The Slow Lane
Wow. Home almost a month from Drunk Camp and boy has my life changed.
- I make the bed every morning.
- I do my laundry once a week.
- I clean the bathroom.
- I fix dinner.
- I shower.
Next week I plan on adding an hour or so a day to watch paint dry. It's the good life.
Really, the simplicity and moderation are starting to stress me out. I'm thinking about only brushing my teeth twice a day just to liven things up.
I could spin more than a few similes to explain my days, but really I'm just taking it easy. I stay busy but the rest of the world is whizzing by and that's okay with me at the moment. Zoom zoom.
The downside of this, unfortunately, was that I had to miss my 30th high school reunion. I thought about it quite a bit, and got some advice, and finally I just decided it was too complicated for me at the moment, although it wasn't fun. I'd been looking forward to this for a long time. In fact, as the big event approached I got gloomier and quieter, and on Friday night, the "ice breaker" evening at the hotel in Scottsdale, I imagined all the fun as I sat in a meeting and listened to life stories, and I got some serious attitude. I had some blaming and anger and self-pity all working overtime.
"I'm supposed to be someplace else," I thought.
Then I thought a little more.
Here's a life story, although it's not one from Friday night. True, though.
There was this kid, once. A great kid. Played every sport, got all the girls, aced all the tests. Brains and talent oozed out of his pores, and everything he touched turned to gold.
But he had a little, teensy problem with alcohol and drugs. He once drank half a fifth of Jack Daniels, then went out and pitched a Little League no-hitter. There were lots of things like that.
He was something of an entrepeneur, but his life became a shambles, as will happen. He stopped seeing his family. Friends became questionable. Girlfriends and fiancees came and went.
Eventually he found himself in a drug treatment center, but it was only a mild reprieve. The law had finally caught up with him, and after treatment he was looking at 30 years in state prison.
The day he was discharged, he dutifully walked out to the road and waited for the state patrol or sheriff or whomever was due to pick him up and take him to a nice cell somewhere. He waited a long time. He had no intention of running. He was, actually, through running. His treatment experience had worked, as it turned out. He was ready to take responsibility.
After a few hours, he finally walked to the nearest town, got a room in a halfway house, and waited some more. Eventually he found a job, and finally, after a couple of years, a calling. He went back to that same treatment center and said he wanted to work there. He went to school, got some education in social work and chemical dependency. He moved up in the institution until he was at the top. He got married and had kids. He reestablished relationships with his family. He planned on staying in this line of work for the rest of is life. It just felt right.
After a while, he made some inquiries into his legal status and the mystery. It turned out that somehow his records had gotten lost. His slate had been wiped clean by mistake, attrition and the statute of limitations.
Did he pay for his crimes against society? I dunno. That's a good question, with a couple of good answers. I just know he's leading a life of service to his fellow humans on this bumpy road, and obviously doing a lot of good.
And you know what? I'll bet you every night he thinks the same thing I was thinking.
I'm supposed to be someplace else.
Choice is a quantum noun, perched on a step leading to a million other steps, and if I had any clue at all I'd be picking stocks and predicting the weather. But I can make 'em when I see 'em, and fix the ones I screw up, as best as I can, and I guess I get some serenity from that.
So I had a rough weekend. I dealt with it. And I also know that a couple of months ago I wouldn't have.
And I have at least enough wisdom today to know the difference. 
7:26:20 PM 
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