Recovery: Moving Past the Worst of Ourselves (at least trying to)
As I conclude my continuing education time at the four-day Opioid, Stimulant, and Trauma Summit in the Wisconsin Dells, and before hitting the road to leave town for home, I now reflect and expound. Meanwhile sitting here at Starbucks gathering my thoughts, a 30s-40s something man sits alone in the corner of the store, head in hands, crying, and talking to himself.
He stares desperately, perhaps hopefully out the window, wiping away tears, and huddled within his own small personal space. I’d offer to buy him a drink but he already has one. I’d offer to get him some food but he has some of that too. Not sure if someone else had already gotten to him before I arrived, or if he in fact withholds the means to support himself, these facts unclear but regardless, now I’m wiping back my own tears.
The pain, the fear, and the desperation prevalent these days, not just within the walls here where I currently sit, but the pains of the world are impossible for me to ignore.
If I were to spend too much of my time distracted from helping others, it might be a mistake, for me. Now as a Certified Peer Specialist should I, could I engage in a gig that allows me to help officially or even clinically, perhaps with some slight compensation? Would ‘slight’ compensation even carry me at this point of my life after spending four years doing nothing but writing and avoiding all paychecks? The scenario of what to do from here, what to avoid, and where to best put my efforts currently eludes me with mystery.
Realistically because of planned upcoming travel starting next week, near do I even have time to give a job search a go. Maybe I should just get ready and split, this my annual trip to the east coast. The while, I could continue tracking down local advocates, connecting and gaining relationships in my nearby community. Nextly, could I maybe pre-arrange some speaking gigs / book readings / supportive collaborations while I’m on the road? While traveling I could better sort out my next moves and hopefully hit the ground running when I get home.
So anyway, after consuming my venti chai tea latte, it was time to go. I get up from Starbucks preparing to leave. I could just walk out, but first I chose to do a fly-by of the struggling man at the other end of the store. I leave my backpack at the table; I head for the trash can to discard some small paper scraps and try to catch the eye of my fellow human. I do notice it is now pouring rain outside and wonder if Mother Nature’s tears might add to this guy’s troubles.
His head has found refuge back within the palms of both hands and I miss the opportunity to engage. I do a quick overview glance of the guy: On his left wrist is a white band, like a hospital visit bracelet, he is more dirty than I could have perceived from across the store, his right shoe appears too big for the rest of him, his other foot protrudes from the bottom of his left shoe, and a dirty and ragged sock is flopped out on the floor covering his toes. Also laying on the floor at his feet is something wrapped in plastic, like a small package or something. I head back to gather my stuff and prepare to leave the Dells.
Sheepishly I look over while collecting my backpack to see if his head is out of his hands yet. I time my exit perfectly; his head is up and gazing painfully out the window. I make my approach, “How can I best help you today?”, I say out loud using appropriate volume.
Oh boy, the cellophane-wrapped package was no longer down upon the floor but he’s holding it in his hands. At first I couldn’t understand what it was, hum, oh, then I got it, it’s the sole of his shoe, his left shoe has come apart and the exposed sock I saw sticking out was actually set entirely upon the floor. Immediately my heart sunk lower. Ok, I thought, ok, I have places to go and people to see but this human sibling scale was woefully out of balance. I just spent a week sleeping in a decent hotel, and attending my conference each day I changed my outfit. Currently in my van was a pair of reddish Doc Martens size UK 12, a pair of Skecher boat-type shoes size US 13, besides the black Doc Marten boots currently on my feet at the time. I possessed three pairs of functional kicks, while this guy had only one single operational shoe.
Almost in prepared fashion while barely looking at me the guy replied, “I got stranded here do you have a spare dollar?”. I already pulled out a 20 and had it folded in my hand. I said, “Sure, I can help you out” and gave him the Jackson. With moderate speed his hand outstretched to take the money, then he quickly sheltered back within himself. I paused for a nano-second knowing I had come up short and with a specific suggestion on the tip of my tongue, but the guy seemed uninterested in additional talk. I headed for the door; no supplemental words were exchanged. I walked out then stopped, then restarted my walk. I went to put the key in my van door then hesitated once more, me almost walking back into the store. The rain was coming down pretty good and I just stood there thinking.
I considered my diesel mechanic pal Luke currently awaiting my arrival in Madison, about an hour away. Would it be ok I thought, would it be ok if I called Luke and told him I would be delayed? I was unsure of Luke’s schedule and if I arrived later, would he maybe not have time for me? My pre-arranged appointment with Luke was necessary, so required repairs on the Sprinter van could be completed before I left town next week.
I got in, looking over my shoulder into the van wondering if I maybe had a spare pair of shoes I could give this guy. Seemed he wore more of a size 10 not 13, but I’m sure he wouldn’t really care. I got up and went into the back for a quick physical inventory. Usually I carry a pair of beater or work shoes with me but not today. I had several clean pairs of warm socks but I thought it would be weird to walk back in and just give the guy a pair of socks. Literally 1,000 feet away was the entrance to the outlet stores, and certainly I thought, certainly there is a shoe store in the outlets. I should clear out the passenger seat, get the guy, and go shoe shopping. Yes, I thought, I should do that. But then there was Luke, I don’t want to mess Luke up. I sat back down in the driver’s seat. Hum, I was perplexed. I had given the guy 20 bucks but I was pretty sure that wouldn’t afford him a new pair of shoes.
It began to rain harder.
With a puff of frustration, I started the van. I knew I should go back, but, well, but I didn’t. I drove away. I drove away, I drove away disappointed in myself, and unsure of what else to feel.
It is now two days later, and I have reopened this piece of writing with conviction. Not directly related but for the first time in years, this morning I struggled to get out of bed after a long night’s rest, I struggled to rise and face the day. I feel numb, I feel lost, I feel empty. I give thanks to my recovery yet am caught thinking of what could make me feel better right now? What could make me feel less alone, less scared, less hurt? Not to worry no, I’m not thinking of picking up any substances, but I want to be less lost, and want to plainly feel something real.
Beyond my efforts and actions and beyond the one-shoe man, something inside me is amiss, I don’t know what it is. Despite going and going and helping and helping, I cannot shake my own downward emotional state. For almost three months now my days have been cloudier and more depressive than sunny and hopeful. Seems I mess more stuff up than I add value, seems I push people away more than draw them near. Maybe it’s just my amassed concussions catching up with me, I don’t know.
I reopen this piece of writing with conviction because I have recognized something critical. When thinking too much about my own bleak blankness, I need to widen my view. I need to get outside of my own head and open up to the world around me. I need to write instead of grumble aimlessly. I need to detach from the negativity of my own situation and remind myself of what I have to offer the world. My life ain’t so bad, not so bad at all, regardless of what I try to make myself believe. When blue I should rise more and sit less, I should act not ponder, and I should settle within the adventure of what today will bring. Somedays easy to say- hard to do but I recognize these realizations clearly.
Oh yes for sure I should have taken the guy shopping, or even asked what size he wore then returned a short time later with a bagged box of kicks in hand. Why didn’t I call Luke to check what his schedule looked like? Why didn’t I do more than I did? I won’t be able to make up for that one because the specific opportunity is now lost but maybe, but maybe I can do better next time, maybe I can try to do better next time, maybe.
Look out for each other and do good shit today.
Love you all, Bird out.
