I learned that hard work yields distinct results. Put in A and you’ll get B. So I invested in some spectacular fantasies and impatiently waited for B to arrive. Then—nothing happened. Sure, I got sober and my life improved dramatically, but I’m looking for some pretty specific results. Is that too much to ask? Did all those speakers pitching “a life beyond your wildest dreams” not mean my dreams?
I want happiness. Security. I want my life to matter. And I want it all to be a result of success in a super competitive industry. Maybe it’s because I got sober in LA. Maybe it’s because my first sponsor was hugely successful. Maybe it’s because I sit in rooms next to people I used to idolize, people excelling at my desired career.
Or maybe I’m just an entitled millennial.
You’d think I’d be humble, or grateful, or at least realistic given how I was raised. My parents were refugees, arriving in Australia with no English, no money and one beat-up suitcase. Their expectations of life were pretty low. Living without bread lines, rations, or power that cut out at 7 pm every night was luxurious. To them, we were the lucky ones. But I grew up with a different set of rules.
“I want,” my mind decries, “I deserve.” But when sobriety doesn’t hold up its end of the bargain, what I believe I’m owed, I give up. I once almost drank because I failed a driving test. I wanted to pass so badly, but hadn’t practiced enough and screwed up a turn. It’s a pattern. Don’t get what I want? Drink. Cry. Leave the country.
Sure, I do as I’m told and do the work, but how exactly will setting up chairs help me write better? How does step work help me sell a screenplay? Why do I have to do all this shit—meetings, service, prayer—to get what I want? At the end of the day, I have a few precious hours and dwindling reserves of energy to devote to my passions.
Despite working constantly, my credit score isn’t improving. Health insurance is a luxury I still can’t afford. If the results aren’t guaranteed, if a career and success and security don’t come part and parcel with sobriety, why the fuck am I doing this? Am I doing it wrong? If I help another newcomer, will I get an agent? If I read page 147 again, will I get published? Though I’m told to not compare and despair, seeing others rocket to creative success and material security makes me wonder when it will be my turn. If I’m doing the work, doing it right, why am I still not getting what I want?
Then I remember: a few years ago, with nine months sober, I found myself in a strange city in the middle of winter, flat broke and unable to work. Sleeping on the street was about to be my reality. I was desperate and decided to give this fucking program one last shot. I made anguished call after call to my sponsor, willing to try anything. She told me to go to meetings, so I walked until my feet were blistered. She told me to ask for help, so I shared my situation with everyone who asked. She told me to pray, so I forced the words out of my mouth. She told me not to jump off the bridge until I had tried everything, so I went to another meeting. And then my phone rang. Food, shelter, work—everything materialized seemingly out of thin air. I was going to be okay. The cozy nest I’d found in California had saved me, but spoiled me. It took being violently tossed overboard to meet a God I could actually rely on.
But then, it faded. In fact, the easier my life gets the farther from surrender I feel. I write this in a warm apartment with a puppy on my lap, yet I’m less grateful at times than the day in Vancouver the ATM spat out an extra $20. Removed from desperation, willingness dissolves. The drama of this or die, sober or bust, is a distant memory. Habits have been formed, life goes on and the daily grind grinds away.
The work has to be as valuable as the results.
For the girl walking across that Vancouver bridge with rain leaking into her shoes, what mattered was not dying. For me today, what matters is my career. But I can’t hate my daily life, living in the hope that it will all change one day. What if it doesn’t? Though I may be sober, of service and carry the message for the rest of my life, my financial situation may never improve. Doing the work doesn’t guarantee any results that aren’t spiritual.
If I don’t find a solution for my warped perception I will drink, or I will die. Whichever comes first.
And as for life? I’ve seen people far more talented and hardworking than I am never achieve material success or recognition. Like my father. He worked as hard as humanly possible and barely made ends meet. He didn’t deserve his hardships. Does anyone? I have no idea why anything happens: why some people succeed and other don’t, why some live and die in disease and dysfunction and others are healthy and happy. And though I can infer meaning into just about anything (including the number 11, lack of convenient parking and your tone of voice) it doesn’t make it true.
Entitlement isn’t just about expecting something for nothing; it is having expectations of a seemingly random and often unfair world.
As I sit in a meeting, do I look at the person with the nice hair and job I want, wondering how I can get what she has? Or do I talk to the girl who looks terrified and greasy? When I was the greasy girl, sitting in those rooms felt like winning the lottery. Now I bitch about the lighting.
What matters is how I define success. As a stubborn, proud and judgmental person, my beliefs need reframing. I have to tear up those roots that burrow into my eyes and cause me to see things as bleak. Eventually, my perception shifts. Nothing in my life changes, but I’m a tiny bit more grateful. If I can let go of what I think is important—things my program doesn’t actually value at all—I have a chance at serenity. I can find a new definition for success.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
Sponsored DISCLAIMER: This is a paid advertisement for California Behavioral Health, LLC, a CA licensed substance abuse treatment provider and not a service provided by The Fix. Calls to this number are answered by CBH, free and without obligation to the consumer. No one who answers the call receives a fee based upon the consumer’s choice to enter treatment. For additional info on other treatment providers and options visit www.samhsa.gov.
