Free of alcohol and other drugs for almost 16 years now, I have a pretty good understanding of what it takes to stay that way. My recovery program isn't tattooed on my body. But it is programmed in my brain and anchored to my soul.
Still, a physical reminder helps; the hurt I've known the past few years as a sober man has been mitigated by the Tibetan prayer bracelets I wear on my left wrist. I'm no Buddhist. My spirituality doesn't flow with the discipline of sitting on a cushion in solitary meditation or chanting in rhythm with other seekers. Mine's more like pulling teeth. It takes a lot of effort. And it usually is preceded by the pain of trying and failing to push through my problems on my own.
So I've assigned various recovery tools to these bracelets, and I pull at them when I'm stuck. My favorite had the role of reminding me that only a "power greater than myself" can get me beyond any obstacle in my way, even those as formidable as my own hardheadedness or my intolerance of anything that falls short of my lofty, unrealistic expectations. Just the act of fingering the bracelet's beads is enough to get me out of my own head and allow this power, which I know as God, to take over.
The other day, my son Henry and I were swimming at the lake. Somehow the bracelet slipped off my wrist and sank to the bottom. (At least it is in the lake where I want my ashes to go when I've moved on. I'll know roughly where it is and have plenty of time to search it out in the aquatic forest.)
"Well, Dad, maybe it was meant to be; maybe it means you are done with that step of your recovery," said Henry, who always has a keen insight or an appropriate takeaway remark about his old man.
I laughed. "Ah, son, if only it were that easy. I never will be done reaching out to that power beyond me."
Many of the questions I receive as a result of my role at Hazelden or in response to what I write in this space each week are from people whose struggles with addiction include conflicts with their religious tenets. Even for those who already believe in a higher power, converting that conviction into faith is often tougher than quitting the drink or drugs. If it is any solace to them, those of us who got sober long ago still must work hard to maintain that spiritual connection. Stuff happens in recovery that constantly pokes at our serenity. If we're not vigilant, the holes in the dike may result in a flood that drowns us in our addiction.
So to Mikail B. in Eden Prairie, Minn., Donald S. in Fort Lee, N.J., Alyse R. just west of Denton, Texas, "Roger the Lone Ranger" near Walla Walla, Wash., and Kyle C. in Racine, Wis., keep at it. Don't give up the struggle to find your spiritual grounding. Do it over and then over and over. You'll find it. And so will I, as soon as I get myself another Tibetan bracelet.
William Moyers is the vice president of foundation relations for the Hazelden Foundation and the author of "Broken," his best-selling memoirs, and "A New Day, A New Life." Please send your questions to William Moyers at wmoyers@hazelden.org. To find out more about William Moyers and read his past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.
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