At 18, some self-destructive habits coupled with the sudden passing of my brother led to a major wake up call. I was not leading the life I knew I was capable of and I knew changes needed to be made; however, I didn’t know how and I was too afraid to ask for help.

It was a short trip to the Rocky Mountains to visit my cousin that opened my eyes to what the world had to offer. This was my first experience away from the East coast, and I knew I needed more of it.

Not long after, I took a leap of faith and enrolled in commercial diving school. This four-month long endeavor provided the foundation, structure, and support that I needed at age 20. It resulted in my first working gig in Southeast Alaska, where I quickly learned the value of situational awareness, communication, and humility. Exposed to the elements and often dangerous working conditions, being vigilant, prepared, and adaptable to the ever-changing environment around me was crucial. On my days off, I could be found hiking local peaks, fishing and hunting with my supervisors, cooking, and reading books on exploration and personal development.

I would continue marinating in the marine construction industry for another two years, building upon my skillset and confidence until my curiosity for the world at large crept back in. Despite being in a good position financially, I felt as if I had remained physically, emotionally, and spiritually stagnant. Thankfully, I trusted my gut feeling that it was time to exit the diving world in search of something greater.

Not knowing where it would ultimately take me, I booked a one-way ticket to Quito, Ecuador with a friend. Immediately upon arrival, I felt a sense of freedom wash over me that felt as foreign as the environment I found myself in. I took this feeling and ran with it, bouncing from hostel to hostel, befriending fellow travelers from all over the world, and seeking out novel experiences everywhere we went: climbing 16,000ft Andean peaks, mountain biking down the side of Cotopaxi, white water rafting in Baños, surfing in Montañita, and everything in between.

We continued this momentum down through Peru, spending 2 months in total between the two countries before deciding to take a break. My friend had run out of money, and I was due for some rest.

Upon arrival back home, I got antsy pretty quick and knew one thing for sure: I was not ready to go back to 70 hour weeks “working for the man”. Diving would always be there for me if I needed, but I was still curious about the world. Even more so, I still felt a gaping hole inside of me. Some of the bad habits and negative self-talk stemming from “the dark times” had stayed with me throughout my travels.

What I really desired was to feel some sort of inner peace. I felt that I was white-knuckling life one day at a time, no matter how cool things looked on the surface. Anxiety was fully present and depressive symptoms would revisit every so often. This was frustrating to say the least, but I was determined to overcome what had plagued me for so long.

An opportunity arose to travel once again, this time to Jakarta, Indonesia for a solo journey with a little more intention. The following months heading eastward across the islands were eye-opening and mind-expanding.

Stay tuned for Part 2.

Leave a comment

For instance, an entry about some novel experience—first day walking around a foreign city or trying a new food for the first time—might bring about feelings of nostalgia, teleporting me to that moment in time. While reading, if something in me clicks, I transfer that over to my Notion account where it gets stored in the file named: Dissecting and Distilling the Little Black Books.

The Notion account acts as my ‘digital journal’ where I can easily access it for future reference, rather than digging out filled notebooks and spending treasured time searching for lost golden nuggets.

Naming the project is fun and helps keep it alive for me. Because I don’t view this as simply another task that needs getting done in a timely manner, there’s no rush. I’m really sitting with many of these entries to allow that spark to flicker if there’s meant to be one.

All that to say, I happened upon one that really lit me up from the inside out. A topic that’s been high on my radar since I can remember: Addiction.

The following excerpt is from Dec 2, 2020. I remember sitting in my car—sober— at a waterfront park overlooking the Hudson River, pondering my previous relationship with alcohol…

This is for both the addict and anyone who has been directly affected by addiction.

The Power of Addiction vs. The Power of a Decision

Alcohol and its cacophony of side effects has been my personal battle for as long as I can remember. At first, it seems to make everything better: the knot in my chest loosens, the constant fidgeting and omnipresent anxiety dissipate, the fear dissolves away, and the gates of happiness open. I gravitate toward others, instead of retreating into my shell. I feel insecurity melt away and a sense of confidence and self-esteem re-emerge. The best part though: I can actually fall asleep at night. My initial reaction to the essence of alcohol is one filled with warmth and relief.

So I drink.

It feels good, no doubt, but never seems to be enough.

I arrive at the end of the night, having drunk somewhere in the double-digit range, the climax of its effects wearing off.

I find myself in that place again. What once yielded pride for how much I could drink, now spits shame into my face after finding myself, once again, in the weeds.

“I’ll worry about it tomorrow,” I whisper to myself before drifting off into a drunken slumber, only then realizing how much I actually consumed. I push any feelings of remorse and regret aside, and proceed to fall into a very temporary, interrupted sleep.

The battle of the day is over. Had I been victorious or not didn’t quite matter. The night tends to bring some serious battles of its own.

This is the dark side of addiction. The cheap Band-Aid that is drugs and alcohol begins to lose its potency. The demons and shadows scurry in for their own personal comfort, taking root at the cellular level. Every sensation, every thought, every movement slips out of my control and into the grasp of this all-too-familiar monster.

I relate this experience to being mid-air after falling from some great height. My sense of control is absent. Vanished. It’s inevitable that whatever happens next is going to hurt. To what extent, I’ll find out soon enough.

It’s at this moment in free fall, that I make promises to myself of change. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore. Okay, OKAY, I get! I promise this is the last time. Please, just make the pain go away…”

Endure.

It’s all one can do at this point. Endure the suffering, the immovable grip of withdrawal. It takes a certain clarity to see that eventually; this pain will subside. Whether that takes a day or a year, depends on the depth of the situation. Unfortunately for most, however, that clarity is either nonexistent or the clouds move in too quickly. The only saving grace in sight is the luminescent aura radiating from thoughts of more ALCOHOL.

This becomes the night battle more often than not. The glimpse of sunshine trying desperately to get its message across, not before the cloud of alcohol swoops back in.

A devilish cycle it is.

As the actual sun brings about a new day, the night battles have come to a pause, only to be resumed by the return of alcohol…

So what choice does one have? Everyone tells you there is light at the end of the tunnel, but all you can feel is suffering. Pain. Anxiety. Lack of self-worth. You can’t remember what not suffering feels like, because it’s been so long.

One can hit the play button, resuming the never ending, negative feedback loop, AKA addiction, or hell. Like the tides of the ocean, the day and night battles will persist, dragging me, the host, along with them.

But hold on, for there is another option. It’s like finding a needle in a haystack, the awareness of such opportunity. The opportunity is ever present, but one must want it; they must reach for it; they must desire it. This choice is not easy either, and it may feel like the suffering won’t end.

Endure.

Just as a storm comes to an end, the wind slows, the rain subsides and the clouds retreat. It takes some time, but the sun begins to shine, a little brighter each day. Each day a vision clearer than the one before. Good things begin happening, small at first, and seldom. Then, one day, I wake up with a smile, because I finally slept through the entire night. I smile because the sun is rising, creating a beautiful, hypnotizing portrait. I smile because I know that I am not alone. For the first time in a while, I smile because I’m alive.

Well, now I can feel my heart beating and my chest tighten up as I re-read this. It’s heavy. It brings me back to some of my most painful and hopeless moments, a time before I remembered what peace felt like.

I’m going to take a few deep breaths now, and I encourage you to as well.

Ahhhhhhh, much better.

This entry, along with the book, Addictive Thinking by Abraham Twerski, reignited my interest in addiction and what rests beneath the surface: why and how addiction takes hold over us, the underlying story that drives certain behaviors, 1stinkin’ thinkin’ and how we might begin to address the elephant under the carpet.

In my next Substack, we’re going to peel back the layers of the onion a bit, in an effort to better understand the origins of addiction, and more importantly, the pain that lurks underneath.

“The question is not why the addiction, but why the pain.”
— Dr. Gabor Maté, In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts

Yesterday morning, I found myself atop a 12,000ft summit with a good friend. We weren’t there in search of anything, but as I gazed into layer upon layer of jagged peaks, something in me clicked.

A familiar feeling pulsed through my oxygen-deprived blood vessels, one that comes and goes without warning— that feeling of remembering.

In the presence of my labored breathing and the immense beauty of the La Plata Mountains, I once again was reminded of why I’m here, and it’s this:

To experience all that the world has to offer: The good, the bad and the ugly.

To endlessly learn, endlessly evolve.

I’m here to leave no stone unturned. To follow my unique path to the best of my ability. To love and to be loved. And to share with others along the way.

I’m here to serve.

What’s become clear to me is that this lifetime is a continuous pursuit of discovery, one full of forgetting and remembering.

For the longest time, though, I was blind to this.

In fact, it was only a few years ago in my early 20s that I woke up most mornings in a haze of forgetfulness. What am I doing? Who the hell am I?

I had never truly answered these questions to the point of experiencing that click. That moment of, “Ohhhh. That’s what I’m here to do.”

No, no, no. I found myself in the binds of alcohol, insecurity, anger, grief, self-doubt, FEAR and all the other pains that we learn to mask.

“WHY ME?!”

I felt utterly lost and alone.

But there was a voice deep down, a big brotherly one, that said to keep going.

“You were born for something special. You just have to figure out what that is.”

Tears well up as I write this, because it truly felt like a lifetime ago…

.

.

Today, I’m so very thankful to live in such a beautiful place.

To be surrounded by friends who inspire me.

To feel connected with something bigger than myself.

To have people in my life who love me unconditionally and who are open and willing to grow alongside me.

I’m beyond grateful to be where I’m at right now.

And still, I find myself asking, “WHY ME?”

Why do I deserve to feel this good while others are still struggling?

Why can’t everyone feel that relief on the other side? Why can’t I just package up this feeling and share it with the world?!

It hurts.

More than anything, I want to help relieve the suffering that exists around me.

I used to ask, “How can I convince these people to do the things that helped me overcome my adversity?”

But it became crystal clear to me that it was the wrong question to be asking.

I tried to force change upon the people I love most, and it backfired horrendously.

Instead of creating more connection, it only brought more distance. More resentment.

Yes, it came from a place of Love, but it was also coming from a place of needing to be in control.

I reflected upon my own journey and realized that it was the act of letting go, the act of surrender, that allowed me to heal. Not control.

I learned the hard way that you can’t force others to change.

It’s up to each and every person to make that decision for themselves.

“So, what can I do?”

Well…

I can continue being myself, because that’s all I know.

I can live my own life to the fullest.

I can summon the courage to move through my own fears.

And I can offer a helping hand to those who are ready to receive it.

.

.

Patience.

It happens one day at a time. One decision at a time.

That journey up the mountain consists of many steps. Many slips, trips and falls.

False summit after false summit until eventually, we arrive at the priceless viewpoint where the peace and remembering are waiting for us. “Oh My God” will be the only words that come to mind in that moment.

We do our best to savor every second of it. The awe, the relief, the joy, the appreciation, the possibilities. And yet, it’s fleeting. It dissolves the second you begin descending back down.

The trick is to have faith that there’s always the next summit. And in order to reach it, there will be more pain and lessons along the way.

I can assure you this, though:

IT’S WORTH IT.

.

.

Today I breathe deep into my belly, without the overwhelming burden of anxiety or hopelessness.

I want others to feel that. I want everyone to feel like they are in control of their own lives.

I want to show the person struggling that it’s possible to overcome whatever the obstacle is.

That there IS relief on the other side.

I hope you’re able to take something away from this.

What I plan to do here on this platform, is share my stories. Share the lessons learned and the life skills that have helped me climb the proverbial mountain of being human. Not all of it will click for you, but maybe for someone it will. That is the person I’m writing for. It’s the kind of stuff my younger self needed in order to find his way.

Reach out with comments or questions. I want this to be as beneficial for you as it is for me. And if you know someone who could benefit from reading this, please send it their way.