Nurturing Your Nature

My sponsor told me something this month that has stuck in my head like a good pop song.

“There is only one finish line in life.”

It’s been my March mantra as I tackle each day’s whirlwind of work and responsibilities.

There is only one end to suffering, and what a shame it will be when it ends.

In the wrong frame of mind, this fatalistic thinking might could be troublesome. You mean to tell me that there is no end? No respite? No break? And, most certainly, in early sobriety, this line of thinking can be downright deadly. Sober for life? That thought nearly led me back to the bottle on many occasions. Some thoughts are too heavy for newcomers. It’s one day at a time, after all.

But what happens when the sober days pile up, and with them comes the mounting minutiae of cares and concerns, of pettiness and pride, of routine and rote movement? The lightest of weights can become too much to bear if it is re-doubled again and again.

Here’s what my sponsor reminded me of on our monthly–okay, quarterly—walk around the lake: I enjoy shouldering burdens. I relish in the struggle, the conflict, the contemplation. I partake in both the race and the intervals between races. Life is a never-ending mystery, as is self and soul.

In the right frame of mind, what you are struggling with today can bind you fast to that great oversoul of suffering long endured by those who came before you. And the continuity of those troubles can help you float rather than sink.

I’ve written about obsessions on this blog often.

To spare you from scanning through old posts, and from me having to hyperlink everything like some lame news article, my conclusion is that sobriety cannot cure me of my obsessions. My nature is an engine. I must place my hands on the wheel and steer it in the right direction.

Quality of life is not so much freeing my mind from overthinking, but increasing the quality of what I overthink about.

I cannot overcome my nature.

Hamlet told his mother Gertrude that if she refrains from sleeping with his murderous uncle, she could create new habits that stamp out her nature. Hamlet, a student at Wittenberg (where Luther pinned his treatise) was at the forefront of that revolutionary thought concerning a soul’s self-determination. And that resonated to me when I was younger.

But now I’m on the doorstep of 40. I’m sore for no reason. I don’t dream of greener grass. I must turn to the old man Polonius’ words: “To thine own self be true.”

If I can get to know myself well enough, I can more fully accept who I am. And then, unlike Polonius who, after telling his son to be true to himself sends a spy to discover how he can correct him, I can find acceptance.  

I used to believe in what St. Augustine said, “Conquer yourself and the world lies at your feet.” But I no longer enlist to fight those battles. For me, it’s now more like, “Upright yourself and the world appears upright.”

I don’t like vacations. I don’t like breaks. I don’t like respites. I like challenges. I like working through hardships and managing crises.

So, when I saw that my son and I had roughly the same week off from school for spring break, I knew there was an opportunity.

“Aboard, aboard, for shame!”

We embark on an 8-day bike-and-camp tour next week.

Our days off will be filled with making fires to stay warm, biking dozens of miles each day, creating shelters from the rain. We’ll sleep on the ground and wake up with the sun. All told, we’ll be in five different states, following one body of water which has been the source of a remarkable bulk of this nation’s history.

Planning for the trip has consumed most every waking hour. I’ve researched and gathered supplies and hauled the approximate weight I will haul on the trip as a test. I’ve pitched tents in the backyard and rolled out and propped tarps staked into the earth to see if my structures can withstand a driving rain. I’ve tinkered with tools and inventoried batteries. I’ve printed all the maps and landmarks we need. I’ve let people know I’ll be off the grid for a week.

At first, I was looking into ways to prolong our rechargeable devices: phones and tablets. I actually spent about a week making my son’s tablet capable of warehousing my work. I looked into portable battery chargers and was shocked that they cost more than my food budget.

My son, God bless him, was the one who ultimately made me realize that we do not need nor should we want any of that on this trip. He is still at the age when he values time with me more than anything. And I am in need of the reminder that nothing is more valuable than the attention I can give him.

So I ditched all tech plans, and instead packed a new book (The Shadow of the Wind) and a deck of cards.

The next post you receive from me will house this experience in 1,000 words.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll be so inspired that the next 8 posts I write will explore each day on the road. I don’t really know. While the idea of blogging or vlogging this expedition sounds enticing, the point of this post is to communicate to you (dear readers) that I no longer wish to impose on myself restrictions that stem from due dates and word counts. I am feeling, in this my 39^th year, exceptionally free from the need to prove anything to anyone.

I have no ambition for the tour aside from experiencing the deep leisure that comes from keeping company with this son of mine. The boy who has taught me more about love than I thought possible to learn. The scamp who still prefers to frolic in the yard than do his school work. This child of mine. The one who now makes jokes that I genuinely laugh at. His imagination has sparked a thousand posts.

And now we get to pedal, camp, fart and eat ramen.

Oh what a wonderful world this will be.