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1051 Days Sober

I don’t know if truer words have ever been spoken to me. At least that is how it felt in that moment.

“The choice was made long before the action,” I read his text in his distinctive way of talking.

Fortunately my actions were not harmful, except to my immediate mental state, and mild in the grand scheme of things but I did just do something I promised myself I’d never do again.

There was no premeditation, no volition, no thoughts to warn me.

Data would suggest I was in no danger of falling into this old pattern but there I was faced with the end result asking, “How did that happen?”

He was right. The choice had been made long before the action.

Looking back over the last few months I had not prioritized efforts I put in place to keep me mentally healthy. All my practices had become lax. I had become complacent.

I had not written, fellowshipped with my sober communities, or practiced with the same intention I had over the last 1000 days.

I am grateful to be reminded we must put energy and effort in to overcome disorder, in our minds and in our universe

I have not yet researched where the Sanskrit word sadhana might have first appeared, even though I tend to enjoy etymology. I was first exposed to the word in reading Iyengar’s Light on the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali.

Sadhana has come to be associated with “a spiritual practice.” I prefer Iyengar’s definition of a methodical, sequential means to accomplish one’s aim in life.

I define sadhana as the things I do intentionally and with regularity right now to be the best me, tweaked over time — my beloved scientific method applied to myself.

My yoga practice is not my sadhana. It is simply part of my sadhana, right now and for as long as it serves me.

There are no short-term goals associated with my sadhana. It is simply the system I follow with the ultimate goal being able to look back and say I am content with the man I became.

It is a practice. The practice is not about achieving any level of success but simply doing the things I’ve set out to do. There is no audience to perform for here. It is just me and my practice.

Here are some aspects of the current state of my sadhana:

An intention to do yoga daily. I have both an Ashtanga yoga practice and a very healing, meditative Hatha yoga routine.

An intention to read daily, if only a snack of a paragraph or two. Hopefully I find something I find profound to note or share.

An intention to write an essay every 10 days or so based on whatever comes to mind.

Being intentional about not only spending time with, but being present with the ones I love and lead. My mantra for this is prioritizing humans.

I practice not responding immediately to any information that elicits an uncomfortable emotional response. I then check my motivations for responding, and respond only if necessary.

I attempt to maintain a tidy home. This is a struggle for me as my brain tends to live elsewhere in the problems I’m trying to solve.

Maintaining sobriety is always a practice.

Most of these things take a relatively small amount of time, yet can feel like fighting a battle to adhere to my own intentions.

But if I could do it all perfectly, it wouldn’t be called “practice.”

As always thank you for letting me share. 

870 days sober: The Daily Minimum

Do you know what my yoga practice requires outside of myself? Nothing.

All it requires is for me to breathe, gaze and move.

No teacher required. No mat. Just me.

Physically it is as intense or as playful as you allow it to be. Mentally just stepping on your mat can be  a battle.

My practice as been sparse over the last few weeks. I’d like to say work travel and injury were the root cause.  I have a feeling it has more to do with my tendency, if left to my own devices, to run away from anything that is good for me.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so disconnected from this practice that has helped heal me. I haven’t been to Balance, my refuge, in days.

You would think  after 5 years of proof, this wouldn’t be the case, but the tendency is still there — a constant background tug telling me I am not good enough to be this well and happy, that  I am not a priority.

In Ashtanga, or at least in my Ashtanga community, we have a concept of daily minimum. Our practices can take well over 1.5 hours and the ebbs and flows of life do not always allow a full practice.  To keep up the discipline it is recommended to do a daily minimum: Three sun salutations A, 3 sun salutations B, yoga mudra, padmasana, utplutih, and shavasana.

All in all it would take about 15 minutes. Who doesn’t have 15 minutes to do basic maintenance for themselves?

But when I step on my mat in my hotel room or in my apartment, a thousand thoughts distract. A work email here. A sip of coffee is needed. The last sun salutations feels like it can simply be skipped.

I mean what’s the difference between two or three?

The difference is building strength in battling the negative tendencies of your own mind. The difference is valuing yourself enough to take just another 30 seconds of time to keep a commitment to yourself.

Today I went through the motions of my daily minimum. It felt like it was a must. It was not graceful. It was not focused. What could only take 15 minutes took almost 30?

860 days sober: Today I didn’t quit

After my second Sun Salutation the internal conversation started. “How in the fuck am we going to finish practice?” I was weak which was seemingly at odds with my practice earlier this week. I swear body states change as easily as mental and emotional ones.

Was it the weeks of travel between Charleston, Indianapolis, New York, Austin and Tampa? Or the cookies and cheese I enjoyed with laughter the day before.

At least I wouldn’t have to do a chaturanga or upward dog until I finished standing.

However, my mind was not being friendly to the cause. “You can stop here. It’s been a long week. You showed up. You did the minimum. This will build a little strength for tomorrow. Then do a “real” practice.” I transitioned to seated poses and kept going.

I’m guessing it was around trianga mukhaikapada paschimottanasana that I decided half primary would be enough.

But after each next pose my mind was telling me to quit. Not just to quit today but quit quit. “How long have I been doing this? Over 5 years. You’re still struggling in practice. You know you don’t have the time to dedicate like you should.” I was losing this battle. It wasn’t one I could win with reason. How do you battle your own mind?

After my fifth navasana, I decided to quit.

But I didn’t quit my practicing.

I quit listening to my mind. I stopped judging my efforts. I moved forward to the next asana and the next transition.

It was the only way. I did my full practice.

There are many theories of mind. Some people these manifestations are nothing more than chemicals and electrical signals in the brain. After graduate school I’d likely agree.
Dualist believe in a separation of mind and brain.

My psychotherapist would likely say it’s different aspects of my personality.

I have yet to form a solid opinion on the matter, but my experience tells me there is a fundamental “me” that’s getting stronger, fighting battles, and showing up more.

And I like “me” more than I ever have before.

Today I didn’t quit. Today I overcame and became a little bit stronger.

If there is something you want to change in your life, you can. You might not be able to see a way or hell, you might not even recognize there is something you want to change yet.

For many years people hoped for me. They hoped I would not drive home drunk again. They hoped I’d not show up that drunk again. They hoped I wouldn’t say that to their guests. They hoped I didn’t drink myself to death. I hoped the whiskey didn’t run out.

None of their hope seem to matter then because I didn’t see a problem. But maybe it did. Maybe the collective hopes, prayers of sorts, screamed out to the universe and set things in motion.

I”ll be the first to tell you there is a great deal of serendipity in my journey. Enough to challenge my every notion of what is scientifically probable. Honestly I doubt I’ll ever have the capacity to understand how it all went down. The explanation that resonates with me is from the Gita where Krishna describes how we are all reborn and instinctively drawn to Brahman over many lifetimes.

Hope is powerful, but hope alone is not enough. Action is required. Not by others but by you and me, the addict.

People ask me about how to help loved ones all the time. I ask them to never give up hope or hold their love as ransom, but DO set strong boundaries. The action is not theirs to take. It is the addicts alone.

There are a lot of paths one can take. I can only share my experience. I did not start doing yoga to because I wanted to quit drinking. I did not replace one addiction for another. I dedicated myself to regular yoga practice because I found a loving community.

I knew nothing about it. I simply thought it exercise. I hoped it might change my body. It has changed everything.

It is my experience that Ashtanga yoga is a valid method of action that will bring about change.

My hope is that my sharing and retelling puts this gift back out the the universe for someone to receive.

I am a Southerner.

I was raised in Harrison, Georgia, a rural town of about 500 people; median income $18,125 in today’s dollars. I was bused 1.5 hours up and down dirt roads, every day, to go to school in the county seat, Sandersville. The dream of most families was for their kids to work in the kaolin (chalk) mines.

I never felt like I fit in. I didn’t want to hunt. I didn’t want to play football on Thanksgiving. I wanted to play Dungeons & Dragons, ride my skateboard, and play on the computer.

I have two degrees in chemistry from southern universities, Georgia College and the University of Florida. I received amazing educations at both. But I also taught myself how to drink myself to oblivion. Whiskey and college football parties became a way for me to leave behind who I used to be and become who I thought everyone wanted me to be. My need to fit in and please others led me down a path of addiction and sickness over the next 20 years of my life.

I came to Atlanta in my 30s to pursue a career in tech. My alcoholism was very public, my drug addiction hidden in the shadows. I worked night and day improving my coding skills while teaching high school. I was recruited by a startup to be a software developer.
In August 2013, I co-founded @bittersoutherner with @chuckreece, @kyletibbsjones, and @davewhitling. I had just entered recovery for my drug addiction yet my identity was still bound to drinking whiskey. Seems I still needed to reconcile my own definition of what it meant to be a Southerner.

In March of 2016, I joined Atlanta-based SalesLoft and my life would change forever. Today I am 820 days completely sober and surrounded by the love of friends and coworkers. No booze, no drugs required.

Most Southerners are not as lucky as me. Addiction and substance abuse are tearing this region apart. There are no resources to help or educate. People don’t even know things can be different from what they have always known.
I don’t think it’s just a Southern thing. I think it’s a human thing. But this is where I am from and this is where I can make an impact.

I believe in a Better South for my niece and nephew.

790 Days sober: I don’t have to feel this way.

I stared through the window into the bar connected to my hotel in San Francisco.

Everyone was having so much fun. I remembered a time when I could participate. Unfortunately I wasn’t recalling all the pain and hurt my drinking caused.

I thought, “I don’t have to feel his way.” I could just go in. It’s the first time in two years I can remember having a thought like this.

My mind was betraying me. Which is an odd thing to think about since my mind and my body is “me”.

I was — I am — tired and frustrated. On the West Coast my East Coast meetings start at 6am, and my West Coast meetings end late. I used this as a reason not to practice.

I forgot my head medicine and refused to call my doctor for another script. A deep shame haunts me whenever I “mess up.”

I was weak from a cold I powered through the week before.

The trip was easy to blame, but this started a long time before this trip.

An overuse injury from obsessively working on a project and using my phone too much has caused me to modify my practice. I’m embarrassed my practice isn’t as strong as it once was.

It had become harder to wake up in the morning. Easier to just go to evening practice. And easier still to say I just needed to continue working in the afternoons.

Dangerous thoughts creep up. Nothing that would hurt or bother anyone else. Not yet.

The discipline and objectivity I usually enjoy had dissolved. I simply haven’t been doing what I need to take care of myself. And now it seemed like a hill too steep to climb. Better to give up.

Driving to Napa to visit with Taylor and Kory, I spill coffee in my eye. Yes again. Damn cheap ass recycled paper cups. At this point I hate everything about myself and life. I’m a total fuckup.

I arrived and began to feel safe. I was in a space with people who understood me. Here I will start taking care of myself again.

Last night I spoke to a room of yogis about my sobriety. I cried. I am grateful I am sober. I do not want to lose what I have.

I don’t have to feel this way. But the answer is within me, in my daily actions, not outside of me.

The real question is what do I need to do to take care of myself, and why would I let anything get in the way

I did not want to make the drive. Not again. A three hour drive into my own personal heart of darkness. Sitting with my thoughts while speeding to the very region I spent a lifetime escaping

Garfield is not unlike the small rural Georgia town I grew up in. My brother has spent the last nine months working the program at New Beginnings in Christ Men’s Recovery Home.

New Beginning was started in campers in the backyard of Mr. Donald and his wife. Now they house and feed 84 men free of charge in exchange for the men working the program. It’s one of the few resources poorer counties and families have.

The side of the road was packed with cars of the families and friends who were here to stand with the men graduating.

I arrived before my parents.

“Jeff, why are you so dressed up?”

“Oh shiiiiit. That’s not Jeff.”

My brother and I are a lot alike. To know us is to recognize how genetically similar we must be. It’s with this lens I contemplate addiction,nature, nurture, choice and circumstance.

A black man approaches me,

“BJ, do you remember from high school.”

He was a couple of years older than me.

“Of course man. How are you?”

It was an odd question since most of the men at New Beginnings are here on court order, and all of them addicts or alcoholics.

He shared he had struggled with cocaine most of his life.

“You know how Washington County is. It’s a trap.”

I shared with him that I too was an addict and that I was glad he could get help here.

I recognized a few more faces. Unfortunately I have known too many childhood friends who have found this mandated refuge.

Today there were 13 men graduating. The hall was packed with all the men and their families. Every chair full and people standing. I’d guess 250 in attendance.

The preacher and director said a few words as my brother received his diploma. Then it was my turn.

If you knew what I knew, you’d know I am just like the men in this room just more fortunate.

“My name is Butler, and I am an alcoholic and addict in recovery.”

This was the first time I’ve said this in front of my parents.

My dad spoke and said he and Mama were proud of both of us.

I just hope all these men begin to heal.

Love,

Butler

Sutra 1.21 “The goal is near for those who are supremely vigorous and intense in practice”

Sutra 1.22 “There are differences between those who are mild, average and keen in their practices.”

A friend called me up recently seeking advice, “I admire your ability to seemingly navigate stress and conflict with a sense of peace and objectivity,” and wanted to learn he might cultivate the same mindset.

I assured him if there was any truth to his perception, it was the product of years of practice.

I once listened to Vedic scholar, Sree Aswath, (pictured) speak on yoga and the sutras. He explained many think yogis do not get stressed or experience anger. Yogis, like everyone else, experience these mental states, but the yoga practice cultivates an ability to recover quickly. An unpracticed person may take a month or longer to move on from an emotional event; a practitioner of yoga, over time, can learn to recover in a week, a day, an hour, 10 mins.

Stoics also have a reputation for being unfazed and emotionless. Again untrue. Stoics cultivate maxims to have “ready to hand” to help bring them back to objective thinking. Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations are nothing more than reminders to himself to come back to this fundamental disposition.

“The ancient philosophers, likewise, did not merely think about the challenges of living and arrive at a conclusion once. They found it necessary to repeatedly go over and over the same line of reasoning in their minds on a daily basis, sometimes reviewing a single idea in relation to many different concrete situations, or elaborating it by means of different analogies and modes of expression. In other words, it takes effort and perseverance, in many cases, to change our habits of thinking and overcome destructive emotional responses.”

How have I applied this?

I read daily with the intention of finding passages I can use as reminders and tools. I enjoy sharing these with the world.

Ashtanga yoga encourages a regular daily practice. Through it, I’ve built strength over my mind.

Whether a headstand, or compassionate objective demeanor, it’s simply unexpected fruit of consistent practice over time.

As a boy I loved to learn. Mama would sit with me at the dining room table every night and help me with my studies. Daddy, always the avid reader, modeled the behaviors of a lifelong learner.
I am not sure where it changed. But after more than a decade of drug and alcohol abuse, my brain was not what it once was. Once a master of chemistry, I could now barely string together coherent sentences.
In the year before getting sober, my body and my brain were falling apart. I spent thousands of dollars on all types of doctors trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I spent hours reading stories online on people who found themselves struggling to find words.
On Jan 1 2017 I wrote,
“I want to be more well spoken. I have felt less articulate than ever before. I will read more. Read something daily and dare I say 50 books this year?
I will dedicate time to write. I think this improves the brain and helps you find new words and thoughts. Dare I say I would write something daily. That may offer me little flexibility. Worth a try? And not just this copy quotes bullshit but actually reflect. I like quotes and new words, but I think I need to write about them.”
I decided to start writing publicly to hold myself accountable. Instead of starting a blog I decided to use social media. The character limit on Instagram is 2200 characters. Fitting what I wanted to say into 2220 characters made me a better writer. It’s made me restructure, simplify and stay on message.
The public accountability along with leveraging the notorious dopamine effect of social media keeps me reading week over week so I can digest, synthesize and share my thoughts and feelings.
But most importantly, this act has healed me in an unexpected way. Many people have reached out to me because they need or are curious about sobriety. Some reach out and berate me. They say sobriety should be anonymous, and I only do this for my ego and that one day I will relapse, and I will make a public fool of myself.
Maybe they are right, but I write anyway. I write because I want to write. I write for me. And this act of doing what is right for me has healed me as much as anything.