Riding the Subway with Baggage

I had a relapse a few weeks ago. After four months of sobriety, I allowed myself to go on an extended bender. Ultimately, it ruined my plans for my return to New York. No, I still moved. But the friend that I was supposed to stay with was, understandably, infuriated by my condition and wouldn’t allow me to stay with him. I then spent the next two days aimlessly riding the subway. That’s it, just up and down the various lines. Lugging my weighty messenger bag and huge suitcase. I then managed to hit up a few bars in the Village, just for good measure. At some point during all of this, my mother even filed a missing person report.

I wound up having one of my withdrawal seizures (in Port Authority of all places) and ended up in the hospital. On suicide watch, no less. Yup. I had a nurse’s aide sitting by my bed 24 hours a day.

During that period, I started to panic about where I was going to stay once I was finally discharged. So, I contacted a few people I felt comfortable asking, to see if I could stay with them for “a couple of days” until I could figure out my next steps. I already had an apartment lined up, but I wouldn’t be able to move in until September. I just needed a place to regroup. Unfortunately, no one was able to accommodate me. So, I now find myself in a shelter in Brooklyn until I can move into the aforementioned apartment.

This is not meant to be a confession. This is not meant to garner sympathy. So, please, I’d prefer not to receive any messages regarding any of it. I’m telling you all of this merely as background for the larger issue I’d like to discuss. So bear with me.

Recently, another friend of mine, someone I see as sort of an older sister, remarked that I’m “resilient and resourceful”. My response was, basically, that I wouldn’t have to be resilient and resourceful if I didn’t keep fucking up. I wasn’t trying to lash out at her. No, I was angry at myself in the moment.

The miracle, if you can call it that, is that I’m no longer angry at myself. I messed up. There were consequences, but there’s also a future.

I think I finally understand what serenity is. Life can be completely messed up, or even just be mildly challenging. I don’t know. It varies. Because it’s fucking life, and that’s just what it does: It varies. And you just have to roll with it.

But here’s my real revelation: prayer. I know I’ve discussed prayer before. A number of times, in fact. Praying regularly, not just in the bad times. Connecting to the divine, whatever that may mean for you. Strengthening yourself for whatever may come. And I stand by all of that.

But that’s not what hit me this morning.

I’ve mentioned before that I meditate. That’s my way of connecting. I also journal, which I consider part of my meditation. But I realized that my journaling is prayer.

Because what is prayer, essentially? Yes, it’s connecting to the divine. But it’s mainly catharsis.

When you pray – however you choose to do so – you’re sending out your hopes, your fears, your anxieties, your joy, your sadness, your mourning, your celebration… And, as I said in my other post on prayer, if you’re doing it right, you come away feeling, if not unburdened, then less burden. You come away with more of a sense of peace. Of, well, serenity.

Folks, that’s catharsis.

If you’ve been paying attention, you know that I’m an avowed atheist (agnostic, whatever). I don’t believe in any supreme being. I do believe in a connection to the universe, but not because there’s someone out there sewing it all together. So why do I insist on using the religious term “prayer”? Maybe because it’s a useful common term. Maybe because that’s what I grew up with, so it’s the only terminology I know to use. Nevertheless, I think that prayer (or whatever you want to call it) is powerful. Christians say that “prayer changes things”. As non-Christian as I may be, I completely agree.

All the junk that I described earlier, I brought that on myself. Life didn’t do that to me; I did that to me. But, because I’ve “prayed,” I feel at peace with where I am right now and am able to harness some optimism for my future. The plans that I had before coming to New York are still possible. This is just a bump, a wrinkle. There’s way more life yet to come. Some of it’s going to suck, and some of it’s going to be amazing. Some of it will be just plain mundane. But it will go on.

Hopefully, whatever life throws at you – or you bring on yourself – you can pray your way out of it. And what is prayer for you? How do you achieve that catharsis? Through exercise? Cooking? Pottery? Poetry? Gardening?

Whatever it is that brings you that release, it's prayer. And you need to embrace it. Let it heal you. Let it bring you peace. Let it guide you through this murky thing we’ve been handed that we never asked for but have to navigate nonetheless. Let it give you meaning in the meaninglessness.

Otherwise, you wind up just riding the subway from end to end, saddled with heavy baggage.