Picking Up the Pieces

There comes a time in our life when we must take stock of our decisions. Are we doing the best we can to live a higher and more fulfilling life? Are our egos confusing our actions? Are we running our lives or is it our habits and vices that make the rules? Finally, what is more important: our image or our identity?

I asked myself these hard questions recently. It was necessary to set my position and potential course direction for the rest of my life. It was time to become my own one-man-army.

Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I am clean. From drugs, and now I even dare to remove booze from my life. Not an easy choice, but surprisingly my resolve is strong. My birthday recently passed, only a couple of days ago, and I stayed sober. I drove my new car home in the early morning dawn and thought about where I have come from…even more so what I have survived.

Too many nights I stumbled home and crashed into walls. Kicked in doors because they stubbornly refused to yield to my shoulder. Passed out in my bed only to wake up, groggy, and oh so guilty. An empty wallet and a hazy memory of the night before. At some point I had to ask, “When does it all stop? When is enough really and truly enough?”

I always worried that if I gave up drugs, gave up alcohol, would my soul follow suit? There is an old saying about no junk, no soul for a writer. It is a mythical idealogy that a writer is nothing without a nasty habit. He or she has nothing to pull from anymore, and even worse, nothing to create for the future. No parties, no broken hearts, no empty, dusty bottles of whiskey, and no fragrant whisps of smoke filling the air with false inspiration.

I reflect back to another time for a moment. To a time when music was my salvation. I was encased in a body-cast, and only a few days out of a two-week hospital stay. I walked around my living room, headphones on, and listened to the Red Hot Chili Peppers soulful harmony in my ears. I was so aware of the contraints in my life at the time. The headphone leash that limited me to a few feet of freedom. The fibercast tomb that trapped me in my body. One, a leash tethered to sanity; the other, a physical reminder of insanity. Yet, all I could do was walk back and forth, pace and pace, and taste life so palable on my lips. New life. Second chance.

There came a day, more like a morning in fact, when I knew it was time. I woke up with what may be my last hangover, groggy, guilty about an empty wallet, and a memory fading into the ether of my mind. I searched for my car in an underground concrete parking, fearful it was towed away. I retraced my steps, and realized in my confused state that I had walked right past it. When would enough be enough? That was the day. I had too much to lose now. I had a business, a future so promising that I could not afford to ignore warning signals. Pay attention, said the signals, pay attention before you give it all away for free. Pay attention.

This past week has been an escape from the trappings of drugs and booze, but a return to the beauty and freedom of music. It has been seven days full of parties, live music, and dancing under neon lights. Swaying, bouncing, swinging to powerful beats and real words from real people. I was surrounded by others with bottles to their lips, stumbled hitches in their steps, blurred lights in their vision. Loving life. But I was sober. It was so real. My outlet was real. To dance, sway, bounce to soulful harmony because I could. No constraints. No restrictions. No leash.

New life. Second chance. Freedom.

It is the first week. In two more months, it will be a year clean of drugs. I used to laugh when people asked me how long I was clean. It was one month, three months, even six. It was ephemeral at the time. Now it has been almost a year. There have been challenges and there have been many a test. But, I passed and each day continues on from the next with another opportunity to disappoint myself. That is what it comes down to for me. It is not the opportunity to fail but the opportunity to look at myself in the mirror in the morning…and be proud. So, it is one week. I wonder how long it will take before a year passes in single blink of an eye…I wonder.

Scattered all around me are pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. I have been building this damn puzzle my whole life. Just when it is seemingly complete, I realize there is a missing piece. In frustration sometimes, I scatter all the pieces into the wind and then chase after them. Start all over again. Place them all on a flat surface and rebuild. Time after time. One piece fits here. Another piece fits there. Each one fits easier than the last. Gives me hope that the next piece will be the link to the complete puzzle. To a complete me. No missing pieces. More whole than the last time I put myself back together after I scattered my identity into the wind in frustration. Time after time and time again. I have come to see over the years that I am not forming an image after all. I am working on completing a master identity. An example, a change for others to see. For others to follow. At the very least, the change I need to follow in my own life.

With every day comes another day to walk one step in front of the next. One step at a time. One day at a time. I keep my head up and watch out for the signals, whether warning or warming, and think about one day at a time. I think about these goals that I set for myself and I smile. I am a soldier. So, it would make sense that my one-man-army keeps marching to its own beat. One day at a time.

Until we meet again, my friends. Until we meet again.

Peace and love.

“But my hand was made strong by the and of the Almighty. We forward in this generation...triumphantly. Won't you help to sing these songs of freedom? Because all I ever have...redemption songs. Redemption songs. Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery...none but ourselves can free our minds." - Bob Marley