Inconvenient Inspiration

It may be because I drank too much coffee earlier in the evening. It’s 1:10 a.m. Monday morning and my mind just won’t shut off. I may be a little hasty in blaming the caffeine for I have in the past and on countless occasions experienced this very same phenomenon without any stimulants present. Tonight, it could be the synergy of creative overload and artificial stimulation. I have no way of knowing.

After futilely trying to sleep for the past hour, I decided to grab my iBook from my home office and bring it to bed with me. My plan is to write something. It is not my intention to write what I what I’ve been thinking about – I simply do not have the time… I need some sleep. The plan is simple enough: If I can find an outlet for some of this mental energy, perhaps my head will be able to relax enough to sleep.

About a year and a half ago, I started to assemble what would someday become a book. It started out as kind of a memoir/self-help/inspirational/life-experience/autobiography. It is perhaps 25 – 35 percent done and will probably stay that way. I don’t think I’ll finish it. Not that book anyway. It is evolving into a much more sharply defined autobiography – the elements of which have been spinning in my head. In fact, I wouldn’t even call it memoir even though the genres of autobiography and its sub-genre, memoir, are almost interchangeable. But I digress…

The point of all this is that I never know when or where or, for that matter, why inspiration is going to hit me. I keep a notebook in my nightstand next to my bed to document these flashes of brilliance so I don’t forget them. A good idea, but I’ve only used it once and I don’t even remember what I wrote. It’s still there, a mere 18 inches from me right now! No, I’m not going to look at it – perhaps another day. (I have a bunch of hand-written material that I really should look at, but it’s not important right now).

All I want to do is get some sleep. I know from experience that my day will go much smoother if I can grab at least four hours – six would be better. I have a relatively busy day tomorrow. What I would have written had I decided to sacrifice the sleep and delve into it could have been anywhere from the book’s forward or introduction all the way to the middle and beginning. Yes, it’s going to start in the middle. That’s important, it very well may have been the one factor I needed to remember – now maybe I can get some sleep.

Good night.

Serenity

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.

The Serenity Prayer. Anyone who has had any involvement in any 12-step recovery program from Gamblers Anonymous to the grand daddy of them all – Alcoholics Anonymous knows these 27 words well. Hold on… Let’s call it 26 words. I’ll invite agnostics (like myself) and atheists along and leave out the word “God.” It doesn’t lessen or invalidate these simple words in the least. Besides, any God that I can embrace would not have an ego that demands such homage.

The origin of this prayer is in some question, although it would be a stretch to call it a controversy. There is some evidence that it may be very old indeed. As far as modern history and its adoption by AA and others is concerned, it can be traced back to an obituary appearing in the New York Times around 1939. It was brought to the attention of Bill W., co-founded of AA, who thought it embodied what AA was all about. The rest, as they say, is history.

But why are these 26 simple words so powerful? I don’t believe for one minute it’s the first word – the one I omitted. Is it in their sheer simplicity? Perhaps they embody the essence of what life is all about. It’s the concentrate; the extract; the precipitate – it’s what it all boils down to. These words quite possibly represent the lowest common denominator. Serenity, acceptance, courage and ultimately… wisdom; this is life in a nutshell.

Although this prayer comes off as a request – grant me – to me it is more of a mandate. They are words to live by. Directions, as it were. They set up a cause and effect; it presents a conditional statement – an “if/then,” if you will. If I can accept the things I cannot change, demonstrate the courage to change the things I can and practice the wisdom to know the difference, then I’ll have serenity. Peace. I’ll know peace.

The Zone

There have been some things in my life that I have been particularly passionate about. They were usually (but not always) activities that I possessed some aptitude for. I had, for whatever reason, a natural talent and certain skills and was drawn to the crafts that best utilized them. When everything was clicking, I could do no wrong – I was in “the zone.” It was not a very wide zone, however, as more often than not, as soon as I realized I was in it, I was out.

Sometimes the skills needed were acquired due to a passion and other times the skills were present and the passion was driven from being good at something. I am quite sure that at many other periods there was simply a lack of synchronicity; the passion did not develop the skill or the talent remained hidden until the moment was gone. It was a phenomenon I unwittingly summed up in a phrase I used repeatedly… “I guess I just missed my calling.”

As in, it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know. The timing just wasn’t right. I didn’t receive the exposure, the encouragement, the support - the “fill in the blank here.” I was, apparently, cursed. Doomed to failure – I just couldn’t get it right. As a result, I never found that “perfect” job. I could not get motivated for any length of time. There was never any pot of gold, no green acres and no happily ever after. I was just doing time. Good enough turned into never enough – I could not find satisfaction and there was no peace.

Today and for quite a little time now, this has not been the case. I am quite sure this didn’t turn around overnight, but the realizations that things are not the same come to me in waves. I’ll be doing something, anything… sometimes nothing at all and it’ll hit me: I’m in the zone! Furthermore, I have been here for a long time. The kicker? It’s not an accident, there is no happy coincident… it didn’t “just happen.” It has absolutely nothing to do with talent, skill, or anything externally manifested. It is entirely an inside job.

I have said it before and I’m saying it again: attitude is the key. There is nothing magical about it and it is not something that can be given or taken away. I have a “can do” attitude because I do do. I know I can get it done because I get it done. I know the facts because I studied them. I am in a place right now that it matters little what I am doing, I give it my all because anything less only short-changes myself. If I’m going to do it, I’m all in.

I know that if I were flipping burgers, I’d be the best burger flipper around. I can “see” myself smiling and flipping them. The same goes for anything I set myself to do. I wouldn’t be doing it if I weren’t somehow driven. Be it financial need, to keep busy or just simply being of some kind of service, I would have my mind set in such a way that that “thing” I have set out to do would carry the same importance as everything I’m doing right now. I would not derive any satisfaction otherwise.

My life needs purpose. I was, however, confused about what it was, how it would be manifested and how to figure it out. As it turns out, none of that matters. My purpose is not predestined, it is not predefined – it does not have to find me. My destiny is up to me and I can get as excited about it as I choose. It is attitude dependant and attitude driven. My calling therefore, is not actually calling me. It is I that must do the calling.

RAIN!

And it keeps coming and coming and coming and coming. California, specifically the Capital City, has been pounded with rain in record amounts. It is fortunate that it has not come all at once, for the delta region may well resemble certain parts of the gulf coast right now. However, the trade-off is a nearly constant outpouring of light to moderate rain. In March, Sacramento recorded a record 20 days of measurable rain. That means rain two out of every three days. Everything is wet all the time. Enough is enough!

I am typically not one to complain about inclement weather. Usually I revel in the power of Mother Nature. I get off on “bad” weather. Rain, wind, snow, cold… even heat waves do not really bother me. However, monotony does. This is getting old. It’s not even all that severe, just constant. It is exactly what I don’t like about the oh so predictable summers around here. It’s 95 to 105 degrees pretty much every day during the “dog days” of summer here. And I guess in March (and so far in April), it rains. And rains and rains and then it rains some more.

Those that can barely tolerate the rain under normal circumstances are the ones suffering the most. I still enjoy those certain elements of the rain that I always have – the cleansing quality, the freshness after a rain – the smell, the sound of the falling rain – it can be and often is enchanting. It slows everything down. Things are pretty slow around here. We’ve had enough. But, as long as it’s going to rain anyway, I’ll be taking advantage of the meditative quality of it – I have to study for a Constitutional Law midterm tomorrow morning. This is some of the best studying weather.

Does that mean the rain will stop afterwards? That would be a welcome change. The forcast calls for a break on Thursday and most of Friday followed by... you guessed it, more rain.

Hangin' in There

8:00 a.m. PDT, Sunday morning. It’s been a brutal weekend so far. Not because of all the rain or because nothing has gone right… Quite the contrary, in one respect at least, all has gone extraordinarily well, but it hasn’t been easy. Since my last post late Friday night, I have been at war and so far winning battle after battle. There have been oh so many battles. I think my strength is growing. Today, I recommit myself to not smoking.

I have received nothing but positive feedback and encouragement since I publicly made my mission known. I deeply appreciate it and that support has helped more than I thought possible. Having said all that, however, this has been my toughest journey into smoke freedom yet. I don’t know why, but I am nowhere near taking this “a day at a time” yet. Sometimes, it’s all I can do to get through the moment.

Perhaps it’s because not smoking is so high on my conscious priority list. In the past when I was unsuccessful after a few days, weeks or months, the urge may have come over me while my guard was down… I was not vigilant to the degree I am today. But that very vigilance forces me to think of not smoking – and consequently – smoking, all the time. It’s a catch 22 that I guess I’ll have to live with for the time being. It seems to be working.

As hard as this has been so far, it obviously is not beyond my ability or my resources. Every tough day won gives me that much more confidence and strength that I can do it again today. Although I hesitate to say it, it is different this time. What that means only time will tell, but so far today, I’m still winning.

No Butts

I quit smoking a couple of weeks ago. It’s not the first time; I hope it’s the last. Mark Twain said of smoking and quitting, “Giving up smoking is the easiest thing in the world. I know because I've done it thousands of times.” It’s staying quit that has been my problem. And at two weeks, it is a constant battle – rationalizing away these two weeks and picking up a cigarette is like an internal tug-o-war with the little angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other.

I have not enjoyed my “ritual smokes” for a very long time. Of course, it goes without saying how I feel about all the many smokes in between those ritual ones. Yet, after two weeks, a cigarette sure sounds good. And I’ll be honest here, I’m not too sure I’ll make it – again. If true, I also know that the first smoke will deliver everything promised by that little devil. I also know that the little angel is right too. It will lead to the point where I wish I didn’t smoke again and I won’t be able to quit.

Quitting, as Mr. Twain explains, is quite easy. Technically, I quit every time I snuff one out, unless I’m chain smoking (I don’t). However, for me there are periodic windows of opportunity. One key ingredient has to be a mental willingness – being so profoundly disgusted with smoking (again) to the point that I can say “no” for a period of time and stick with it. A couple of other things need to happen around the same time, but the willingness has to be there.

One is too many. If I decide to have “just one,” I know (and the little angel is nodding in agreement) that how ever much I mean it, it won’t happen. Experience tells me that within 24 hours I will have purchased a pack and be right back where I was before I quit. Knowing this is not, however, a sufficient defense. As the midnight hour approaches, it appears as though I’ll make it through another day. Tomorrow morning I’ll recommit and hope for the willingness and the strength to make it through another day/hour/minute.

I am, in some respects, past the most difficult part. The physical withdrawal symptoms are over and have been for about a week. My normal sleep pattern is returning and my moodiness is substantially less pronounced. I don’t need a cigarette to relieve any particular withdrawal symptom. Yet at the same time this is the most difficult part. It is the time where the habitual nature of smoking is trying to find an outlet… and there is none. I’ve been down this road before.

Over the years I, like Mark Twain, have quit on a number of occasions, lasting anywhere from a few days to two or three years. In the last 18 months, this is the fifth time – the longest period being almost two months. The shear number of attempts is encouraging but I feel that I am at a crossroads in that I need to make it work this time. I don’t - and the little angel will not abandon me if I pick up again.

So now it’s 12:08 a.m. PST, another day smoke-free. I’ll go to bed and tomorrow do it all over again.