bit of accepting. The emotions I feel when I’m there is the reminder of why I keep going. Whether it’s the childlike joy of seeing the pyramids, the pure intoxicating magic of seeing Macchu Pichu from the sun gate or the moments that remind me how far I’ve come such as when I approached the natural beauty of the Grand Teton mountains. The people I meet and the connections I make along the way, it all combines to make the decision to change my life the right one. The freedom I now have is only possible thanks to sobriety and the work I have put in.
Thirdly, I have come to realise that most people are the same. The majority of people are dictated to by the parameters set within the culture they are born. Many cultures use different techniques to control the people that live within the parameter… or borders. Some use religion, some use advertising but all use fear. Regardless of the culture, the people that live within it are very similar. Many will defend the culture that they live within and profess it to be the “right” way to live. Many are exploitative. Many have problems. Some are twisted and poison. Some are psychotic. Most are caring. And the majority just want to get through life and have a good time, by the standards that they define as having a good time. This isn’t ideological nonsense. It is just an observation. Yes, there are some twisted fuckers in the world but they are not as prevalent as they are made out to be. Now that doesn’t mean I’m going to start dancing through Syria wearing a tutu whilst professing evil to be an illusion. But it does mean that the world isn’t quite as bad as it is made out to be. Maybe if we stopped believing so much of the negativity that is poured out into our lives and spent a bit time getting to know one another instead of living in fear, then the world might not seem such a bad place.
Most of the ancient places I have visited throughout my travels used fear to control the citizens and even though the methods have got more advanced in time, the fact remains that fear is still used today. Fear of not being good enough, fear of starvation, fear of ostracization, fear of failure, fear of damnation, the list is endless but the reasons are the same; production, control and division. In the Mayan cultures, when the farming was done the building started. It is said that the pyramids of Egypt were built by “free” men, not slaves. Keeping people busy stops them from thinking. Thinking people are dangerous people who start to question. A group of thinking people get things changed.
Now we are less busy physically but mentally exhausted with constant stimulation to keep us from reflecting. Whether that’s about the world at large or our own drives. Such as why do we do the things we do? And are we leading our lives the way we would like or are we being lead through life?
Fourthly, I have learned to be grateful. The El Camino taught me to appreciate cold drinking water and having a warm shower. I also learned that I really didn’t need many possessions to be happy. This was further reinforced by visiting countries with a lot of poverty. Even though people are struggling they still seem happy and make the best of a bad situation. It’s always jarring after being in a place like that to come back to London and see the people with $1000 mobile phones and $300 headphones, looking miserable as they scroll through the adverts for the newer versions of the things they just bought. After walking part of the Portuguese Camino from Porto to Santiago I went back to London and I genuinely thought there had been a national tragedy because of the demeanour of the people. I was bouncing with positive energy like a new age tigger after spending 10 days walking through little Portuguese towns and being engaged in the moment. Yet being back in the city was like stumbling from a wedding into the funeral next door. That might be tainted by my view of being in a city though.
I would rather wake up in the middle of nowhere than in any city on earth.
We have an abundance of shit in our lives and an abundance of problems. Surely we can see that more stuff isn’t the answer. Maybe more, deeper meaningful connections based on compassion and not fear. Let’s try that. We tried more technology and it only seems to be hastening the problems. Self-entitlement seems to be on the rise and gratitude is on the decline. Maybe practising a little bit of appreciation for the things that we take for granted could change our outlooks for the better. When I worked in a care home with severely disabled children I used to moan about my life all the time. That was until I realised how lucky I was to have my faculties.
The Inca trail made me grateful for my mobility. I felt lucky to have made that journey to Macchu Pichu. It also made me realise that a lot of the things we are taught in school is utter horseshit presented as fact. A large part of our history is unknown and mostly opinion. Such as how Machu Picchu was built. Or the Egyptian pyramids.
The older I get and the more I learn, the more I realise I don’t know.
Finally, I wanted to see if I was capable of being on my own for a long period of time without falling foul of my previous addictions. Basically, I wanted to see if I was no longer the victim of my past. So far so good. I am no longer Charlie the alcoholic. I am just Charlie. A content individual who climbed off a barstool 2000 days ago and said: “I’m tired of this shit.” My sobriety didn’t start quite like that I mean I was smashed to pieces in more ways than one and was on my knees praying to anyone and everyone for assistance. There was no divine intervention but there was plenty of help from wonderful people. I had to push myself to change. I had to be open and honest with them and myself. I had to keep going when I didn’t want to and I had to face some fears. Has it all been worth it?
Well, let’s just say I can’t wait to see what day 2001 brings along.
It’s a shame the world became so noisy. I mean it was noisy but then douches started having phone calls on speaker or listening to TV shows with zero consideration for anyone else. A potential solution is to try and negotiate with one of these clowns. A task that I fear would diminish my IQ to the level that I too begin to watch reality tv shows on full volume on the bus. The alternative is to put in some headphones and listen to some music. Which in my humble opinion diminishes the purpose of music. I mean surely music was created to express beauty. To externalise an internal feeling that words alone couldn’t do justice for. The swirling emotions that ravaged the artists’ soul demanding to be brought out into the world and shared. Some people used their gift to impress members of the opposite sex or the same sex. Whatever the reason music was created, it was not to block out morons. It was created to bring people together. Whether lovers sharing an embrace with their souls united by the sounds. Or a group of people in a hot club dancing in unison, the empathy from the MDMA connecting them as one as love and sweat fill the air. A moment, a wedding, a funeral, dancing around the front room on a wet afternoon or singing with thousands of others at a concert, you problems a million miles away. Whatever the event music not only has the power to connect us to each other but to sear a moment into our brain. A moment that will be recalled every time we hear that piece of music. Some good and some bad. Maybe the first time your eyes met with someone else’s. It could be the saving grace for someone who feels isolated and alone but the words of the song offer an olive branch. The emotional power of music is not to be denied and we need to remember why it is there. The functionality of music should not exceed it’s potential. Nor should those moments of wonder be confined to special events. Playing a song on my commute to work creates a whole new dynamic but only if I am engaged in the moment, not distracted or living vicariously. Music adds to the beauty of everyday life. It doesn’t have to block it out. There are times for movies and there are times for listening to music. My landlord told me when he was a kid he used to lay in a dark room with headphones on and listen to music. I used to sit in the dead centre of the speakers late at night and full of drink. Nick Drakes three hours would dance suavely from the speakers as I sat and smoked, whilst contemplating life. The music would facilitate my thinking.
No matter where I am in the world when I hear certain music I am reminded of a moment in time. No matter my mood, certain songs can drag me out of a hole and brighten my day. One specific song is “I am the resurrection” by the Stone Roses. It has been an anthem to my life. It reminds me of good times, good friends and the time I went to a Stone Roses gig in Manchester. When I hear that song it reminds of being there, free, happy with great company. Or the anticipation of good times. It was my go-to song on the drive out of London back up north to see my friends before I got lost in the smoke and my self-importance. I would excitedly drum my steering wheel while inching forward in traffic on the M25. I remember the first time I heard the song nearly twenty years ago in a student flat. I was stoned and quite drunk the Stone Roses album was playing in the background as everyone chatted away. That was until I am the resurrection started and one of the lads there picked up an acoustic guitar and started playing along. Silence, except for the guitar and the song, coated the room as awe replaced idle chit chat. For the whole 8minutes 15 seconds everyone shared a moment of beauty. An iconic coming together, united by our appreciation of the music. That’s the beauty of music. It can be a room full of people or two lovers sharing a moment. Music is there for us to celebrate life. Let’s not just use it to drown it out.
The wonder of music – A poem
The suns shinin’ But the goose bumps are risin’ The light and the heat licks at my skin Yet my core is cooled as the opening beats begin
I am the resurrection The Stone Roses with a scent of perfection
Music has the ability to make the ordinary sublime And to make the wonderful divine To drag you from a miserable hole Light the fuse and ignite your soul
As the tune kicks in I’m transported from here Back to Heaton Park with my arms in the air Music can send us through time Back to moments when we truly felt alive
The wave of sound pushes the worries out of sight And for a few minutes everything is gonna be alright Slowly the music fades and the guitar loops to a stop. I’m no longer in Heaton park I’m on my way to get bread from the shop
So stick on your favourite song And have a dance and sing along Cos life ain’t always wonder and beauty But with a decent tune we might just get through it
I’ll admit it; I was apprehensive about going to Mexico. I had heard so much through the media that I expected to be shot and killed as soon as I left the airport. My geeky obsession with ancient cultures was enough to lure me there. I’m glad it did. Mexico has been a delightful experience for a variety of reasons. It has far exceeded my expectations and at no point did I feel threatened. The people have been welcoming, helpful and friendly.
The first question I am asked in Hostels is “How long have you been here?” after I answer “Five weeks.” The follow-up question is “How dangerous is it?” I understand. I felt the same when I arrived. They are as equally surprised by my positive experience as I am. I hope they can go on to share such a positive story as I can.
My initial plan was to visit Teotihuacan and then fly to the more touristy places of Cancun and Playa del Carmen but the feel of Mexico city was too vibrant that I chose to stay some extra days. Bustling yet without the chaotic urgency of somewhere like London, Mexico city felt like a modern city built into delightful colonial buildings. Whether those building should even exist is a different matter completely but the buildings are stunning. Even someone as religious sceptic as myself couldn’t help but appreciate the Mexico City Metropolitan Cathedral, in the historic centre of Mexico City, where I was staying.
Now don’t get me wrong, I am not going to profess to have a deep understanding of Mexican culture after spending a few weeks floating from place to place. Nor am I saying that there are no areas that are not friendly to tourists. I am just saying that Mexico and Central America both exceeded my expectations. There is far more to Mexico to Cancun and Playa del Carmen. In fact, I would go as far as to say that those places do a disservice to the country of Mexico. Probably not financially but maybe culturally. Take Tulum for example. I visited Tulum at the end of my trip. By this time I had visited numerous Mayan ruins in Mexico, Guatemala and Belize. I have to say that to visit Tulum and declare it a visit to a Mayan ruin is the same as to visit Playa Del Carmen and say you have visited Mexico. It is a sanitised version. An Instagram friendly snapshot. Just large enough to present something different but not too large to bore people with history. There is even an opportunity to swim if the history of Mexico doesn’t wet your whistle. Maybe if I’d visited it at the start then maybe I wouldn’t be so down on Tulum but people back home had said to me “You have to visit Tulum. It’s amazing!” Well, it’s okay, I guess. It’s just there are better ruins out there.
My personal favourite ruins I visited was Palenque. With only 5% of the ruins uncovered it still offered an outstanding insight into the Mayan life. It was also quiet compared to Chichen Itza which allowed for some time to reflect and try to comprehend what I was looking at. Don’t get me wrong Chichen Itza was absolutely stunning. A monumental achievement and definitely worth seeing. Even if only to be believed as none of the photos does any of the places justice.
I understand why people visit Cancun and Playa. The beaches are sublime. It’s just that there is more to Mexico than Cancun and Playa del Carmen.
Mexico is also one of the few places that have Cenotes. These magical underground pools with sparkling blue water in. The ones I visited just outside Merida, had a variety of Cenotes. Some open-topped and some sealed like a secret chamber. Whilst I swam in one of the open-top ones it began to rain which created a scene straight out of a movie. Even without the rain, it was still a delightful experience.
One of the things I noticed about Mexico, Guatemala and Belize was the use of colour. I find Britain to be bordering on puritanical in its use of colour. Any deviation from black, blue, grey and white is seen as a professional affront. So to see the houses painted bright colours was a welcome change. A change that should be welcomed in Britain to offset the drab weather but would probably be met with a visit from the council.
It’s almost as if colour is used to express an appreciation of life. The colours, coupled with the music that plays everywhere creates a vibrant, welcoming atmosphere. Almost as if life is one long celebration of being alive. That it is something to be enjoyed and experienced with joy. This is reiterated by the “go slow” mantra in many of the places I visited. Especially the island of Caye Caulker, Belize.
I started this blog by saying that I was apprehensive about going to Mexico and Central America due to the level of violence portrayed in the media. At no point during my five weeks visiting did I feel threatened. Admittedly, I didn’t wander around too many strange areas but I found the people to be friendly and helpful. I was as vigilant as I am walking the streets of any major city. I think those reports do the residents of these countries a disservice. Obviously, there are bad people around the world. I read a news article about a woman who was mugged on the way home in London. Does this then mean that all 8 million residents of London are muggers? Definitely not. There are shootings all the time in the US does that mean that everyone will pull a gun? Certainly not. The same applies to all the people in Mexico and Central America. There was a news article in a British tabloid about the dangers of Mexico whilst I was in Mexico. Some of the comments explained that that’s why Mexico should be avoided. Unfortunately, this belief is more prevalent than a few small-minded people. Yet most of the other travellers I have met in my time here all share positives tales and profess their affection for the area.
I’m glad I came to this part of the world. The sights and sounds were a joy. It far exceeded my expectations. Not to mention the fact I got the opportunity to toast an English Muffin on an active volcano in Guatemala. That is not a sentence I ever expected to say.
The other activities in Mexico, Guatemala and Belize that were available that I chose not to participate in were: diving/snorkelling the second largest coral reef in the world, viewing the blue hole from the air, caving, tubing and dolphin watching to name a few.
There was wildlife everywhere we went. From lizards to birds to Monkeys. Many called the Mayan ruins home so it was an added bonus to see some howler monkeys whilst looking around Palenque or Iguanas whilst visiting Xunantunich
Above all, though my favourite thing had to be the food.
“I had a salad at the airport on the way home and had a dodgy stomach. Must have been washed in the local water.” That was the advice given to me when I said I was visiting Mexico. Now the problem is with things like this is that what the person failed to tell me was that they had spent the previous fourteen days getting blasted drunk on cheap all-inclusive alcohol. Taking that into consideration may not have been the salad’s fault. So I took the advice with a pinch of salt but still approached the food with an air of caution. The first place I visited in Mexico city was El Mayor which is located in Centro Historico. I went because I was looking for something vegetarian and had been struggling to find something all day. My terrible Spanish didn’t help the search so I opted for a restaurant. The views were fantastic and the food was the best meal I’d eaten in months. I had shrimp Tacos for starter and Tuna steaks for main. Everything was cooked to perfection. The only problem was the price. Now those two dishes and a bottle of water cost about twenty-five dollars. Which, when I have another five months of travel to cover was a treat, not the norm but it was worth it.
As I walked the streets of Mexico City taking in the sights and sounds, I couldn’t help but notice all the vendors selling street food. I had to try something. A one-off I told myself, if I get a dodgy stomach then that’s what happens. I was pretty much convinced that I would. Even though I had tried street food in south-east Asia without problems.
The sign said 5 tacos for 35 pesos so I ordered and waited as the guy chopped up the pork and crackling and scooped it up with the tortilla. It has become apparent that Mexicans love pork. I wonder if that is a Spanish influence as they love pork too. I paid and took the plate. I have to admit I was a little excited. I hadn’t eaten meat for two years. There was a selection of sauces and sliced onions on a table next to the stall, so watching a local I followed suit and loaded up with a selection of extras. I couldn’t believe it was 35 pesos for five tacos with sauces and extras. It looked delicious. I tentatively raised the taco to my mouth, the lie that it would be a one-off echoing in my mind. The first bite was an explosion of flavour. The constant cooking left its taste on the meat. This combined with the chilli, onion and fresh lime gave it an extra kick. Simple but so effective. The other four were gone in no time. I vowed that I would only eat meat whilst in Mexico. I waited for the dodgy stomach but it never came. What I did get though was an apparent addiction to tacos. Prior to Mexico, my favourite food had been Italian. Again so simple but so beautiful and ruined by the rest of the world. Mexican food can claim the same. How the world is not resplendent with taco stands is beyond me. It is quick, easy and so so tasty. It is the meal of the modern age. No washing up. No messing about.
The next few days became a taste test of the street food of Mexico City. It was so good. After a while, I headed to Cancun and stayed in Hostel Ka’beh. A great hostel with breakfast, wifi, free coffee and a free dinner. What made it a great hostel was the location. Yes, it was easy to get to the beaches but at the end of the road is the Parque de las palapas which is filled with food stalls. A variety of Mexican dishes all at great prices. It is a great way to save money. I’m not sure if in the four days I was staying there I spent as much on food as I did in that first meal in Mexico City. The quality is fantastic and I had no problems with my stomach. Nor did any of the people who frequented it with me on an hourly basis.
If you are an all-inclusive type of person I recommend trying some local food. The flavours are sublime and it gives a truer reflection of the culture. Not to mention putting money into the pockets of the local people.
Playa del Carmen was a little trickier to navigate. My hotel, Hotel Caribe, is situated quite close to the tourist strip. So the food prices in the area are through the roof. I had a walk around and found a good taco place, that is open 24 hours a day. Billy the kid tacos, although not quite as cheap as Palapas it is still reasonable. There is a well-priced menu of the day at Sabor de luna, which is just sound the corner.
The last place I visited on the tour was El Hongo in Playa del Carmen, although away from the strip. It is much more than just a restaurant serving great food, it is a place that is creating a brighter future for the children in the neighbourhood through art and creativity. The local is adorned with the artwork of the local children. Many of which not only gain a sense of purpose but some also go on to have successful careers.
Mexico has probably raced to the top of my favourite food table. With its tantalising flavours and ease, tacos are the greatest snack on earth. Especially from a street vendor who spends his/her life making them.
Anyway, it is Taco time.
If you don’t believe me about the delights of Mexico then I implore you to see for yourself. It is quite clear that most of the countries violence is in the northern territories where there is a drug war. Many of the other areas are safer than many other countries: How safe is Mexico?
Adios Mexico, it’s been delightful.
Thanks for having me,
I spent a couple of weeks wandering on my own but also used this trip Mayan Adventure. I only spent a week in Guatemala and Belize hence the focus on Mexico but I had an enjoyable time in them all.
I was painfully shy when I was younger to the point that it was debilitating. I always dreamed of performing on stage but the thought of actually doing it brought me to a standstill. My parents would encourage me to try but I would refuse. When I found alcohol, I believed it to be a magical elixir that would solve all my problems and turn me into Don Juan Bond. In reality, it just turned me into slavering mess and then an alcoholic. I was on that treadmill for many years. Running towards a goal but never getting there. I pissed away the entirety of my twenties. Praying for change the whole time. Waiting for some divine intervention to save me from my plight. All the while, taking no action to alter the course of my life. I became angry and frustrated. Resentful of the lack of help that was being offered.
I believed alcohol was my saviour, yet it was my kidnapper. I was smitten with Stockholm syndrome. I was too bitter and twisted to form any real relationships. Only the acquaintances that I kept around to normalise my behaviour. I was the personification of the poison I imbibed. It poured out of my pores and the toxic acidity spilt from my tongue every time I spoke. I was a self-loathing creature of despair. Many saw the potential that lay behind the toxic barrier but their concerns were dismissed. Their love and light were not welcome in my cold life.
I would say that I was a functioning alcoholic for ten years. I used alcohol to mask my depression. Even after all this time I still do not know if the depression was a by-product of the drinking or the drinking was a by-product of the depression. Either way, drinking was useful. In more ways than one. I was actually quite good at it. At the time it was the only thing I believed myself to be good at. My crippling shyness still existed underneath my blase faux rock star image. Inside I was a child yearning for a connection yet my outer persona stopped it from happening. I pushed people away and then regretted it. I couldn’t be honest with them. Shit, I couldn’t be honest with myself. I hurt them to protect myself but ultimately it only hurt me in the end. I ended up lonely and lost. Broken and damaged. Hurt and angry. Yet still chasing away help. Too proud to admit defeat. Too stupid to show weakness.
My body had other ideas. My liver stepped in and brought the whole fucking charade to a halt, twice. Change or die was the option in the end. I didn’t want to change. I had NOTHING to change for. NOTHING to live for really. I had no kids. No wife. No girlfriend. I worked to pay my bar bill and to keep a roof over my head. Like a real-life Charles Bukowski character I bumbled and mumbled my way through existence. Penniless, directionless and adrift.
The two warnings from my liver painted a vivid picture of the future. A bleak future of dialysis, cirrhosis and death. I didn’t want that future. I wanted a different future. With a happy ending. Maybe I’ve just watched too many movies but it had to be worth a shot.
Looking for positives wasn’t an option at first. My mind was still full of dark clouds. “Whatever you do just don’t fucking drink,” was my only thought for a lot of months. I reached out to AA when the boredom hit. It helped for a bit but I wanted to know who I was. So I vowed to spend time with myself. I learned a lot. I learned what I wanted to do. I learned what I liked. It was good. I made peace with the tormentor, the bastard who made me feel like shit for years; ME.
I learned that kids and a wife weren’t really what I wanted. So I stopped giving myself a hard time about not having them. I learned that I wanted to travel, to explore and grow. I wanted to set a goal and achieve it. I wanted to do this because when I should have travelled in my early twenties I was riddled with crippling shyness and self-doubt.
It would have been easy to bemoan the things I didn’t have. To be resentful at the lack of a supportive wife and loving children. Instead, I took stock of what I did have; freedom. A commodity many would wish for and in a perverse way; a gift from alcohol. In the words of Kris Kristofferson “Freedoms just another word for nothing left to lose,” and I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. I had lost so much self-respect that I no longer cared what people thought. So failure held no real threat anymore. I had moved towns so often my only real friends and family lived two hundred miles away. I was alone but I was free to start again.
Slowly, I rebuilt. Slowly, I took steps forward. Slowly, I began to see results. Eventually, I started to see that I was steering the ship, not alcohol. A scary thought to begin with. Each new hurdle, each new test, each achievement all went to create something new; self-belief. Real self-belief. Not arrogance masking a boy in a man’s body. Actual confidence and self-awareness.
When I used alcohol, I used my toxic tongue to hurt people emotionally. In sobriety, I’ve been hurt. I regret what I did. I have apologised were I could. I didn’t do it because I wanted to feel better. I did it because I didn’t understand what it felt like for someone else to make you feel bad. When I drank nobody could make me feel worse than I made myself feel.
Acting humble and climbing down from my fragile tower, changed my outlook. And hurt my pride but it needed to happen. I needed to purge my system not only of the poison I was drinking but the toxic, negative thinking.
Slowly, the clouds began to clear. It was a complete and utter transformation but it took time.
Why am I saying all this? I just wanted to share this as a reminder that people can recover. Not only recover from drinking but also negative thinking and turn it around. Even people who never believed in themselves for years. A LOT of years.
So please, don’t be THAT person. You are better than that. Be the person you want to be. That deep down you know you can be.
When alcohol loses its grip on the steering wheel. Take stock of what you’ve got; not what you haven’t. You can get the things you haven’t got and the things you TRULY want. Just point your life in that direction and go for it. It just takes time, patience and plan. Get to know you. You are fucking great. Don’t give yourself such a hard time. It only makes things worse. SLOWLY, it will happen. Just keep going. Keep trying and keep learning.
Who knows what you can achieve? I guess there is only one way to find out!
As for me? Now, five and a half years sober, I am two months into six months of travelling. So far it has exceeded my expectations. If ten years ago someone would have told me that at thirty-seven years old I would finally be in a position to do so I would have said “What drugs are you taking? Can I have some?” It has only been made possible by not drinking and the people I’ve met along the way. Not drinking alcohol allowed me to get an understanding of who I am and what I want. Even without travelling, my day to day thinking is just so much better now than it used to be. This is thanks to the beautiful people who share their stories and vulnerability with the world so that I am reminded where I came from. The positivity and support that pours from the words of people who once felt trapped and are now free. They know the heat of hell and lower a hand to wrench people free. I thank you all. You are a beautiful reminder of the light that can shine from us once we reconnect with our true selves.
And if you’re not there yet, keep going. There is light at the end of the tunnel. Not the light of a dimly lit bar that promises much but offers little. It is a genuine, positive and warming light that symbolises freedom.