Originally posted on 05-23-07:
Yes, I am a former drug abuser. I first smoked pot in 1972, when I was 29 years old, and by the time I stopped 12 years later, I was staying high 24 hours a day.
Pot was my favorite. As my second wife once said, “I wish you loved me as much as you love pot.” (We were already divorced by then, although pot doesn’t get any of the credit, as far as I know.) In addition I used psychedelics occasionally, mostly LSD and, less often, mushrooms. I snorted cocaine when friends offered, and even smoked crack a few times–although in those days we called it “free-base”–but I never was particularly impressed with it; it wasn’t my kind of high. I even snorted heroin once, but I didn’t like that, either, fortunately. I had gotten drunk for the first time at 19, and did that occasionally, too, although I hated getting sick and I never really liked the taste.
All that came to an end in 1984, and I’ve covered the highlights of that story in the Journal. I learned things about the brain, myself, etc., through drugs that I couldn’t learn any other way, perhaps–certainly not as graphically–but I mistook the teacher for the answer. There was a lot of wasted time and wasted opportunities involved–and I am extremely grateful I’m not stuck there anymore–but to try and imagine how my life might have been otherwise, and where I might be, is a waste of time. My life has made me what I am, and I’m not sure how I’d rather be.
Which brings us back to the present–although I’m sure you’ll hear more about the past if you stick around. (If you’re interested, Bare Brains podcasts seven through eleven consist primarily of tapes I made under the influence of drugs.)
I’ve been nibbling away at a book by Po Bronson, called, “What Should I Do With My Life?” which I bought used through Amazon for about $.89 plus shipping. It’s a question I’ve been concerned with all my life, and considered that I had pretty much answered, but thought it would be interesting to see how other people had dealt with it. I have got much more than I bargained for, and I haven’t even finished the book.
I thought I had done a thorough re-evaluation prior to separating from Eve, and continuing after I moved into the apartment. I had re-read all my old journals, and discovered that I had known things about myself 30 years ago that were still true, although I had forgotten them for decades. I had tried to amalgamate those insights with things I had learned in the interregnum that I considered valid, and thought I had the big issues pretty much worked out.
Then Po came along. I must admit that when I saw his picture on the back cover I thought disparagingly, “What can I learn from this young jock surfer?” Not a very evolved reaction for a person who considers himself fairly free of stereotypes–they’re still lurking in there, waiting to be triggered–lesson number one.
There have been many things in the book so far that have provoked serious consideration, and yesterday was a big one. I read a person’s story which, on top of all the others, brought me to a realization of how compulsively busy I have been most of my life. Even when I was smoking pot, I was always working away at some project, although at a much more leisurely pace than now.
Part of my busyness is motivated by the joy of doing things, of seeing things come into existence that weren’t there before, but I find myself working as if I had a deadline–under pressure. On the one hand, life is short, and there are more things that I want to do than I’ll ever get done. But on the other, it really doesn’t matter a rat’s ass if I never do any of them–who would care if I didn’t? No one knows these projects exist, even as possibilities, except me.
What I have come to see, thanks to Po, is that there is an element of trying to prove myself in all my doing. There is a wanting people to know how cool I am. Hmmm….
I sat around for a bit, waiting for that to sink in, and son-of-a-gun if I didn’t find myself feeling stoned. That feeling of contentment, that I and everything else were all right–the feeling I had smoked pot for–came over me in a way that it hasn’t for some time. It was something like the feeling I had after my only day-long meditation retreat–a feeling I vowed to maintain but which, of course, drifted away in everyday life.
I decided to take the rest of the day off and go wandering–something I used to do in my druggy days. I spent the afternoon strolling around the neighborhood, had a bite to eat, and wandered home for an evening of casual reading–nothing “productive.”
I woke up thinking about a couple of projects I would enjoy working on, but I need to do some grocery shopping. Can I be more relaxed, less compulsive? We’ll see. I haven’t finished the book, yet.
Surf But No Surfers