A number...

On December 1, 1983, I flew home from an awful week in Las Vegas.  I'd been there at a trade conference and, when I reflected back on my behavior that week, I could feel nothing but shame and embarrassment for the previous week.

 As soon as the drink cart came, I ordered 2 drinks and made sure that the bottle I'd stashed (you could never trust them to get back with those damned carts when you needed them - especially on a 1-1/2 hour flight!) was easily reached and just felt awful.  To the core, awful.

I then had what I now know of as 2 moments of clarity:

1. I just wanted to step out of the airplane at 30,000 feet and step into oblivion.  I'd failed at previous suicide attempts but I just completely abhorred who I knew myself to be.  I reflected on my family, my business, my church, my business dealings, my life - and, I just couldn't think of a single situation that would not have been improved if I were removed from the picture.
2. I'd been involved in intensive family therapy, marriage counseling, personal counseling, and various other forms of therapy for a number of years.  I'd read every self-help book that I could find.  Several times the suggestion was offered that I moderate my drinking - maybe just for a little bit of time. While it might have been true that, as I always argued (pretty convincingly), my drinking was not the problem, it was equally and undeniably true to me in that moment that it was not part of the solution to the myriad problems I had going on in my life.  If, in fact, it wasn't part of the solution, it was curious to me (just that) how strongly I argued for my "right" to be able to drink.

I landed and I don't remember getting home (not unusual) but I do remember talking to my then wife about going to a meeting the next day before I passed out for the night (I was long past ever going to sleep w/out passing out).  She had been in the program for a few months at that time.

The next night, shaky, feeling awkward and dressed in my best 3-piece suit, I showed up at a meeting at a club house.  It certainly lived down to my expectations but that night, for the first time, I went to a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous and admitted I was an alcoholic (it seemed like what they expected me to do...).

That was December 2, 1983 and, by the grace of God, expert sponsorship and the wonderful program of Alcoholics Anonymous, I've not had a drink of alcohol or taken anything that's affected me from the neck up since that day.

Thank you for 26 amazing years...