Lean into the Wind
My favorite local burger joint is Elevation Burger.
Whenever we ask our daughter where she wants to eat, she always says “Elvation booger.” Signs in the restaurant boast that their beef comes from free-range grass-fed cows, and all their ingredients are organic.
You can taste the difference. Cows raised naturally produce tastier beef. But do any one else’s eyebrows raise when you consider that what sets this chain apart is that its cows eat grass? Grass is a cow’s natural diet. Cows grazing is a portrait of the American pastoral. Only recently have economic factors forced farmers to raise cows on corn: no need to have them graze at all.
It’s no surprise to most that when little Johnny eats a Happy Meal, he is not eating beef raised the way nature intended. But how often do we think anything of it? I, at least, never fully considered this until I started eating at Elevation Burger whose marketing strategy centers around a radical notion: eat cows raised the natural way.
Ingredients Matter.
I mentioned this concept—how radical it is to do things the natural way in the modern world—to a class of seniors a few years ago when I was teaching James Welch’s Winter in the Blood.
The class did not enjoy the book. It was too bleak and philosophical. I had to bury it in the literary graveyard where I put other favorite books of mine that prove ineffective in the classroom—Toni Morrison’s Jazz, Jean Toomer’s Cane, Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman. This year, I will attempt to bring Welch back when I teach Fool’s Crow to my sophomores. It is much more action packed.
Winter in the Blood is about a nameless protagonist on a Montana reservation who struggles with an identity crisis. After the powers-that-be try to stock the lifeless rivers with fish unequipped to survive in the climate, the narrator visits an old man named Yellow Calf. This same man later embodies the cathartic proof that the narrator is a pure-blooded Native American. Yellow Calf tells the narrator not to worry because the earth is cockeyed. He tells him: “Among other things—sometimes it seems that one has to lean into the wind to stand straight.” (55) The quote has stuck with me all these years. Leaning into the wind in order to stand straight—I don’t know a better way to describe doing the right thing in society.
In recovery, we have to lean into our nature to stand straight.
Knowing we suffer from the slouch of addiction and alcoholism is only the beginning. If we don’t correct our posture, we continue to suffer. It is a newfound peace, all right. But the peace comes at the price of eternal vigilance, daily meditation, continuous reflection, a lifelong search for the right kind of help. Because it is in our nature to love the effects produced by drugs and alcohol, we must do radically foreign things to stay clean and sober.
I sure as hell didn’t want to get sober when I did. If I haven’t made that clear in this bi-monthly recovery blog, allow me to do so now. It was not the will to abstinence that gave me the incredible life I am enjoying today, it was the fear of misery. In early recovery I would have given anything to stay clean because addiction had already taken everything from me. Recovery is a clean start, a new beginning. I’ve been leaning toward the light ever since, growing the way those trees grow when only one side stretches at length toward the sun. The other side of me is still there. I just don’t give it as much nourishment anymore.
I don’t think this is true only for alcoholics and addicts.
In fact—and I’m realizing this over and over again with alarming frequency—to get what is true and right and virtuous in today’s tech-crazed politically-divided ideologically-driven world is a journey epic proportions.
Part of the reason I cut our cable cord was the bill, but I also had grown sick of watching commercials on television geared toward children. Happiness does not require assembly. Existence does not require accessory. I hated watching my children’s eyes glued to the message that they might find joy if they only acquire this or that piece of molded disposable plastic. I may be more sensitive than most, but I don’t want my children or anyone’s children or anyone believing that their most important relationships in life are with things—especially things that service and comfort and entertain. Life is about people. Happiness is serving others.
Simple, isn’t it?
What I wonder is why it took me a trip to the psychiatric ward and a diagnosis of suicidal ideation to discover it. It’s like the band Dr. Dog sings: “Why do you think it takes amazing grace just to tell it like it is?”
Or to put it like Yellow Calf did: we’ve got to lean into the wind in order to stand straight.
A simple act of kindness can be radically transformative.
When I was six years sober and feeling a bit stagnant about my recovery, a sponsor of mine gave me an assignment: do something kind and don’t tell anyone about it; do something kind with any acknowledgement.
It took me a while to find the right situation to do it. It’s difficult, much more difficult than I thought it would be, to get away with kindness. We are conditioned to offer a “thank you” for services rendered; we are equally conditioned to expect the “thank you” when we perform a service ourselves.
Being of thankless service is an art. I’m not referring to teaching here. While I’m not thanked often, I’ve grown aware that there is unspoken gratitude in the hearts and minds of my students.
One of the most rewarding challenges in my recovery has been the search for opportunities of truly thankless and unacknowledged service.
Give it a try this holiday season and see if you experience something radically ordinary.
Just make sure you don’t tell me about it.
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Im leaning. Even when I want to sit down and just stop. Thanks brother.
Got to keep that lean on brother. Got to.
Now, I’ll give you the free range and the no antibiotics beef. But grass beef is better than corn and grain-fed is over the top. Don’t take my word for it, though. Go hunt a couple of deer – one that eats grass, then another that’s territory includes a corn field. Not even close, brother. The corn-fed deer will taste A LOT better. Won’t even be close.
One more thing, there, sparky; will to abstinence or the fear of misery? Whatever it takes, man. Whatever it takes to get us from where we were to where we are is all that matters. The impressive part isn’t what got us here. It’s that we made it.
And good on us for it. Enjoy it like it’s going out of style. First, not many are as fortunate as we are, to actually find happiness after what we’ve been through. Second, it shows others what works without having to say a word. The best advertisement there is. You’re a living, breathing, walking miracle, man. Own it.
Hey Jim!
Thanks for the encouraging word. I agree (about the many roads to recovery, not the beef!). I heard on a speaker tape one time about a newly sober guy who was shaking for a drink on the street. His adviser told him to “quick throw a brick through the bar window” because going to jail would be better than picking up a drink. Whatever it takes. I’m with you there.
Amen, brother.
That whole “In recovery we have to lean…” section is THE TRUTH. I mean, this right here: “If we don’t correct our posture, we continue to suffer.” I have to keep relearning it! Ugh. But I’m grateful for the opportunity to, as you say, lean into the sun. It sure beats where I was.
Thank you Akilah. I appreciate you stopping by and leaving a kind word.
My highly intelligent very attractive caring wife is a licensed holistic mental health therapist in private practice. She tends to be late a lot for dinner. There’s yoga, aroma therapy, assorted meditations, the salt room, the sound room meditation thing, late afternoon clients, ZUMBA, acupuncture, reiki, and the whole mercury retrograde issue?
There is an awareness attached to her that has rubbed off on me over the years. It began when I would set her a place for dinner and prepare a grain fed ribeye named Sparky with organic veggies. A healthy dinner to possibly ward off breast cancer or other seemingly inevitable human frailties. All while I stood over the stove eating hotdogs and talking to my cat. Gazing out the kitchen window into the sharp contrast of darkness and the neighbors not too distant annoying spotlight.
I’m thinking, don’t they know that light, that (thousand watt light) is pointing at my kitchen window? My neighbor is deaf. Somehow I put deaf in the same symptomatic handicap as blind and shake my head. He remains screwed up as far as I can tell. Just screwed up.
My wife comes home and after a moment of our greeting and warm up I mention the neighbors flood light hoping for a cosigner. She suggests I mention it to him. Hmm..Why didn’t I think of that?
Is it because she is engaged. Thinking? Going about her day producing harmony while I am settling for confusion? Deciphering chaos in hopes of a emotional security boost somewhere somehow?
It’s her. She’s grain fed. Organic. As natural as can be in this unnatural world we live in. Me? Oh I enjoy a fine grain fed ribeye and fresh veggies. But not without ketchup.
It sounds like she is a good guide for healthy living. A great partner to have if you’re like me. I don’t make healthy decisions on my own. I need to be coerced, like you. It’s great to be hearing from you regularly, Sherpa. Your stream-of-conscience responses are like additions to each blog post. Extensions, or something like that.
we cut the cable cord too! don’t miss it at all ; ) also…i’m sad that the students didn’t enjoy death of a salesman! I mean, ‘enjoy’ may be the wrong word since that one is a rough read, but sad to hear it didn’t engage them. thanks for sharing this post about doing for others as well, a nice reminder during the holiday season.
Thanks Kim. I just may try Salesman again. Maybe it was just that crop of students.
Yeah, the cable. Who in the world has the time for that many channels? Or the pocket to afford them?
Thanks for stopping by.
I enjoyed your blog–lots of wisdom.
Appreciate that, Donna. Have a great holiday!
Applaud your stance to insidious materialistic psychology of advertising. Like you my coin has always been friendship, I’ve never owned expensive things or much of anything. Never bought…well, anything brand new. Lost all my belongings 4 times! Apart from couple boxes at parents home, I’ve started over again and again.
I refused to tow that line socially.
Had a song in my first band(the Mighty Ballistics) called “Datson to Shoshoni” about corporate America selling Datson cars in TV advertising then a plea by the Shoshoni people, (native Americans) raising awareness of the loss of their land, in turn their identity, followed by ‘Fatboy Burgers plc’ or some bollocks.
‘From Datson to Shoshoni It’s all the same, to the advertising world……’ lyrics copyright® by C. Maund
Yet again a beautifully crafted post . resonates deeply, I formed my ideals for this life during the Punk movement. Rebel without a pause.
If I could make a difference to someone for the better, inform or change a mind, through the bands or sharing skills etc, well then its all worth it.
It’s an old idea, but the best ones usually are.
Written with verve, insightful intelligence,
passionately honest…..you do have a way with a phrase mark.
Thank you Johnny. You can turn a phrase yourself my friend. A rebel without a pause. I like that. I live in the former home of American punk. And while I missed the movement, I’m really fond of the products of it.
I was a part of the grunge wave. That post-punk stuff.
From Datsob to Shoshone, it truly doesn’t matter to them, no. But here’s to it mattering to some. You, me, and the rest of the mundane miracle workers. Thinking of you this holiday season Johnny. Not wishing for any material things, but for those deeper, harder-earned gifts of satisfaction and serenity. Thank you for being a part of my life.
Mark
Dig your blog!
Hey appreciate that! It’s solution centered for sure. There are answers for addiction. But they are very hard earned.
I love this concept. We are inclined to seek acknowledgement for good deeds…to do it in secret forces the ego into an uncomfortable space but leaning into that space you find ‘true giving’ without needing a thank you at all.