Today is my 40th day of sobriety, which is fantastic, though it feels like it’s been a lot longer than 40 days, and it also feels like day eight or nine. That all depends on the time of day and my mood. At least I recognize that my moods change and there’s no reason to panic when I get depressed or start thinking there’s no point in not drinking.
I was raised as a Christian, so the number 40 has significance. The Israelites wandered for 40 years in the wilderness, the flood lasted 40 days and nights, and Jesus went into the desert to be tempted for 40 days and nights. My drinking spiraled out of control after my 40th birthday on December 10, and I emerged from my own wilderness and checked myself into rehab on January 5. I don’t feel overconfident with 40 days of sobriety under my belt, which is good. Interestingly, it feels somehow more important than thirty days, perhaps given my religious background. I’m not sure, and it doesn’t matter, as long as it motivates to remain sober.
Moving on, I came across this the other day:
I’ve been thinking about since I saw it, and I brought it up with Katie during our weekly counseling session. We talked about my childhood, and she gave me an assignment: I’m supposed to meditate for five to ten minutes, and during that meditation talk and listen to my eight-year-old self. What would he think of me now? I know one thing–he’ll be disappointed that I’m not a paleontologist or an animator for Disney. Oh, well.
That’s it from me. Thanks for reading and supporting me. I wish everyone a sober and safe weekend.