Not Much. Still A Lush.

“Everything in excess! To enjoy the flavor of life, take big bites. Moderation is for monks.” Richard Heinlein

about 10 years ago, a dear friend shared this quote and i loved it. and pretty much lived it. from my senior year in high school through college, perfecting the motto in my 20s and still mostly living by it until i gave up the hootch when i was almost 39. that's a shitload of time playing/working/living hard.

moderation. a foreign concept. still is. one of my 3-year-old's most used expressions is "not much." after going to trader joes AND whole foods with me, she walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge and said "not much food."  on christmas morning, we heard "not much toys."

when both my kids want something, like candy or gum, they start by requesting 3 or 5 (never 4) pieces and end up with at least two. they are hard-wired for more. and more. and more. and yes, this is a lot of, if not most, children. i get it. but when mine do it, it naturally amuses and annoys us but slightly alarms us given their genetic pre-disposition for becoming a booze or drug hound. it's there from the start. this need for more.

today is day 10 with no smokes. not a new year's thing so much as me turning 41 on dec. 28th. after trying countless other times, many of which were half-assed attempts, i am taking this one day by day. have been miserable and feel totally deprived a lot of time and other times i am indifferent. i love smoking. it is, or was, my outlet. after giving up Vino, it was the only "escape" i had left. just like quitting drinking, i am doing this for my babies. not because i want to but because i am putting them first and me dying an early death would be selfish to the core. that is it.

last night i finished reading, Unwasted, My Lush Sobriety by Sacha Z. Scoblic.find it here. i devoured this book and related to every page.

in the chapter "Working Through It," she writes, "Am I tired? Hungry? Frustruated? Homesick? Any chink in my armor can lead to a complete meltdown. I prefer to bathe my feelings in copious amounts of alcohol rather than feel them. So now, still an infant in my sobriety, when forced to encounter my own feelings, I am ill-equipped to deal with them and can perceive situations that most adults might find merely annoying to be soul-sucking nightmares from which I must escape." 

i still want to escape. my most intense cravings for a smoke are usually preceded by an emotional trigger. now that i have sealed off both of my escape hatches - American Spirits and Vino - i will have to find a healthy replacement to achieve a sense of relief or escape, like meditation or yoga. in the meantime, chocolate-hazelnut bars and raw cookie dough are a semi-worthy substitute. a brisk walk helps. these and attending a couple of recovery meetings a week and staying uncomfortably-close to a bad-ass support group doesn't hurt.

the book is full of clever, honest and often hysterical insights and stories about drinking and sobriety. here are few excerpts that hit home:

"But no one has ever become smarter, funnier and better looking when smoking. Drinking, on the other hand, could change the entire course of my evening, and it could also change me. A cigarette has never given me the courage to jump on a pool table and dance...A cigarette has never taken me from desoltion to euphoria, had never amassed the strength to hold back oceans of despair, to Bubble Wrap my senses against the daggers of the real world, and gently lull me into a completely new person - a person who happily cares for no one, who is responsible for nothing, and who is soothed by, and not fearful of, oblivion."

"But the more I fell in love with drinking, the more I found the persona I had always been looking for: part Holly Golightly, part Dorothy Parker, with a dash of Sid Vicious thrown in for extra bad-assery...And, as Holly-Parker-Vicious, I certainly wasn't going to bed early."..." Who was I, after all, if not the sum of my experiences? My worth was entirely calibrated by the exciting things I did, the wild places I went, the funny things I said, or the culitivated way I opined. Until sobriety, the idea that I was someone worthwhile and unique a priori had not occurred to me. And, as I looked toward the blank sober slate before me in the mirror, a thousand discarded personas on the floor, I began to sense that this one last transformation - that is, becoming myself, which is what everyone tells you to be from the start - was going to be an awful lot of fun. I was going to reinvent myself as me. And I could go to sleep as early as I damn wanted....What a fucking relief. Going to bed when exhausted rather than pushing onward hoping for magic but ending up with a headache is truly empowering. I wish sometimes I could go back and tell a younger version of myself to leave a little mystery in her wake, tell her that the woman who leaves early - who doesn't absolutely need to be at given bar, party or after-party - is far more thrilling than the one who is a constant, droning, and unaviodable presence."

"And the moment I start to think that I have a different level of addiction, that I am not so hard-core, that's the moment I will decide I can handle a drink after all. Sure, there are folks in recovery - and out - whose lives make mine look like Muppet Babies. But I know their hunger, I know their sense of urgency. I know their manipulative and wily ways,. Our stories are different; our disease is the same....My disease is the same as every addict's, even the shotgun-toting, eye-bleeding, tatooed crackhead alcoholic. I just stopped sooner...Today, I am so grateful that I stopped comparing myself with other people's levels of addiction and just looked at the mess before me and came in from the storm. What kind of alcoholic am I? What level? The one where you can never drink again."

reaching two years of sobriety, i don't feel like i have it down. i am even more determined to guard it. quitting smoking brings me right back to giving up my evening Vino.  i can either be brought to my knees or hit the ceiling depending on time of day and who is not cooperating. and just yesterday, i glanced at the clock at 5:15 and thought, "hmm. almost another day of not smoking" rather than "FIVE FREAKING FIFTEEN. i want a cigarette on my porch RIGHT NOW." then i headed to the basement to shake my ass to, i mean play, michael jackson experience with my babies.

the immature, entitled addict voice is back. sometimes subtly and other times screaming at me to say "fuck it. you deserve to smoke. fuck it. you are not trying to be a saint. fuck it. you already gave up Vino. fuck it. these people who love you and want you to stop are unreasonable. fuck it." having the "fuck its" back is annoying. but they aren't as loud as when i slammed the first escape hatch.

Scoblic writes, "A surprising thing happened when I stopped feeling entitled to things: I gained more than I ever knew I wanted. Because, finally, for the first time - and gratefully - all that I have, I came by honestly."

every time Sugar says, "not much" a part of me winces. but a bigger part of me, the one i am liking more and more, reminds me that what matters most is today. right now and this very moment. i can't know nor will i ever know what  what will happen to my children as they grow up. what i do know with every ounce of my being is that i am hard-wired for more. and i am so fucking grateful that today i want more clarity. more serenity. more honesty. more authenticity.