Yesterday morning, I was walking through my old neighborhood after completing my physical therapy session, and I noticed someone I used to know in a professional capacity more than a decade ago. We were never friends but shared a history from the 2010s media orbit. Even though this person is fairly well-known and very rich now, I saw no issue in calling out to them as they power-walked through Larchmont Village.
After I reintroduced myself, I could sense that they had no interest in having an extended conversation with me at all, as they sized me up as if I were an asylum escapee. When they asked me if I lived nearby, they sounded genuinely concerned for their own personal safety. The more I held eye contact in what I considered a friendly, happy-to-see-you way, the more they backed away. "Well. Good to see ya!" they said, quickly putting their ear buds back in as I stood there ready to chat for hours, like a pathetic loon.
As I walked home, I began to feel bad—subhuman, really. I replayed the whole thing in my head for an hour, wondering if there had been a reason for the awkwardness, something I may have repressed, forgotten, or never knew about. But my main concern was: why did I care so much?
Since I've been sober, I've had a few run-ins with a few people who knew me from that 2010 era. Some of them were shocked and impressed by my transformation. When someone tells me I am "a completely different person," I take that as the highest, holiest of compliments. It restores dignity. It is grace—and it's the best high on earth available to me now, to be honest.
And that's what I was hoping for from this person—the recognition that I was no longer the version of me they knew and perhaps feared or loathed. I wanted them to ask what I was up to these days. And then I'd tell them about my family—three kids, can you believe it! And The Small Bow—going on six years! I wanted them to know I was not exiled off some dreary coast of Florida, busted and alone and tormented by my past. I wanted to see their eyes light up and an extended nod, the kind of nod people make when they're impressed by who they're talking to. I wanted to see respect, maybe even envy? I wanted to hear, "Sounds like you've figured it out!" Because on some days, I do feel that way. "Tell me your secrets!" And I would, for sure, absolutely, my pleasure. "Let's grab a coffee next week! Here's my number." And then I'd be healed.
Why? Why do I crave validation from someone who isn't tied to my overall happiness in a remotely meaningful way?
When I got home, I remembered that I actually did put this person on a way-too-early amends list, one that I'd thrown together with a few weeks of sobriety and zero program. I put them on the list, not because I did anything to them but because I simply wanted them to like me. In my delusional Dale Carnegie fever dream, I'd win this friend and influence the person by apologizing for, I guess, existing but it wouldn't matter because they'd feel honored by the inclusion. Maybe part of me thought that if I reached out, they'd offer me a job and a shot at professional redemption—but the other part was I simply wanted to feel like I lived an exciting life surrounded by powerful people.
In my first year sober, a writer friend who had more than a decade of sobriety taught me an important lesson in humility. He was close friends with a famous person I was genuinely rotten towards, and I'd asked for their email so I could do the spiritual square-up. "No," he said. "You should not do that." But why? Don't you think I was legitimately evil? "If I were a famous person and got a random email from someone who minorly slighted me a decade ago, the first thought that would spring to mind would be—what does this person want from me?"
I waited a year and then I asked him for the email again. And again, he said no. "If your paths cross and there is an appropriate opportunity to make amends, do it then." But he added there's probably zero chance they still feel hurt by what I did, let alone remember it. "So you risk reopening a wound or causing an actual offense just to satisfy your ego."
He was so precise with that explanation—and painfully accurate. What did I want?
The same thing I wanted from the person I ran into yesterday—social acceptance. Ego satisfaction. Self-importance. The exhilaration of being popular and well-connected.
Last night, I re-read “The Four Agreements” and reminded myself that how any of these people feel about me has nothing to do with me. I don't need to be accepted—and I don't need to be sad about someone else's opinion of me. But, to be honest, sometimes, that's still exactly what I need.
(Progress, not perfection.)
Anyway–how are you?
Our May Check-Ins run next Tuesday—and we only have a few filed, so I’d really love your help. The perfect length is 250-300 words. Feel free to share your triumphs or setbacks—or whatever else is bringing you down. We're here for all of it.
Here's a GREAT example of what we're looking for. This was one of my all-time favorite submissions:
"My life these days feels like the opening montage to a movie in which they beat the shit out of the main character just to drive the point home that she is down on her luck. Got demoted at work, family member got seriously ill, kid ran away from home. And all the little things that could go wrong are going wrong. Yesterday I went to the hospital with a big bag of stuff and tripped getting out of my car, and everything went flying across the parking deck and now I have a skinned knee. Like, really universe? Was that necessary? But I am still sober."
EMAIL ME HERE: ajd@thesmallbow.com subject MAY CHECK-IN
It will be published NEXT TUESDAY.
Anyone who contributes gets a FREE month of TSB’s Sunday edition. If you didn’t get hooked up last month, please email me and let me know and I’ll get you situated.
(We also donate $25 to the Katal Center each month on behalf of TSB.)
Recent Check-In Highlights:
“I'm just so angry, and I know I'm being a smug asshole, but this disease is cunning and exhausting. I've been trying to detach with love, not question if he's drunk, nor demand that he not be. I've been hands-off, not insisting or even so much as hinting at him returning to meetings. I'm furtively, furiously clawed at my fear, anxiety, and control addiction to put the focus on me. Let it begin with me, for fucks sake. I've been trying to work my own program as the spouse and daughter of alcoholics. But can the family disease kindly fuck off?”
“For years, I wondered how much you needed to drink to get the shakes. And then, about six years ago, I found out. But what scared me the most was when I learned about anhedonia the hard way. (Anhedonia is the lack of interest, enjoyment, or pleasure from life's experiences.) I learned about it by living it. Yes, I had gotten divorced after 20 years of marriage, and my ex made it a 3-year nightmare. Yes, my dog died two days after my divorce court appearance. It was easy to feel self-pity. And I had moved to a new place where I knew no one. And then there was the pandemic. I gave myself permission to drink away the pain. But then I found myself dependent on alcohol and unable to enjoy the things that had always kept me going. Most importantly, playing music. It scared me. Perhaps that is why I haven't been tempted recently.”
My eating is out of control. I keep restricting myself and then having a blowout. I can't seem to stop. My relationship is hanging in the balance, but she's probably got a foot out the door already. I've shown her who I am in all my broken glory. She doesn't need this in her life. And my family just kinda looks on; they already know they can't help. I'm skittering across the ice right now. I am tumbling and slipping, and I have no idea how I get my balance back.
Department of Announcements: Summer Hours
Traditionally, The Small Bow has taken off the entire month of May to recalibrate and get some much-needed rest away from the computer. Instead, this year, we’re going to scale back our publishing schedule to two days per week. There will be a Tuesday issue but no Friday one until fall or perhaps never again. The Sunday issue will still be there for paid subscribers since that one is a weekly rundown of my recovery program and I don’t intend to relapse this summer, but if I do you’ll be the first people to know about it. Well, probably second, but either way, we’re cool. If you’d like to continue getting TSB twice per week, get a paid subscription today.
This is The Small Bow newsletter. It is mainly written and edited by A.J. Daulerio. And Edith Zimmerman always illustrates it. We send it out every Tuesday and Friday.
You can also get a Sunday issue for $8 a month or $60 per year. The Sunday issue is a recovery bonanza full of gratitude lists, a study guide to my daily recovery routines, a poem I like, and more exclusive essays. You also get commenting privileges!
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DEPARTMENT OF MERCHANDISING AND SHAMELESS PERSONAL BRANDS
Buy a mug to drink out of during our Zoom meetings. On that note…
ZOOM MEETING SCHEDULE
Monday: 5:30 p.m. PT/ 8:30 p.m ET
Wednesday: 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET
Thursday: (Women and non-binary meeting) 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET
Friday: 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET
Saturday: Mental Health Focus (Peer support for bipolar/anxiety/depression) 9:30 a.m. PT/12:30 p.m. ET
Sunday: (Mental Health and Sobriety Support Group) 1:00 p.m PT/4 p.m. ET
*****
If you don't feel comfortable calling yourself an "alcoholic," that's fine. If you have issues with sex, food, drugs, DEBT, codependency, love, loneliness, depression, come on in. Newcomers are especially welcome.
FORMAT: CROSSTALK, TOPIC MEETING
We're there for an hour, sometimes more. We'd love to have you.
Meeting ID: 874 2568 6609
PASSWORD TO ZOOM: nickfoles
A POEM ON THE WAY OUT:
The Abandoned Hotel
by Zachary Schomburg
***********************
Inside the woods is an abandoned hotel.
Trees grow in the lobby
and up through the rooms.
Limbs jut out through the windows.
It looks like outside
inside.
I climb the trees
through 1000 rooms.
I look for you
in each of them.
You’re a long shiny line.
ALL ILLUSTRATIONS BY EDITH ZIMMERMAN
But if you really hate subscriptions but love what we do, you can throw us $20 without all the extra emails to read. You’re the best. Thanks for your kindness and support!
Nodding my head-
I know quotes can sometimes be infuriating because they sound pat or tone deaf—but they sometimes hit. This quote really made a difference recently
“Life became a lot simpler when I decided to just let people misunderstand me.”
-Alicia Lochard