When I grow up, I want to be in recovery

If I can skip the almost dying part.

Who are you?

Me? I’m a writer. Sometimes. Journalist. A little. Recovering addict? That seems to fit best. After all, recovery consumes most of my waking moments.

When a friend asks how I’m doing, I know they’re not interested in whether I’ve taken up painting replica trains from the 1940s. They want to know if I’m still off the pipe without having to ask.

When addicts get together, on the other hand, there’s no small talk. No chatter about Bachelor in Paradise, or the latest Elizabeth Gilbert novel or what the hell is going on with Bradley Cooper’s face. We go straight to the good stuff: the challenges, frustrations, feelings and tiny triumphs of trying to come back as a human being.

We’re relentlessly vulnerable, presenting a weakness to each other that we’d never show the rest of the world. And from that communion comes strength.

That’s a nice way to live. In fact, I might have liked to go into recovery much earlier. Maybe even in my elementary school years.

What a different life it would have been — with all that honesty, vulnerability, and most importantly, abiding love for myself. Imagine the kind of friends I’d attract. The employee I’d be. The son, brother, partner.

Honestly, if you can pull it off without having to first become a drug-addled zombie who causes misery and suffering to everyone around him and almost dies, I’d recommend a recovery to everyone.

Funny though, if you had asked me at various stages of life what I wanted to be, I’m pretty sure ‘recovering drug addict’ would be at the bottom of the list. Even without the crack-smoking zombie prerequisite.

Painter. Dog walker. Piano doctor. Anything else.

It isn’t until you go clean that you recognize the immeasurable value of seeking redemption.

But once you do, there’s no going back. And what about forward? Well, that’s probably the best part. Recovery isn’t a closed book. More like a never-ending story, with fresh chapters inked every day. It’s a blank canvas bristling with intoxicating potential.

A recovering addict’s past may be tattooed on the soul. But the future is written all over their face.