Thoughts About Thoughts I Once Thought

In a conversation with my partner Donald, I recollected a childhood much like his own: One rampant with almost unbearable yearning to be someone else and somewhere else; to be more in control of one's destiny.

I mentioned a memory I had of standing in a clearing at the town park where I grew up. It was a summer day with a potent wind. Thick grass all around me, waving like an ocean. I closed my eyes and stretched my arms out and felt, for the briefest of moments, that I had transcended the earth and was rising...rising...rising. I was flying away. Much of my childhood was spent fantasizing that I was rising above my life, transcending the existence of a lonely, shy, fumbling, fearful, uncertain kid who was picked on by bullies, belittled by my father, and never comfortable with my own family. I didn't fit in with them, my school, my peers. Nobody. I had no comfort zone other than my own mind, where I created vast empires for me to rule and magnificent powers that made me stand out from the crowd.

It wasn't odd that I gravitated toward books that encouraged that type of dreaming: Lord Of The Rings; The Chronicles Of Narnia; A Wrinkle In Time. Had I a sword and a fearless horse and a suit of chain mail and an army behind me, I would have led the charge against the enemy without hesitation. Instead of girlish preoccupation with dolls and clothes and painting my toenails, I was obsessed with finding a place in the universe that would allow me to unleash my inner warrior. While others admired Barbie, I worshiped Joan Of Arc. Underneath all my hesitation and wallflowery behavior there lurked a Valkyrie.

Adolescence brought about a tempest of emotional problems, exacerbated by drugs, alcohol, sex, thievery, violence. The desire to rise and fight the good fight died. The chemicals I ingested might have loosened my tongue and given me false courage, but facile power is a fake god. If I swaggered with seeming confidence be assured I would stumble when it was least to my advantage. The pendulum, it appeared, had swung sideways.


I gaze upon my thinning hair
White and silver hanging there
Where did I get this sagging skin?
And what about this double chin?

I never knew I'd get this old,
Back when I felt so young and bold.
It startles me occasionally
When I get a glimpse of Present Me.


I wrote that bit of doggerel today in my head after examining my face in the mirror. On lame limbs, I go about my days sans the yearnings of childhood and the screaming of my teenage years. Under my white mop of hair, my eyes are still blue and clear, and I see beauty in many things. I'm calmer and happier, in quiet ways.


Not that I wouldn't jump at the chance to lead an army to victory or slay a dragon.

"A Thousand Nameless Fears"

Anyone who is in recovery from drugs or alcohol has heard these words before. They come from a guide that many of us use. Not until I became sober and began the process of recovery from my own alcoholism did I become willing to confront the fears that have driven me all of my life. Fear of the dark. Fear of rejection. Fear of pain. Fear of others. Fear of poverty. Fear of men. Fear of change. Fear of being lost. Fear of responsibility. Fear of success. Fear of everything, really.

Once I was able to give a name to these fears, I was able to confront them head on. ("To name a thing is to have power over it."---Ursula K. Le Guin.) It has taken years for some of these fears to dissipate or resolve themselves. Throughout this process, helping hands and hearts have been there to help me march through the darkness of fear and come through to the other side where wisdom, courage, and knowledge await. I'm not alone in this. Ask anyone who has managed to stay clean and sober for a good measure of time, and their stories will be similar to mine. It's a process; a road we all must travel if we wish to be free of those things that drove us into addiction.

Part of my process has been to face things that I've avoided dealing with. Part of the process has been confronting people who, ironically, are like how I was before I began to heal. This is happening at the place I currently work. I am confronted with someone who is full of fear, and her fear drives her to lie, manipulate, lash out, and try to control people around her. Through some work I've done recently, the fact that she is so fearful was illuminated. Because I now know what her true motivations are, I am able to relax somewhat and realize that her behavior is not my responsibility nor directed at me personally. She has been this way a long time. I'm positive I've not been the only person subjected to character traits.

Now, I am able to go to work and see her through different eyes. I'm able to see that she is driven by terror. The instinct to help someone who is in great fear has come back to me. I don't know what form my help will take. It could be that I will just be as pleasant as possible and do the work and not allow her to get to me.

Just for now, I will try to bring up compassion instead of anger. I'll keep you posted.