Sunday, May 6, 2012

From Sandia Peak, a Plan is Born

Story, Continued from Part 2 In Search of a Plan
- or -
Click Here for Part 1 Something Had to Change

--by Mike Adams

On Sandia Peak, I stood entranced by the natural beauty surrounding me. Slowly, I let myself fade into the experience. The grandeur of this desert inundated my senses, it stripped me of significance. The pettiness of my life’s concerns seemed to carry no greater import than that of an ant, living by instinct, working only to serve a collective. My thoughts slowed and the situation transformed me into a mass of awareness. I experienced my breath, slow and steady. I felt the wind flit upon my face and I watched in amazement as the colors danced in the distance as landscape transformed into mirage.

The tension swirling around in my abdomen, a manifestation of anxiety continued to surge through my core, but it no longer harassed me. I drank heavily of the deep blue sky and absorbed every detail of the cumulus cloud formations dispersed across the horizon.

I felt a tear roll down my cheek and slowly, I began to cry. But my tears brought no relief. I clinched the hand railing of the viewing platform and cried a little harder as my thoughts became jumbled with questions like, “why can’t I keep a job?” “Why didn’t I finish school?” “Why am I such a loser?” “What can I hope to accomplish in life?”

I found my thoughts focused on an incident from two and a half years earlier. I had been sitting with a group of friends at La Posada, the University cafeteria. We had been out playing hackey sack in the sun and realized that cafeteria would soon close. We hurried to get lunch and upon arriving at the cafeteria, I realized that I was in possession of two beers. Quickly, I tucked them into my baggy pants pockets and went in.

After eating my food, I stealthily opened a beer and began to drink it slyly. A friend looked at me with a mischievous smile and said, “Mike...dude, you’re an alcoholic.” He laughed, held up a flier to my face and continued, “you gotta go to AA Bro.” Then he quickly scanned the area for University staff, and took a quick swig of his own hidden beer. Johnny had been joking, but what he said ruined my enjoyment of lunch. His words harassed me for the remainder of that day and continued to assault my consciousness at the most inopportune times. I knew he was right. He had been joking, but his statement was true—I was an alcoholic.

The last thing in the world I wanted to be was an alcoholic, because I knew it meant I would someday have to give up drinking. Drinking had been my only comfort during many dark times. It had proven to be a dependable and convenient companion. I sometimes wondered if perhaps beer had saved my life. Quitting was out of the question, and therefore, being an alcoholic was completely unacceptable.

Disdainfully, I thought, “Why do I always land on this thought?” I shook my head and brushed the thought aside. “How could I be an alcoholic after only three years of drinking? That is just stupid!” I felt the tears slide down my cheek and the wind blow my hair about. “How can I go on like this. I don’t know how to live life, I don’t know how to make friends and I don’t know how to be happy.” I stared at the trees and rocks below and imagined what it would feel like to jump from the viewing platform. I imagined how it would feel to spread my arms and take to the sky as my last defiant act in life.

But I was afraid to die, terrified in fact—I couldn’t do that, not now. I stood there for hours, looking out, over the Albuquerque basin. I walked along the ridge, examined the foliage and waited for an inspired thought. Sunset came, and I watched the volcanoes on the West side of town swallow the sun. Then, the stars began peeking out from behind the darkening veil of night, and still I sat there, aware of the singular fact that something had to change.


“I’m going to stay here until I know how to proceed. There has to be a way to improve my life,” I thought. So there I sat, my mind contorting to various thoughts, my senses absorbing the nature around me, all of this observed only by the night stars. Finally, I stood and said aloud with conviction, “I have to leave. I have got to get out of Albuquerque, I have to make a fresh start.” I knew that I couldn’t return after a few weeks, this time, I had to stay gone, so I decided that it was time to hit the road. With this, Willie Nelson began singing to me about being “On the Road Again,” and I knew I’d have to make it work, I’d have to figure out how to live, I’d have to find success.


Continued Here...

14 comments:

  1. What she said.

    I envy you the epiphany. I don't think I've ever had that in my life, this grand gesture of awareness, consciousness, and resolve. My epiphanies have sadly come after the massive headache subsides, you know the one you get after banging your head on a wall for too long? I don't even know that one would call them epiphanies, really, more like reconciliation with an inescapable fate.

    Awaiting the rest of the story with bated breath :)

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    1. I know exactly what you mean. I think that mostly in life, my decisions have been some sort of acceptance of things as they are, rather than what I wanted them to be. I love your profile picture! Coffee is something of an epiphany for me. Each day, I wouldn't know how to proceed in its absence! Thanks Megan.

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    2. As with everything else in my life, there's a good story behind that picture :) I took it in Paris, at a sidewalk café, and the chocolate's name (the red thing next to the cup, which you can't read in the small pic) is Fouquet. Go ahead, say it with an American accent LOL

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    3. LOL
      That does leave much to the imagination:
      "I am on a diet and ...oh fuck-it, I'm eating the chocolate. What are they gonna do? Take away my birthday?"

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  2. This was incredible, Mike! It absolutely drew me in and kept me captive from first word to last. This skillfully written slice of life truly made me care.

    "I imagined how it would feel to spread my arms and take to the sky as my last defiant act in life." What a great, emotional visual you created! But, please...don't ever, EVER act on that impulse. :-o

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    1. Thanks so much Super Earthling :-)
      I really love your blog and so appreciate your warm comments! Thank you! BTW, I've stuck around for almost twenty years since that day and don't anticipate leaping from any mountain top any time soon! :-)

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  3. I have stood at the tip of Niagara Falls (a few short miles from my home) and have had the "defiant last act" thought. I don't go there alone any more for just that reason. Thank you for sharing your story. I look forward to the continuation and applaud your courage in sharing.

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    1. Thank you Amy. I've always wanted to go see Niagara Falls. Are you State Side or Canadian? I have a whole gaggle of family in Canada (though it's the other coast, they're in British Columbia, near Whistler). Those were some tough years, and I'm sometimes surprised I survived them. Thanks Again Amy!

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  4. Yes indeed, lovely. I've had a few of those moments and cherish them like my breath because they made a difference. Wonderful read.

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    1. Thank you so much Brenda! I hand on to those too, they are often that moment of hope in the midst of despondency, which give me enough to just keep going. Thanks Again!

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  5. Wonderful, as always. I love that underneath the "stuff," you had this hopeful spirit. You keep writing and I'll keep coming back.

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    1. Thanks! I've always been a bit of an optimist...even when I'm feeling pessimistic. It has been interesting to reexamine this part of my life. To see where I've changed and where I haven't and where I haven't but would like to. LOL

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