Thursday, April 23, 2020

I am my words

“I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness, and the willingness to remain vulnerable.” -Anne Morrow Lindbergh


Years ago I was discussing live performing with a rock star friend and we both said one of the most important parts of connecting with an audience was the willingness to be vulnerable. It was odd to hear a star of his success talking about vulnerability on stage, but he believed (as I do as a performer) that vulnerability is essential to making that genuine connection with the audience. It is through that realness of allowing them to see you, that they become your audience, as much as you become their performer. It is an exchange of vulnerability. We see each other.

I am vulnerable, open and real. I cannot not be. It’s almost like “Tourette's vulnerability.” It is certainly not always convenient to be vulnerable and genuine. There are many times when it would be much easier if I were not. But it is who I am and it is what I write. For my writing to have any value, it must be me and I must be it. I am my words. I could not write otherwise.

Over the past few years, my writing has changed (evolved?) from being mostly social media posts into its own entity. These words are now just “what I write.” I will share them, but they exist as they are. I do not have to share them for them to be validated. However, I do truly enjoy sharing and I will continue to do so.

This doesn’t mean what I write will always be interesting, or fun, sometimes quite the contrary. The value of my writing is in its truth. I need to write these words to help me to understand myself and my world. I reckon that sometimes, they will be worth sharing. I will share this photo of a Star Finch departing its branch from Kununurra, Western Australia.
   

I opened this with a quote from Anne Morrow Lindbergh and I will close with a bit more from her as well. I am so grateful that her words, which are beautiful, vulnerable and genuine, have reached across time and touched my soul. Her hands that held pencil and paper years ago have now held my heart. I will know her through her words and love her. Inspiration is golden. 

She wrote, “I must write it all out, at any cost. Writing is thinking. It is more than living, for it is being conscious of living.” In those words she explains perfectly and concisely why I write. For me writing is essential to living, like air and water and coffee.

She also wrote this about writing...

“One writes not to be read, but to breathe... One writes to think, to pray, to analyse. One writes to clear one's mind, to dissipate one's fears, to face one's doubts, to look at one's mistakes--in order to retrieve them. One writes to capture and crystallise one's joy, but also to disperse one's gloom. Like prayer--you go to it in sorrow more than joy, for help, a road back to 'grace'.”
― Anne Morrow Lindbergh from the War Within & Without: Diaries and Letters of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, 1939-1944

I will be open and I will remain vulnerable. I write therefore I am and it is real even if I do not share it. I love just because. Here are a few photos from the bush, because my heart is out there even whilst it is in isolation here. 
       

My Troopi in the mallee of South Australia. Too long have I been shut away from the outback, but I believe the science and I am more than willing to comply with the nonessential travel ban. I am staying at home during these weeks of the pandemic isolation. 

Thursday, April 16, 2020

Thirty Years Sober - 16 April 2020

16 April 2020 was a uniquely significant day in my life.

Thirty years ago that day I entered the inpatient chemical dependency unit of the Peninsula Psychiatric Hospital for a month. At about 8pm in the car park, I finished a beer, tucked the empty can behind the seat in Lynn’s car and walked into the hospital.

It was with Lynn’s love and support that I was able to go into rehab. I was “sleeping” on her couch those last weeks, awaking every couple of hours to drink. I was using a slab of beer a day, supplemented by a two-litre bottle of vodka every three days. This was just to try and feel normal. I wanted to stop, but I did not think it was possible, Lynn thought it was, and sorted getting me into rehab. That saved my life. No hyperbole, I would have died if I hadn’t stopped drinking. My liver was already being damaged and it would not have been safe to quit on my own. My brother did rehab over 12 times, but never quit. He died of liver failure when he was 56. I was strumming guitar in his hospital room when he died.

They kept me in the detox section for five full days (usually it’s three or less). I can remember my little room in detox. I remember lying on my bed and looking at photos in a magazine. There were pictures of red-rock desert in the US. They were so beautiful and I remember thinking, “If I can be sober. Maybe I could travel and see places like that.” I had no idea how true that would turn out to be. I had no idea that I would tour performing all across America and in the UK, Canada and the Caribbean. Then travel the whole continent of Australia birding and write a book about it. I was agoraphobic back then. I did not think any of that would ever, could ever be possible.

My supervising therapist at our group meeting the morning I was released said, “Bruce entered this program massively addicted to alcohol.” Before I was released, they showed me my chart from when I was admitted. It was recorded that although I was not visibly intoxicated, my blood alcohol content was .412. They checked it twice to be sure. It was the highest that admission nurse had ever seen. .412 is above the lethal level for a normal person with a healthy liver. They had also written in red marker on the chart, “May Injure Self.” I didn’t and I stayed. And I still do not drink alcohol.

I made my living performing in bars and lounges and I had to call and cancel gigs because I was going into hospital for a month. I remember one club where I had played for years, the owner said, “Man, I knew you drank a lot, but I have never seen you drunk.” And I said quite truthfully, “You have never seen me sober.” And he never had. Many people had never seen me sober back then. Now, the majority of you have never seen me drunk.

So I have now been sober for 30 years. Thirty years of sobriety without relapse puts me in a rarified, tiny percentile of recovering alcoholics. Believe me, I am grateful. I could go on about this. It is quite honestly the story of my rebirth.

I will leave you with three photos of me from close to the time I went into hospital. There are no selfies from rehab. We did not have mobile phones yet. Thirty years ago.

I write therefore I am. I share therefore it's real. I love.

Typical me back then... ever present cigarette and a beer.
At home in Nags Head, NC, 1990 not long before rehab. I still wear RayBan aviators.
Catching Bluefish in Nags Head, NC