What a Weekend.
The past week has been a maelstrom of chaos and the next two will be too. I finished my job and set everything up for my replacement. BB and I flew to Seattle and spent Saturday looking at houses. Every hour on the hour for like 10 hours. It wasn’t until our last stop of the day that we found the perfect place. A detached home in a small residential neighborhood north of the city but south of Greenlake. It’s going to be wonderful.
The house has all the things we really wanted: plenty of open space, a jacuzzi tub, air conditioning. The only negative is no dedicated parking. But I’ve been doing street parking in Philly for so long that I feel ok about doing street parking in Seattle. And the neighborhood we’re in is strict about resident-only parking after 5pm. So I’m hopeful. If it turns out to be a major problem, we’ll get monthly parking in a lot.
I think it’s beautiful. Walk in closets, finished daylight basement, 2.5 baths. All the vitamins and minerals a growing boy needs. I’m definitely happy, and BB loves it even more than I do. One big selling point for her was the open plan kitchen that blends into a dining/sitting space that comprises the whole main floor.
It’s crazy expensive, but the landlord told us he would’t raise rent for several years in order to keep us there. We are apparently highly desirable tenants. A couple, no kids, good jobs, good credit, etc.. They are eager to have some stability in a rapidly shifting Seattle rental market where picking your tenants is much more difficult.
I think we’re going to like it there. And we’re like 40 feet from a massively awesome farm-to-table fine dining restaurant. Heaven.
Last Day at MECMC.
Well, this is it. I’m remembered of something one of Jimmy Legs’s friends said to him upon graduation: “Welp, that’s college.”
I’ve been in ECC for nearly 5 years. I built a new program at a prestigious institution. It will survive my departure. I met my life partner. I bought a home. I ran two marathons and a half-Ironman. More than a dozen shorter races. I published twelve papers. I was promoted twice. I won two grants. I trained two undergrads and placed them in med school and grad school, respectively.
The ECC years were good to Dr24hours. I’m proud of what I did. Upon leaving my job, I was kind but honest about the wrong turns I feel the organization is taking. I was grateful and, I hope, humble about what MECMC did for me. They helped establish my professional reputation in a way that never would have happened before. It is a hugely prestigious organization, and I could tell when submitting papers with that weight behind me. That resulted in free international trips to speak, and more invitations to collaborate.
Now I have six and a half weeks until I begin a new job. In which I will sell my house, move two homes, and drive cross country. I am happy, excited, nervous, bewildered, bemused, stunned, thrilled, and a little hungry. I know how to fix one of those.
I engaged with my local AA community, got a new sponsor, and spent nearly five years here without a drink. I arrived in ECC shortly before my 5th sober anniversary. I’m leaving shortly before my 10th. My sobriety has become part of the background radiation of my life. I feel comfortable in it, finally. After nearly ten years, I finally feel like I’m not a newcomer anymore. I understand how this works, and I’ve spent close to a decade working the program continuously.
That said, my disease still scares me. I know it’s waiting for me. As the men from my Wednesday night Men’s Meeting sat around and ate pizza two nights ago, after the meeting, we talked about a few people we know who’ve been in an out of the program, and try to drink normally. We were all kind of baffled. Around that table, the five of us had around 75 years of sobriety. Not one of us was interested in figuring out how to drink normally.
When I think about drinking, I think about getting fucked up. That’s what I want out of alcohol. So now I don’t drink. And my life is rather unsurprisingly better. I can do anything. Except drink.
So tonight I fly to Seattle and will begin my new life with my partner BB as we begin two new jobs and a new life. I’ll find new meetings. I’ll establish a new routine. And I’ll build again. It’ll be hard. But I know how to move forward now. One step at a time. Good therapy and a hundred people in the rooms taught me that. I am a sober member of Alcoholics Anonymous, and I am not afraid.
Welp, that’s Philadelphia.
Whoa.
OK. I got a full-price offer on my house the second day it was on the market. As soon as I knew they’d seen the disclosures – in which I included a plain-language description of the leaks I’ve had – I signed it. Given how fast it was and the terms they offered, full price, no seller assist, I probably priced it too low. I don’t care. My goal is to get it sold and move on with my life. And, if it goes the way this contract is written, I’ll make about 8% after both sets of closing costs are included.
Everything is working out cleanly. The move is going to be managed. The house is going to sell. The cross-country drive is going to be fun. The new jobs are going to be good. The new home is going to be wonderful. I am thrilled beyond joy that all this is happening. life is good. Love is grand. Hope is everywhere.
Inauspicious Beginnings.
Well, the new year began with a creepy thud over here in Dr24-land. As BB and I slept, New Year’s Eve, my home was invaded. They didn’t take much. My street bike (not the X-wing, which was in the basement), and my wallet being the most important things. An iPod. My cigar box full of coins from my travels. a small backpack. And my platinum tie-pin my mother designed for me as a gift upon receiving my master’s degree.
All told, not counting or knowing how much the tie-pin cost, probably about a thousand dollars worth of stuff. But considering we were home and asleep at the time, and weren’t suddenly roused from slumber to combat, I’m quite relieved with the result. I’m sad that my 9-year coin was in my wallet. I have a perfect collection and now it’s broken. I’ll get a new coin at my meeting. But it’s not the same.
Last night I was a touch nervous going to sleep, but BB was back home in DC and so I was less worried than I might have been. But I suppose the year only trends up from here. My feelings are interesting. I’m less anxious about the break in that I have been about the leaks. But all in all I am doing ok. The cops were efficient and friendly. But mostly, I’m ready to get moving and explore my new life out west.
The Frozen Wasteland Tour 2018.
OK! Things are heating up. BB’s job situation looks more promising than ever (they’re checking references) and we’re beginning the planning for our move. Luckily, MWCMC is providing a full-service move. I don’t have to really do anything. I just call the company and say ‘go’ and they do it. That makes me quite happy. I hate packing and moving, as everyone does. I’m thoroughly excited to just open my door and have professionals do all the stuff.
We expect that to happen around January 25. Then we’ll drive south from Philadelphia to visit BB’s family for a few days. Then we’ll plough west across the country in my Subaru Crosstrek. I’m a touch nervous about a winter crossing of the continent. It’s a major transit and February is a bad month for it. We’ll be taking the easy days fast and the hard days slow, and watching the weather report like hawks to determine which interstate to take over the mountains.
So one thing I’m asking for in the comments here: what would you put on the winter trans-continental drive checklist? The car is in tiptop condition with only 6000 miles on it. Here’s my top-of-the-head list:
- Blankets and pillows
- At least 4,000 calories at all times
- At least 2 gallons of water
- 4 gallons of windshield wiper fluid
- Phone chargers
- Flashlights
- Chemical hand warmers
- A bag of kitty litter
- A week’s change of clothes
- A physical national road map
- Snow boots and gloves
- A utility knife
What else would you bring? What routes would you recommend? Got any special places along I-70 (we’ll probably be on that until Denver or so)? Are you on that route and want a visit? You could be a Frozen Wasteland Tour 2018 stop!
Moving West.
Well, my 25 year eastward march is over. I am returning to the city of my birth. There are still a lot of things to take care of. Basically everything. But the hard part – making the decision – is done. After several months of anxiety and misery and indecision and second guessing myself, BB and I have made the decision to head to Seattle. I accepted my new position. We looked at a bunch of housing options and are making another trip to look at more.
We still don’t know about BB’s next job. She’s more sanguine than I am, though, and so she’s ok with making the jump. And my new job is more than enough to support a family long term. Not that we expect it to have to. She’s brilliant and industrious and will have little difficulty finding a career in Seattle that suits her, I’m confident.
As for my job, I was terrified that I had asked for far too much money. And I did ask for more than I got, by about 10%. But my new institution is covering the cost of the move, and that more than makes up for it. I was shocked that they essentially met my ridiculous ask, and seemed both pleased and relieved when I simply accepted their offer rather than countering and quibbling.
I just told them: I have no interest in haggling over a couple of thousand dollars a year. All it does is set up an adversarial relationship and start things off on a negative foot. I just wanted to move forward and get to work.
Our timeline is to put my house on the market next week. Then to visit Seattle to search out a new place to live. Then to schedule my move. The move is being paid for and managed by MWCMC’s contractors directly, which is a HUGELY wonderful thing. We don’t have to think or worry. Just tell them, “go”, and watch the move happen. And I’ll tell you, readers, that makes me feel important.
So that’s the news. Life is good. I am being broadly recognized for my talents and skills in a wonderful but daunting way. And I’m ready to move forward in life again.
The Next Chapter.
At 7 pm on the darkest day of the year, I was offered and accepted a position as a health care engineer at a prestigious west coast medical center. More news as events warrant. I am grateful, I am grateful. I am grateful.
Tenterhooks.
Well, I received notice that I’ll receive notice. That is, MWCMC is preparing an offer package. My incredibly stupid salary request didn’t scare them off entirely. The hiring manager (prospective boss) told me that they have come up with a package that he believes will meet my requirements. My guess is that it’s a lower salary than I asked but a signing bonus to cover my moving expenses.
Unless something is wildly bizarre, I’ll be signing it without counter. He told me he’s trying to get it to me today. I have a 1pm meeting with my current boss to tell her the situation. I won’t be officially putting in notice until I get the written offer, but I’ll tell her I plan to accept it as soon as it comes. Then I’ll make plans to have a discussion with my senior leadership about why I chose to leave.
I realize I haven’t written much about it here, but MECMC has made some shifts in direction and philosophy that, while I don’t doubt will serve the institution and the board very well, it makes it a less appealing place to spend the rest of my career. But all that is secondary to the fact that this move will finally allow BB and I to cohabitate. We’ll be a real live family!!
So it looks like January and February will be a process of moving myself from the East Coast to the West Coast, selling a house, renting an apartment, driving across this great country once more (for the 4th time? 5th?) and resettling in another city. Finding new AA meetings. A city I know better than when I moved to ECC, but still a foreign land for my adulthood eyes.
Now if only this damnable offer will come before 1pm.
Gross Stupidity.
Well, I went out to WCC (West Coast City) and had a bunch of interviews for a potential new job. It was very exciting and I would love working with the group. I’d be a leader in the organization and a project group lead with three or four people reporting to me (at least in effect, if not officially). It’s a daunting but thrilling opportunity. BB also had very productive interviews and we’re hopeful about making a move.
But I asked for too much money. Probably by about $25,000. And I hope I didn’t fuck the whole opportunity. I can’t tell. But I had a really promising conversation with the person who’d be my boss who buttered me up and told me how I’d be management within a year or two and how much they were excited to have me and how the position I was getting was basically a starting director position, and then he asked me how much I wanted.
And so I told them too much. I didn’t really have a thorough game plan, and then I did what I too often do when I’m stressed, which is change my game plan on the fly. That made me make bad choices. And now I have to sit here and wait and worry and hope. I’ve been in this situation before, way back when I was trying to start a consulting company (while I still drank). I asked for way to much, got passed on, and ended up spiraling.
I don’t worry about a drunken spiral this time. But I am concerned that I fucked myself with stupidity and greed and ego. I hope it wasn’t fatal. Now I’m back in ECC, and hopeful that I will get a communication today. My prospective boss told me “Wednesday at the latest”, but I know things take time especially the week before Christmas. I really want this, readers. I really want this.
I Am the Defeated.
As I’m approaching ten years of sobriety I find myself thinking about all the cautionary tales I’ve been told. Go sit in the rooms and there aren’t too many people who have my length of sobriety. Seems like fewer people have 8-16 years of sobriety than have 20+ years. There’s a lot of attrition in the rooms as time goes on, but two groups you see the most of are the newcomers and the old-timers.
This is all anecdote, of course. I don’t have any idea what the numbers would show. But the conventional wisdom about the phenomenon is that there are specific times that large numbers of people tend to go out and drink again. One year. Eight to twelve years. In each case, the thinking goes that these are the times that people seem to think they have the disease beat.
At a year, a large number of people think, “I proved I can go a year without drinking. I can do this any time. I can have a drink and then do it again.” These people tend to disappear and not come back. Lots of them die. If they do come back, it tends to be years later, after a horrifying excavation of a deeper trough into which they fell.
The people who go out after 8-10 years tend to have a different story. “It snuck up on me,” they say. “I stopped going to meetings, I stopped reading, stopped writing. I thought I was in the clear and life got messy and I stopped doing the work.” A lot of these people disappear or die too. Often by suicide. But I’d say that more of them come back than the other group. I know a lot of people on their second time around after 8-12 years of sobriety.
And of course, a lot of people just die. But the time someone has 10 years of sobriety, they are often 40-60 years old and usually lived a hard life prior to sobering up. Cigarettes, labor, sedentism and indolence. We are not, generally, a group that inspires with our long history of clean living and commitment to health. People in the program die sober of the same diseases that kill a lot of people in their 40s-60s. Heart disease, COPD, stroke, and even the fatalities of despair. I’ve known plenty of sober suicides.
But the group of us who persist, having dodged the siege machinery and learned to love the sloughs and swamps of life and the relentless trudge through mire and wetland, will keep showing up into the rooms. So there’s a large cohort of old-timers who show the way to the younger group. That’s the group I’m looking to find a way to join, as time goes by.
I understand the seduction of indolence. I don’t go to a huge number of meetings any more. Three to four a month, usually. Though with some upcoming life changes I’m looking forward to shifting back to a twice-a-week schedule. And perhaps, in the short term, every day. Big life changes require extra grounding.
The key to staying sober, to staying in the program, in my understanding, is to stay humble and stay teachable. I didn’t get myself sober. I didn’t earn this. I am not the author of my sobriety, but I am its steward. Without the constant tending of it, it will dry up, wither, and fail.
I am lucky to be sober, but I need to always remember: I can’t be sober without being an addict. That’s the first part. I am an alcoholic blood and bone. Everything I have, everything I’ve done, everything I am, everything I can become, is predicated on understanding that I live at the mercy of a terminal disease. Today, by fortune, force, and faith, I am sober.
I am not strong. But I have been given strength. I am not brave. But I have been given courage. I cannot fight. But in surrender there is understanding, and freedom. I will never know victory in this. I am not the champion in the story of my recovery. I am the defeated.
Infactorium 