The Thinker

"The less I think, the more I love." -My friend I have come to trust, despite dubious moments, that there is no solution in rough and tough self-talk and obsessive thinking. You know. The thinking that warns and threatens. That runs the black and white tapes of rigidity and scarcity. The bad girl tales. Those are beyond…

Above All, Compassion

There's this old Peter Gabriel song that really cracks me open, not only for its beauty and power but because it reminds me of a time in my life that was particularly dark and stormy. I remember listening to it on repeat in my old Honda Accord, driving home on Sunset still drunk on whiskey and coming…

The Inside of Loneliness

I have come to find that the feeling of feelings is the first step in surrender and moving toward growth and change, from whatever it is we need to surrender to, grow toward, and change from. Spilled tears, gasping sobs, clutched knees and calls to friends are part of the deal. Moments of self-pity, complaint,…

The Problem Isn’t Alcohol

The rooms of AA are filled with love addicts (including myself). They are also filled with sex addicts, food addicts, compulsive gamblers, hyper chain-smokers, spenders and debters, and exercise freaks. (Also including myself, at various times, minus the gambling). I was in a meeting last night that falls into the category of Friday night meeting…

Recommended Books

I probably read more books than is necessary on recovery from addiction and codependency, but they have been unbelievably helpful in my process, and I continue to go back to many them regularly. Some woke me up to new insights and practices, while others were comforting in difficult times. Here is an exhaustive list, in…

Grow Up

I've had a new moment of clarity, folks. That real recovery might be about growing up into a mature, balanced, healthy adult. I don't mean looking like an adult, with a suit and briefcase and big fancy job, or a brood of kids and busy appointment book. But one who is able to live moderately,…

Lovers

I come to see, in the gasp between our love making, when there’s nothing there, when the emptiness is so full I forget to like my pain - that mean fathers produce truth tellers, lovers who gaze lost, seeking, us deep in the earth, with eyes hopeful like a child’s eyes, wet and glistening, arriving…