Do you ever complain?

I do!

I was challenged with this recently when my Rector taught through the book of Job in the Lectionary. He described the tendency we have as humans to grumble about just about everything. He recalled the people of Israel in the wilderness. Not long after crossing the Red Sea, they quickly longed to return to Egypt. After all, they had full bellies and excellent mattresses. Ah, the good ol ’ days. They seemed to forget that the return to Egypt was a return to enslavement.

In my recovery, I can identify two types of looking back. The one I am most familiar with is called euphoric recall. Euphoric recall is when I look back at a previous addiction episode in a positive light. I remember doing this when I first began my twelve-step journey. Oh, the adventures! The compulsion would cover up the pain of dealing with challenging emotions. How easy it was to sit in the ashes of my addiction and grumble, “It was better when I was acting out.” Not dealing with my problems, my character defects through acting out in my addiction seemed like bliss compared to the pain I felt as I began to experience withdrawal.

For me, euphoric recall is a form of denial. When I choose to focus on the high from my addiction, I deny the reality of the consequences of acting out. I only get a partial picture of what my addiction does to others and the toll it takes on my spirit, body, and sanity. My program urges me to practice rigorous honesty. Euphoric recall is the opposite of that commitment.

I also find myself recalling the early days of recovery. Lately, this often occurs as I remember the pre-pandemic community of how things used to be. Being able to see each other face-to-face instead of through a video screen, the simple pleasure of setting up chairs in the meeting room, and the personal interaction that doesn’t translate across the internet are things I miss. It is also easy to compare my current level of passion in recovery against those early days.

I must not coast on my past successes in recovery. Thankfully, my friends in the program remind me that doing so is a risky business. There are no laurels upon which to rest. The saying is true when we feel we are doing good in recovery; our addict is out in the parking lot doing push-ups.

Each morning I remind myself that the best position to begin my day is on my knees. It is a reminder that I require a power greater than myself. It is a position of humility. Before recovery, I would pray at my desk, like I was negotiating a business contract. Getting on my knees is a deceleration of surrender to a power greater than myself.

For me, I have to remind myself that the life of acting out is a life I choose to die to each day. Occasionally, I have to remind myself that I must decide that from moment to moment. There is no life in the past, be it by acting out or my early recovery days. Like a partner in a marriage whose honeymoon is in the rearview mirror, I must now lean into the choice to invest in and maintain a spiritual love connection to God. When I look back, I miss the blessing of the now.

I once read that God doesn't live in the past nor the future. God exists in the now, the present moment. While I may want to argue the theology of that statement, experience tells me it is true in my recovery. Realizing that God is present in my life today, this hour, this second that each moment is holy in itself, is a source of immense gratitude.

It ’s sure hard to complain when I am grateful.

How about you?

Shane Montgomery
Conway. AR
October 13, 2021