It Was Fun, Then It Was Not Fun

Hey, Bow Tie o’ the Day’s wearing its neon green animal print for our dinkin’-around afternoon. We played around with the mirror and the camera for a few minutes, and we snapped this blurred shot.

Have you ever had a day when you felt a touch blurry? I occasionally feel blurry. And raggedy. And generally out of focus in the details. Those days happen cuz we’re tired, or upset, or confused, or have too many bills to pay– you name it. Blurry days are normal. It’s a human being thing.

Back in the day, when I drank, I felt blurry more often than not. I’d like to be able to say I hated the buzzy beer blur, but I was smitten with the feeling. I liked it waaaay too much though. I finally figured out that my life– like anyone’s life– wasn’t all about me. What I did affected the people around me more than I realized. I had no idea how blurry I was to the people who seemed to care for me. I’m lucky I had enough awareness to do what I needed to do, so I wouldn’t lose Suzanne and other people who gave a damn about me.

Don’t misunderstand me. I enjoyed my time with a near-constant beer in my hand. Pub-hopping all across Ireland. Lots of get-togethers with friends in backyards. Hangin’ at beaches along the Atlantic Ocean. 4th of July fireworks on The Mall in front of the U.S. Capitol.  Sittin’ on porches. Canoeing on the Potomac River. Picnics all over the place. And always a cooler full of brewskis nearby. Even now, you can name a brand of beer and I can remember the taste of that particular brew. And I tell you honestly that I cannot barbecue as skillfully without a beer in my hand. A can of Diet Coke doesn’t have the same heft or magic to it.

At some point in my life, it was clearly time to dissolve my relationship with beer, no matter how much I liked it. (I miss no other version of alcohol.) After I knew I needed to choose a new beverage, it took me a couple of years to get completely sober. But 11 years ago, I finally managed to do it. I don’t regret picking up my first beer, and I don’t regret putting down my last one. I’ve found that it’s impossible to completely regret doing things that taught you bigly lessons– lessons that make you a better person. At least, that’s how it’s always worked for me.

Through The Valley Of The Shadow Of The Wasatch Front

Bow Tie o’ the Day wore its molecules, and we all went out to Daybreak for an appointment with my crazy-head doctor. Contrary to the picture here, I was not in need of “urgent care.” Nah, me and the doc just had a scheduled talk-talk-talk-and-talk-some-more therapy session. I never leave my sessions with answers to anything, but I think I do figure out the right questions– which allow me to surf the waves of my bipolar life.

Questions can give purposeful direction to our travels. They make our lives our own. If we follow the herd for the sole purpose of following the herd, we have no individual selves. We murder our individual souls by allowing the herd to decide and to act for us. Herds don’t like questions. Questions lead to thinking, which is an individual act. Herds aren’t high on personal responsibility either. “I didn’t do it. The herd did it,” let’s us off the hook for what happens– whether it happens in our house, our city, our country, our schools, etc.. The herd mentality makes us believe we’re powerless without the herd. That’s not true. You have all the power. You even have all the superpowers. And I’m telling you about your power as one li’l individual to another li’l individual. Put on your cape, and ask questions.