One Day at a Time

“One day at a time.”

We say it so often in recovery that sometimes I think we stop hearing it.

It starts sounding like background noise.

Something printed on a coffee mug.

Something hanging on the wall at a meeting.

But the longer I stay sober, the more I realize how hard it actually is to do.

My brain does not naturally live one day at a time.

My brain likes to live next Tuesday.

Or six months from now.

Or in a conversation from 1987 that apparently still needs further review. 😂

I can spend an incredible amount of time worrying about something that hasn’t happened yet.

Rehearsing conversations.

Predicting outcomes.

Planning what I’m going to say.

Planning what they’re going to say.

Planning what I’m going to say after they say what I’ve already decided they’re going to say.

Meanwhile, none of it has actually happened.

I’ve basically produced and directed an entire movie inside my head.

And somehow I’m still surprised when the real conversation goes completely differently. 😂

The past isn’t much better.

I can replay old mistakes.

Old arguments.

Things I said.

Things I should have said.

Things I wish I could change.

Sometimes I can resurrect something from decades ago like it happened yesterday.

That is a tremendous waste of perfectly good suffering.

Recovery taught me that I only get one place where I can actually do anything.

Today.

I can’t change yesterday.

I can’t live tomorrow early.

I can only deal with what is directly in front of me.

That sounds obvious.

My sponsor would say "One foot in Yesterday, and one foot in tomorrow, means you are pissing all over today."

Apparently, my brain needed a twelve-step program to discover it. 😂

“One day at a time” became especially important when I first got sober. There were lots of times I lived 5 minutes at a time. I just won''t drink for the next 5 minutes. Then I would say ok I won''t drink for the next 5 minutes.

Thinking about never drinking again was overwhelming.

Never?

For the rest of my life?

That sounded impossible.

But today?

Maybe I could do today.

And when tomorrow arrived, strangely enough, it became today too.

That is how this thing works.

One day.

Then another.

Then another.

Eventually the pile of todays becomes years.

But the principle never really changes.

I still get overwhelmed when I try to solve everything at once.

Work.

Money.

Family.

Health.

Projects.

Plans.

The future.

All the things I think I should already have figured out.

If I put everything into one giant mental pile, it becomes impossible.

So I try to bring it back down.

What actually needs my attention today?

What can I do right now?

What can wait?

What am I worrying about that hasn’t even happened?

Those questions save me a lot of unnecessary misery.

That doesn’t mean I never plan.

I plan constantly.

Probably too much. 😂

Planning is useful.

Trying to emotionally live in the future is not.

There’s a difference between:

“I have something important next week, so I should prepare.”

And:

“I have something important next week, so I should ruin this entire week worrying about it.”

One is preparation.

The other is anxiety wearing a clipboard.

The same thing applies to the past.

I can learn from it.

I can make amends where appropriate.

I can recognize patterns.

I can try not to repeat mistakes.

But I cannot go back there and fix it.

Believe me, if replaying something enough times could change history, I would have rewritten several chapters by now. 😂

At some point I have to let yesterday stay where it belongs.

Behind me.

The biggest thing I lose when I live in the past or future is the part of my life that is actually happening.

Right now.

Sitting with Kris.

Talking with one of my kids.

Playing with a grandchild.

Working on something I enjoy.

Having coffee.

Driving somewhere.

Watching a stupid television show.

Ordinary moments.

Those are the things I’ve realized matter most.

And I can miss every one of them while physically sitting right there if my head is somewhere else.

That may be one of the sneakiest ways we lose time.

We’re present, but we’re not really there.

I spent enough years of my life that way while drinking.

Physically present.

Mentally somewhere else.

I don’t want sobriety to become another version of that.

So when my brain starts racing six months ahead or dragging something out of the basement from twenty years ago, I try to bring myself back.

What is happening right now?

What actually needs to be done today?

Sometimes the answer is surprisingly small.

Make the phone call.

Finish the job.

Apologize.

Go to the meeting.

Spend time with the family.

Eat dinner.

Go to bed.

That''s it.

Tomorrow can wait until it becomes today.

And yesterday has already had its turn.

I only get this one.

Might as well be here for it.