Complacence
Happy Memorial Day to everyone. I always remember my grandfather Bud on this holiday and wish I had the chance to meet him. Thank you for all those in service of country.
I’ve gotten used to fixing small issues with my car.
At fourteen years old and 150,000 miles, she needs plenty of care. Once a month a new problem emerges: lagging engine belt, warped rotors, faulty wiring. I plan on sticking it out until her transmission falls out. She’s been across the America four times, across Canada once. She’s the same car I was in when I hit bottom and I had to pay to have the smell of drugs removed. Shortly after she climbed Mount Washington and crossed Death Valley. She’s got personality.
Insurance companies have claimed a total loss on her twice, but she’s still running.
If a monthly knick knack is what it takes to keep her on the road, so be it. I’ve grown accustomed to losing my power windows or remote key access or hood latch support. Those wrinkles in my routine no longer surprise me. (Were you following the blog when a tree limb came through the roof?)
I dropped her off at the shop last week before work: new shocks.
It was a rainy Friday morning of a rainy week. I didn’t bring my umbrella. I stood at the bumps before the crosswalk on a busy street during commuter traffic. The roads were slick and cars raced by. I stood watching the oncoming lane. Cars, only a few feet from me, raced passed, their tires kicking up sludgy water. I wondered when I had become a desensitized pedestrian. If you think about it, a vehicle, as heavy as a rhino and fast as a cheetah, comes within a yard of ending your life every time you wait to cross the street. Yet we stand there unaffected, gawking at the neon sign across the way, trusting a computerized schedule of signals with our life.
In the car or out. We humans can get used to anything. Staring across the street as a death procession barrels by us is just the beginning. We make trust falls constantly, agreeing to unread terms, boring through underground tunnels in subway cars, standing on a glass platform over a tiger at the zoo. We trust modernity with our lives. I for one rarely consider that getting used to the comforts in my life could ever kill me.
But that’s exactly what complacency does—it lulls you to death.
I draw from my experience as a man in recovery often on this blog.
This post won’t be any different. But complacency is a topic that I think is especially universal. We are all hardwired to habit. Our brains are built to understand how to live without thinking about how we’re living. If I feared for my own life each time I stood in front of a don’t walk sign, I would never leave the house again. The truth is adapting to the accustomed is a strength. The more we fall into trusted routines, the freer we become to think about larger matters, to solve bigger problems.
But there is a threshold.
How often do we let our navigation tell us where to go before we lose the ability to get anywhere without it? How frequently do we let our feed show us what’s important before we forget what is important to us altogether? If we don’t get challenged or grow uncomfortable after a while, how can we grow?
I’m thankful for recovery because it challenges me to stay uncomfortable.
Sobriety has taught me that to struggle is to strengthen and that the path of least resistance never paves the road less traveled.
I know what complacency sounds like.
I hear its voice in my head on a daily basis.
“Don’t pick up the phone. You’re doing more important things.”
I picture my inner-complacent swinging in a hammock with his eyes half closed.
“You’ve got a decade sober. You don’t have to go to a meeting tonight.”
The voice numbs my action in slow waves. It convinces me what a minor thing it is to take a day off here or postpone a decision there.
“What a good job you’ve done with this whole sobriety thing. Why don’t you relax, take a break for a while.” The most devastating phrase in my complacent arsenal comes next: “you’ve earned it.”
Not that the occasional pat on the back isn’t needed for self-esteem, but I am in a far better place when I recognize the truth: what I’ve been given is far greater than all I’ve earned.
Sobriety wasn’t my idea. I didn’t wake up one morning and think I want to make a positive change in my life like some Tony Robbins infomercial. Even though addiction robbed me of my sanity and will to live, I still clung to the idea that sobriety wasn’t the answer. I just needed a change of scenery and some exercise. I believed buying a puppy and getting a new job would cure me.
Sobriety was given to me in small and steady increments. I was given patience by my counsellor who listened to me dispute every plan for aftercare. I was given honesty by my roomates who said that coming back to LA was a bad idea. I was given love by my family who ignored my selfish pleas. I was given tolerance by a group of grown men who had to listen to the long list of grievances I had against the world and everyone in it. I was given perspective by the old timers who told me to keep it simple and come back the next day.
Sobriety became a good idea after I got sober.
I need the constant reminder that my sobriety simply isn’t about me. Some nights, sure, I don’t need to go to a meeting or write a blog post or make a phone call, but there might be someone on the other end who does. If the people who taught me how to be sober didn’t show up for me when they didn’t need to, I would have nothing to give.
I can’t keep the good stuff unless I’m willing to share it. With that in mind, I don’t have the freedom to grow complacent.
Much like my car, my life is always in need of a tinkering. It’s only a matter of picking up some tools and going to work.
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Excellent post. I relate to so much in here, especially, “Sobreity became a good idea after I got sober.”
Also, I get it about the vehicle. My minivan, which I love, is old and has quite a few miles. She’s reliable, if a bit quirky, and I don’t care how often my kids tell me to get something different.
It’s funny you should talk about the real possibility of death while standing feet away from zooming cars. When I was a sophmore, my history teacher (seemingly out of the blue, but I imagine there was some context) said, “You know, it’s crazy that we get into two-ton steel boxes and go seventy miles an hour, passing within feet of each other.” I never forgot the statement, and I think about it often.
I hope you’re doing well. Take care.
Thanks Robert. It’s wild isn’t? There is so much we should be afraid of that we’re not. And then so much we shouldn’t be afraid of that we are.
Look forward to cracking open some more Oates this summer and hit you back with some thoughts. I love the minivan already. That’s awesome. Steinbeck went around the country in travels with charlie with his beat up camper. Called it rocinante, after quixote’s horse.
I certainly identify with your post. I really enjoyed the end of your piece. It’s nice being reminded that sobriety is only about me.
That’s good stuff, Michael. Thanks for stopping by.
“I can’t keep the good stuff unless I am willing to share it.”
Thanks Mark, brilliant read.
Complacency is so insidious.
The disease of addiction always trying to trick us into believing we can handle life on our own.
It wants us to believe that we have arrived.
I know I have to keep coming back for the rest of my life and that’s a good thing.
Because once I forget I’m a recovering addict the downhill journey starts.
Next thing I know I’m going to be some where high asking myself, “How did I get here?”
Insidious, yes! That’s exactly it. I relate a lot to that feeling of “I have arrived”. I know exactly what that’s about. I’m still chasing that feeling, honestly. The writing and all. Trying to arrive already. Helps to have readers like you because I know I already have…forget the rest. Wondering how your daughters role on the movie went?
Me too.
Sobriety only became a viable option after I quit drinking. Until then I could not see myself at all
And now it is the most valuable and precious thing.
Who knew?!
Anne
Complacency has been on my mind a lot lately. I know it was certainly lulling me to death. One of the main reasons, towards the end of my use, was to not have to give a damn. I started using and drinking partly because I was searching for something different. I thought, in part, that I was expanding on my thoughts and worldliness. In reality though it really just shut my mind shut, like a steel trap, until the only way I could deal with things was to numb. Sobriety was actually something I wanted. It was kind of forced upon me. So you are correct, at least for many of us, sobriety didn’t become a good idea until I was sober. Thanks Mark for you insight on this!
No problem Daniel. I relate to that feeling of classiness and worldliness that you thought drinking gave you. It was always this rite of passage for me. All smoke and mirrors as it turns out.
I’m glad to get this out when complacency was on your mind. It’s proof–by discussing this–that we are not growing complacency, which is good to know.
And the not giving a damn–or the fuck its as I’ve heard them called are real. I can still get the fuck its in fact, just in other behaviors, not drinking or using.
“Sobriety wasn’t my idea. I didn’t wake up one morning and think I want to make a positive change in my life like some Tony Robbins infomercial.” 😂🤣 amen. I relste to the whole post on so many levels. I especially like the humor mixed with such an important recovery topic, like complacency. Its a sneaky little thing.
“Sobriety became a good idea when I got sober” that’s fantastic, I never looked at it like that before. Brilliant S.
Always happy to help people look at things in a new way. I find I’m challenged to do that constantly to keep this sobriety thing. Thanks for letting me know!
Another great post Mark. Hope you’re well.
Appreciate that sir!
What a great way to look at complacency. We do get too comfortable sometimes, not realizing things can go very wrong. Always keep on your toes.
Appreciate the feedback! I do find it happens and it happens quickly. One day at a time right? Keep that learning curve upward!
congrats, ten years sober is a biggy and you’re doing that on a daily basis so you would know about fighting complacency 🙂