Freedom
Welcome to the miracle of the mundane.
Twice a month, I publish a post that attempts to capture the thrill of the simple life.
I’m glad you’re here.
Occasionally—and this is as true for blogs as it is for life—it is necessary to ask why am I here?
So allow me to provide a brief reason d’etre.
One of my most incredible experiences occurred when I had nearly a year sober.
It was the first time that I met who was then my only nephew.
I was working as a dishwasher in a breakfast cafe. If you are looking for a suitable job for early recovery, I highly recommend washing dishes. There is something unmistakably zen about the repetition of elbow grease and sanitizing liquid. Maybe it’s the warm suds, something in the ritual makes it strangely fulfilling.
I had been working there for over a month. I remember the owner and manager of the joint had to reign me in often. I’d take the coffee pot around and refreshen people’s cups while making small talk. I think my ego had difficulty accepting that I was only a dishwasher.
But I discovered that narrowing my role to something as particular—just clean the dishes man—made me more content than wanting to do more all the time. Clean dishes returned dirty, and I was there. If you focus hard on what you’re doing for long enough, a certain magic takes place. You erase a voice inside your head, the one demanding you do more than what’s in front of you. That rapacious critic never stops. The voice is never satisfied. So it’s nice to take a break, to take in the silence once and awhile.
I know meditation helps people who relate to having a crippling inner-critic, so does concentration on what is in front of. If you heed my advice about washing dishes in early recovery, notice that every dish is different. You cannot scrub any plate the same. Before entering the sanitizer, one dish may only need a rinse, while the next requires a mallet and chisel, especially when cheese is overcooked. If you don’t focus on the task at hand, you’re bound to “miss a spot.” And then, you’re no longer washing dishes; you’re just enacting meaningless motion like a machine.
On one particularly sudsy afternoon, my sister gave me a surprise visit.
I remember holding my nephew for the first time, staring into his eyes. He rested his head on my shoulder. I had grown accustomed—especially in the pit of addiction—to the burden of thought, the heavy weight that accompanied everything I did, everything I said. So, to hold my nephew in the purity of experience without any residual mental fallout was a miracle.
The miracle of the mundane was born that day. Or, better, I discovered the joy of living. That joy is there and has been there for anyone willing to experience it. It only took me 24 years to do so.
I have sought to recapture that feeling in hundreds of thousands of words on this blog. How do you put down something that can only be experienced? You don’t. Thankfully, the feat is impossible, so I can keep delivering new posts to you twice each month. The pursuit of perfection, and the acceptance of never attaining it, is a great way to stay sober and productive.
So I seek out those moments of simple bliss.
Then I try over and over again to do the impossible: to capture pure joy. I hunt it. It’s as if my life’s purpose is to prove to the world that nothing they think will succeed in making them happy. Instead, it’s the small and seemingly insignificant moments that make life a remarkable journey.
I wrote recently about the satisfaction of carrying burdens.
To illustrate, I described how incredible it felt to bike alone. The act of biking solo wouldn’t be as joyful if I hadn’t become used to hauling a small body behind me in a trailer. Like lifting weights strengthens muscles, carrying burdens and responsibilities strengthens character.
Well, at the end of summer, a week before school starts and, hopefully, our third child arrives into the world, something remarkable happened: my daughter learned how to ride a bike. Now I don’t need to be alone to bike by myself.
As promised, I bought my son a new bike so my daughter could have his old one. It was then that the miracle of the mundane struck me. After spending all day in a crouched position, helping my daughter to start, stop and restart again, we came to an empty parking lot. And she was off, riding free, steering her own course in the August heat. Watching her was a thrill. It was pure joy. I was in that place where I first met my nephew. Not a single care restrained my enjoyment.
My wife captured the moment on video.
I’m the guy yelling “FREEDOM!”
I’ve observed that watching my children watch a movie for the first time in a movie theater has been more enjoyable than watching the movie myself. Seeing my daughter discover bike riding brought the same joy. It was far better to set her free on her bike than to be free on my own.
I’m starting to understand why.
Riding a bike or watching a movie is enjoyable, sure. It satisfies our need for recreation. But opening up those worlds for someone else satisfies our purpose in living. It gives our existence meaning.
If it feels this good to see my daughter learn to ride her bike, imagine if she one day becomes a self-sufficient and conscientious adult?
I sent the video to the grandparents.
One joked that I got my kids out of the trailer just in time to put one back in. My wife is due any day now. In fact, as I’ve scheduled this post in advance in case we’re at the hospital, there is a chance that the child is here now, a chance that life is starting all over, again.
I am preparing, once more, to set aside all of my needs for the care of someone else’s.
I’ve never been happier.
I don’t know if the miracle of the mundane, as I am describing it, is impossible without relinquishing total control of the moment. I only know that I’ve never experienced it any other way.
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Time flies! I cannot believe that’s your daughter on that bike and I can’t believe #3 is due this week. Keep me posted! My sobriety date is Saturday; maybe Goodson3 and I will be twins!🤔😍
So exciting! Your new little one arriving!
I love riding my bike! It really does feel free!
Much love,
Wendy
Thanks Wendy! Nice to hear from you. Hope to get back in the loop better here, soon.
Mark
your unique perspective is precisely why I nearly always read your articles. They are poignant reminders of what is really important, which often get consumed by distractions common in the perfectly flawed mind of an addict. Thank you for sharing! lols
Jeff
Perfectly flawed.
I like that. A lot.
Thanks Jeff. I really appreciate you leaving a word. You are very kind!
Hi Mark! I love this. When you described how you possibly struggled with being “just a dishwasher” it made me think of Swenny, who has struggled over the years with being just a this or just a that all the while being an incredible person beyond the job titles he held. I also thought of Vin Baker, who describes in a book his life’s reboot to sobriety as a Starbucks barista following years as an NBA star. If you haven’t read “God and Starbucks” I highly recommend it. Incredible story and perspective.
Cher
Hi Cher-
That book sounds like an excellent recommendation for me. Right up my alley. I’ll check it out. Maybe the “more than” thing is a part of our disease?
I taught my youngest how to ride his bike! Last Friday he started his senior year of high school. It goes so fast- blessings on the upcoming delivery.
Glad this was able to bring back those good memories. And thanks for the blessing! Lord knows we’ll need them.
Congratulations Mark. On new life. Both in baby form and recovery form.
Lovely piece of work.
Mark, your writing is beautiful. What you are writing about–even more so!
Nice to hear from you, Doug! Thank you.
Indeed, there is much to be said for vicarious enjoyment–one of the miracles of the mundane for sure. I’m on my own hunt for celebration of small things in life, and keeping a journal for that purpose. Fawn sightings are an occasional entry–we pause to watch them too. Blessings upon your family as you welcome another member. The fun multiplies!
You made my heart “ache” in a beautiful way. Congratulations, to you and your family, on the new baby!
Your gift for writing and telling a story is always heart-felt, encouraging and joyful. This statement, is something I’m going to read, over and over again.
“…it’s the small and seemingly insignificant moments that make life a remarkable journey.”
Thank you!
Dana, you are so kind! I’m so grateful that you follow and read. It’s always really heart-warming to hear from you. Appreciate your congrats. Our daughter was born! I am just scheduling a post about it for Monday, actually.
Mark