Purcha$e

*Cha-Ching* as the cash register rings up my purchase of ‘Appetite for Destruction’, the debut album by Guns-N-Roses (back in the olden days, you know the 80s).  By the way, that album and ones by The Cure, N.W.A. and others were life changing during that time.

But that’s not the type of purchase I’m referring to.  I’m talking about footing, grip.  Finding a firm stance.  I’m talking about life.

Purchase

Noun: a firm grip or grasp, footing, etc., on something.

So let’s talk about shoes.  There is one area that I have no problem spending money on, and that is footwear.  I want to be able to feel comfortable, feel secure when I step, know that I have the ability to do whatever function I’m undertaking.  Walking, hiking, working for a full day doing construction, cozy hard-bottom slippers to walk out to the mailbox or to see what’s going on in the alley behind my house (and there is always something going on in the alley behind my place).  A pair of cowboy boots that only come out on special occasions.  My everyday “kicks” that I love when getting out casual. Every pair I own, regardless of activity have to make me feel secure in my step.  Not fearful of losing traction on the smallest puddle or loose terrain.

Or drywall.  Whenever I patch it, I look for places the piece that’s being replaced can grab hold of - hopefully a stud or crossbeam in the wall or ceiling.  A place to find purchase.  Otherwise I have to build up a mount behind to help hold it and give it strength.

And then there’s this week.  I’ve felt unsteady.  Restless (irritable and discontent - for my new friends!).  My ‘footing’ has been anything but firm.  Quite like the 'Lightning Sand’ from 'The Princess Bride'.

I found myself lashing out verbally at two of my biggest supporters - one while in the back aisles of Home Depot (God, I embarrassed myself).  I saw past hurts creep in during the weakest times of my day.  Reminding me that I still am so raw and new to all of this.  I was called out by a friend for insensitivity towards a visitor in our group.  I kept slipping.

So I walked.  In the midst of all this, I put on my hiking shoes - $86 Merrells that I’ve had for a while now.  I haven’t walked or hiked enough to wear them out.  Typically I’d go through a pair or two a year, but recently I’ve had the same pair.  So I put them on and grabbed my raincoat and set off.  The tears came as my emotions became a cacophony of past sins, recent hurts, failed relationships and loss.  I am still on the verge of tears.  It’s hard.  It’s so goddam hard to face all this without the old habits that would numb or take me into unconsciousness.  Even in the midst of so many new voices that show love, tolerance and HOPE, I still muddy myself inside my head and don’t want to let go – much less forgive myself.

And I looked at my days.  120 days of clean.  That’s Friday the 19th.  4 months.  I’m celebrating, even when my insides are mush and knuckled up with emotions.  I am thankful.  Thankful for the knowledge of what it looks like to be clean.  To be levelheaded (well as levelheaded as I’ve ever been). 

I wanted to give up this week.  So much.  I wanted to run and hide back in the bottle or wherever I could find a release.  I lashed out, I spat at the program and everything that it stands for.  Which for me means lashing out at God.  My spiritual heart has been weeping and longing for some F*ing relief.  And then I got the reminder.  IN AN INSTANT.  Just like November 19th.  The clouds broke.  The sun broke through the clouds and shattered my heart.  I can’t do this alone.  I can’t do this without you God.  Without the people you’ve surrounded me with.  Without relying on this moment.  Not the hurts from yesterday or the worries about tomorrow.  I can’t do this without help.

And he keeps sending me these messages when I get here.  I’m not ok, but I’m here.  I’m not healed, but I’m healing.  I’m not strong, I am weak.  And I cast all my hopes and longings his way.  I will be here tomorrow.  I will be alive (God willing) and clean.  I’ll piss some of you off with my over-the-top antics, but if you take the time to look inside you might just see the deep well that holds the remnants of my heart.  I don’t show it to many, but I’m trying.  I still fear that most of all.  

Being truly seen.  Being real.

Being me.


And that’s who I am. 

Me.

~ Peace

Chad

AW

The Work of My Hands

At the end of the day, what are we really known for?  Our lives, our relationships, our careers, our legacy?  It may be that we discover some radical cure for a disease; that we champion some cause; that we help lead troops into battle; that we care for and nurture young minds as they grow towards adulthood.  Or it may be as simple as toiling each day in the dirt, trying to produce a crop to feed others.  Whatever our endeavors, I challenge you to think about the work of your hands.  What do you do to help make a mark on your time around each turn of the planet?  What is your mark?

I’ve chosen to let go of the mindset that I fear was part of my undoing.  ‘You have to do this.  You really should be doing that.’  What are we at the end of the day but ‘ants marching’ toward our own end?  We live, we breathe, we work, we die.  We are. 

I’ve recently updated my profile on LinkedIn.  It’s the only thing close to social media that I care to do these days.  As I scrolled through the many posts and advertisements, I realized that there are so many powerful messages on its pages.  But at the end of the day, what does it really matter?  I want to know you for who you are, not what you do.  Even if you are part of some philanthropic movement that radically changes our perspectives, I still want to know who you are.  Did Einstein really have a sense of humor?  Was Teddy Roosevelt the storyteller that I feel must have been part of his make-up?  What powerful truth does the 8-year-old girl that I teach ukulele hold inside?  Because we each hold vast sums of ourselves not in what we do, but in who we are.

My mark?  Well, I hope that it will be less about the toil and more about the soil.  What did I plant and nurture in the last chapters of my life?  What will my kids remember?   Will I choose to spend the time I have left here nurturing others and also edifying myself?

I started this writing with the hopes of telling everyone about this next adventure that I’m undertaking.  But I’d rather sit back and listen.  I want to know what you plan to leave behind.  What will be the work of your soul?

It’s nothing radical, but it’s the heart that beats.  The laughter shared.  The tears cried over. 

And the life we chose to live.

“Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, working with your hands, minding your own business.” 

1 Thessalonians 4:11

~ Peace

Chad

AW