Writing a brand new story
In the last couple of weeks, I have been lucky enough to attend two incredible, albeit very different, events. The first one; an ear drum-pounding, rock your socks off gig at London’s O2 Arena – the former Millennium Dome, if that means anything to anyone further afield – in which my favourite band, Scottish trio Biffy Clyro, did their utmost to blast the roof off the venue. The second; an intimate retreat in nature for those seeking clarity, with alternating sessions between a wood-fired sauna and dips in the ice-cold River Avon.
Biffy Clyro, at London’s O2 Arena
Meanwhile, one of the friends whom I mentioned in my last blog for The Sober Curator is drinking again. Now, I want to be absolutely clear that it’s not for me to judge or dictate to him whether he should or shouldn’t drink, but the fact that he initially came to me with what he perceived as a problem spoke volumes at the time. And both events caused me to reflect on my friend and not just in the sense that I now fear the repercussions of his decision – albeit there probably wasn’t much ‘deciding’ that took place, if my own, similar experiences are anything to go by.
First, Biffy. On tour to promote their new album, Futique, and Rolling Stone described the gig as “a big, brash rock’n’roll show so powerful that it reaffirms your faith in the format”, the band rattling through a back catalogue of “songs perfect for arenas” that lend themselves to “huge, open-hearted singalongs”. Amongst the set list was A Thousand And One, a gentle ode to choosing the right or wrong path, reflecting on moments when could have behaved better, and fixing mistakes. With a couple of the band’s members quite publicly sober, the connection to Steps 8 & 9 of Alcoholics Anonymous – in which amends are made to those we have harmed – rang true, especially with the following lyrics:
“I always knew when I was wrong
But I never said sorry.
Now I’d say it a thousand and one.
I always hoped that I could change;
Try and write a different story.
But I made all the same mistakes.”
The song particularly strikes a chord (pun intended) – a chord made all the more powerful by 20,000 fans singing along to it – when, in the final verse, a slight altering of the lyrics reveals that the change has in fact been made:
“I always hoped to turn the page
And start a brand new story
Erase the mistakes and make the change.”
The point I’m trying to make is that, no matter where we find ourselves, no matter who we’ve wronged, no matter how deep the hole, the option to change is always there, should you want to pursue it. My friend might not be there yet – who knows, he may never get there; perhaps he simply doesn’t want to be there – but all those closest to him will be there to support him when he is.
“What does this have to do with saunas?” I hear you yelling. Well, the premise of the retreat was to explore how we are constantly shifting in our personal and professional lives, and how adapting to different situations, scenarios, people, places, can be daunting, especially as we make major transitions through our lives. I suppose you could say that I am at a bit of a crossroads; I have spent ten-or-so years taking on arduous fitness challenges, pushing myself to my limits and moving swiftly on to the next extreme adventures, but having a two-year-old is grounding me. Don’t get me wrong, I love, more than anything, being a dad, but I still feel like there is a bit of an itch that needs scratching. That’s not to say that’s necessarily a bad thing, or course – if we don’t do hard things, we don’t learn and we don’t grow – but I am also getting accustomed to lying on my living room floor and playing with a train set.
Mr Plunge
Amongst the discussion points was the concept of your Inner Cast. Imagine a theatre stage with a microphone in the middle of it. Waiting in the wings are a number of characters who you can call upon to stand in front of the mic and take the lead in different situations. Perhaps you need the Boardroom You in an important meeting; the Loving Father You when you’re sticking a plaster (translation: a Band-Aid) on your kid’s knee; the Understanding Spouse You when your partner has had a bad day; the Resilient You when you’re out for a run and feel like packing it in … you get the idea. For clarity, this isn’t Dissociative Identity Disorder – you’re not James McAvoy living with various alter egos in Split – rather simply a notion that you have the power to assume an identity that can serve you, depending on the scenario.
The retreat, through the vulnerability that comes with cold dips and an Aufguss – an intense ten-minute musical session in the sauna augmented by scents – led by a Gusmeister, encouraged us to be open about who the characters in our Inner Cast might be, so that we could start developing the self-awareness needed to draw on them. I couldn’t help thinking about my friend once more and how he might benefit from drawing on the characters in his wings that saw him through six months of sobriety last year. Again, it’s not down to me to determine things for him, but I don’t think the character that led to him drinking again has served him particularly well.
I talk extensively about self-awareness as the key to unlocking mental fitness in my book READY. SET. LIFE. But my own awareness of the fact that I have the itch I mentioned – and a deep lurking sense of wanting to take on yet another challenge – clearly means that I need to work harder on my Inner Cast and bringing the Patient, Supportive, Engaged Father Me to the fore. I am patient, supportive, and engaged … but can’t we always be more so?
I’m by no means the finished article. None of us are. We’re constantly writing “a brand new story”. I have work to do to “make the change” – but isn’t that what sobriety’s all about?
This article first appeared on The Sober Curator.