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830 days sober: The Power of Hope

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.

820 Days Sober: I Believe in a Better South

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.