Magical Thinking

Twenty-eight years ago today, I took my mother to the oncologist for her chemotherapy appointment.  "You look like you don't feel very well," he said to her when we walked in.  "No", my mother replied simply.  "Why don't we put you in the hospital for a few days to see if we can help."  "That would be fine," she said. 

That was Friday, March 1, 1996.  She spent four days on a morphine drip and passed away on Monday, March 4th.  She was 54.  On January 23rd of this year, my father also died. He was 83.  He had more time on this earth than my mother, but his was also limited. All of our time is limited.  Time, or the lack thereof, has been on my mind a lot lately. 

1996 was a leap year.  A year, like this year, where we get one more magical day than a normal year.  What am I doing with my days?  All of them, not just the extra ones.  James Clear writes "You are richer than 93% of people.  Not in money but in time.  108 billion people have lived throughout history.  93% of them are dead.  YOU have what every king and queen, every pharaoh and ruler, every CEO and celebrity of the past would give all of their wealth for:  Today."

What a gift today is and yet I spend most of my time thinking about tomorrow. 

I was sober for nine months when my mother passed.  I was able to be present with her during her illness and  remained sober for a few months after, but I eventually decided that "life was too short" and I started drinking again.  For the next twenty-five years, I drank daily.  Sometimes it was only one or two drinks.  Sometimes it was one or two bottles.  But I was consistent.  I drank every day.

Having those nine months without alcohol, I missed the calm feeling of sobriety.  Instead of understanding the obvious, that alcohol was robbing me of my life, my potential, I kept telling myself that I would go back to not drinking tomorrow.  That magical tomorrow when I would wake up one day and my life would change. 

Tomorrow became a common theme.  Yet, when tomorrow became today, another tomorrow would be on the horizon.  Tomorrow became next week. I agreed to stop on a random Monday or Tuesday or any other day of the week except today.  I can’t stop on Wednesday, it’s the middle of the week. Thursday is the unofficial start to the weekend.  And I couldn’t possibly stop on a Friday. I made it through the week after all; it needed to be celebrated.  

I said I would stop after my birthday or anyone else’s birthday. But then I couldn’t possibly stop because it would soon be Valentines Day or St. Patrick’s Day or Easter; Memorial Day or 4th of July.  Labor Day, then Halloween, and then the whole holiday season.  Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day….how could I possibly stop then?  There were weddings and showers to attend.  Births and funerals.  Parties and work functions and lets not forget vacations.  Me time, that was never me time.  Vacation's only focus became how to justify drinking all day in the name of relaxation.   

One day someone sent me a calendar with a holiday for every day of the year.  What?   Now I had a reason to celebrate every day.  How could I stop drinking on National Spay/Neuter day?  Compliment day, National Cheese Lovers Day or Static Electricity Day?  I could possibly stop on Make Your Dreams Come True Day, but that was only one day out of the year.  The only day not on that calendar?  Tomorrow. 

I began bargaining with myself.  I'll stop when other people change how they treat me, when I change how I see myself, when I'm out of this bad relationship, lose thirty pounds, when I get a different job.  I could reason my way out of and justify anything.  I just couldn't stop drinking.  It wasn't until I woke one morning and realized that twenty-five years had passed since my one and only stint of sobriety.  That nine months of peace.  Even though my mother had been dying and it wasn't really peaceful at all.  But I had been present. For myself and for her.  I wanted that feeling again. I couldn't believe I had let so much time pass.  Time I would never get back.  

So I stopped drinking.  But I did not stop the magical thinking.  I had removed the substance that was the greatest source of havoc in my life and the one that was physically most damaging, but I had not changed my belief that tomorrow I would wake up and be transformed into some other person.  Someone I don't  even recognize because I have made her into some unachievable model of perfection.  She is everything I want to be; except who I am. 

“Nothing is more damaging to our happiness than choosing to wait for it,”  writes the Happiness Coach.  How long will I choose to wait for me?  How long will I believe that tomorrow will be THE day, the one where I finally reach my ideal self?  What is my ideal self anyway?  I thought sobriety would be my ideal self.  While being sober is a huge step in the right direction, it has not completely changed my life.  It was just one step.  I will, we all will, keep growing and changing until our time is up.  Am I going to spend the rest of my life hoping that tomorrow will be a better day?  Or am I going to finally realize that I am who I am and that today is all I really have?   What will I do today to choose to be happy?  How do I find the gift in what I already have, not in what I dream about becoming? 

Life is evolution.  Our bodies innately know that every day they need to create new cells and kill off ones that are damaged or old.  They let go of what is no longer needed.  They don't overthink what they might need tomorrow.  They don't think about tomorrow at all.  Flowers don’t ask themselves if tomorrow would be a better day to bloom.  They bloom when they are ready.  When they have what they need to take the next step.  Neither our bodies nor the flowers in spring choose to agonize over what tomorrow might bring.  They look at what the day has to offer, where they are in their process, and act accordingly. 

Like my parents, my time here is finite.  One day, I will be no more.  I can live my life dreaming about tomorrow.  Or I can choose to spend today intentionally focused on where I would like to go.  Knowing that I have no idea what tomorrow may bring.  And finding peace in that knowledge.  All the magical thinking in the world will not produce the mythical person in my head.  The perfect version of myself that I dream about and that, if I was ever able to achieve, I would still want to change.  Becoming sober was a major milestone in my growth.  Does it make me happy?  Yes.  Does it make me complete? No.  I still have miles to go.  I just have to remind myself that the journey starts today.  Removing the pressure of the magical thinking that tomorrow will provide all the answers.  Tomorrow will never be a day on the calendar.  And today, I trust that life has provided me with everything I need to bloom.  I just have to consciously and purposefully choose my next step.  And act on it today, not waiting for tomorrow.  No magical thinking required.