So, I’m beachside in this tiki bar and a huge tumbler of chardonnay goes by; the waiter can barely carry it. The thing is so big and heavy, the liquid shifts side to side in his hand like waves – coming just to the top of the frosted glass without spilling. Kim sees it too, and gives me a look. The waiter carries it to a table by the railing and I lean out to see who the recipient of this bounty might be. It’s a handsome man, sitting alone and he reaches up to grab the glass with both hands.
I’ll admit my salivary glands have kicked in, like someone rang a bell…
Self Help…
The wine looks really good to me. Ice cold. My brain registers the memory of the taste. I think to myself, “These are the times that try men’s souls,” and I smile because after that thought, a barrage of self-help inspirations start playing in my mind…
Tito is busy telling a story. He’s saying that Puerto Rican men have a saying, “It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission.” I’m listening, because Tito is funny and the story is sure to include a tale of his wrongdoing – it will involve the drinking of rum, late staying and a salsa dance with a stranger in a red dress…
But I am also processing. It’s what addiction professionals call “your sobriety toolkit”. Mine is opened on the splintered, choza floor and I am digging through it like a plumber with a water spout or to use a “beachy” metaphor, a sailor with a hole in the hull – you get the picture. Mayday. SOS.
The thoughts start coming in unbidden:
- There’s no way you can drink wine in front of these two, so what’s the point of thinking about it? Listen to the funny story, Mare…
- It’s super hot outside and the cold wine will warm fast and taste like vinegar
- And you’ll get sleepy
- And headachy
- I play it through to the inevitable conclusion: do I need to list the consequences?
- And then, I play the scenario through to the positive end.
It all happens in a nanosecond. What a world, what a piece of work is my brain…
This is what the women in my group sessions at Sanford House are talking about. The times when they ask for practical advice to prepare for something they know might be hard on their sobriety: a graduation or a wedding or a vacation in Puerto Rico with tiki bars serving giant flagons of white wine on every vantage point on the beach.
We all need our personalized, sobriety toolkits. I take a swig of my ice cold, gassy water and look out to the vastness of the sea. It is hot and wet and we are all laughing – almost carefree. I don’t say it, because Tito is still waxing, his accent like a song, but I think it, “Life is good. Really good, and after all I’ve been through, it’s easier for me to ask for permission. I have exhausted the asking of forgiveness…”
The vastness of the sea…
