I Am Curious

It seems that gone are the days of trying to hide public consumption and intoxication. Along with my family and some friends, I attended an annual Halloween parade on Saturday evening, and the one thing that no one was trying to disguise was their fearless use of alcohol and other drugs. I used to at least pour my drinks into a travel coffee mug when in public, but any shame, or even just discretion, seems to have worked its way out of the culture.

The culture I inserted myself into Saturday evening, that is. The parade was on Broadway in Denver – a street with a long history of prosperity before it rolled over to show its underbelly. But Broadway is trying to make a resurgence. It is an eclectic blend of liquor stores, bars with live music, tattoo parlors, marijuana dispensaries, thrift stores and restaurants – some of which are just a single notch too upscale, trying to pull the neighborhood to the next social level. At the parade, we were perched between a sex accessories store across the street, and a vape shop behind us that was selling hot dogs cooked on the sidewalk on a portable propane grill. Given our surroundings, it seemed that if the Broadway regulars weren’t drinking with discretion, I was the one out of place, not them.

Broadway is always great for people watching, and a Halloween parade on Broadway could never disappoint a curious guy like me. But I was feeling pretty bad about myself on this particular night. My curiosity about the array of intoxicants that I was literally rubbing shoulders with was a little bit too much for my low self-esteem. There were a couple of guys to my right sipping out of a round plastic container the color of a Mountain Dew bottle. The couple with their two-year-old in front of me kept taking turns making trips to the liquor store for more Mike’s Hard tall boys. The smells that surrounded us were strong, and I am afraid for me, unidentifiable. People were smoking stuff. It seems nobody passes a joint anymore. They all lift what looks like a plastic kazoo or an automobile key fob to their lips that turns them into human humidifiers.

I wanted to drink. I wanted to feel better. I wanted to escape. I wanted to just be like everyone else. That last sentiment is not one I feel often, especially since I have come to the conclusion that most everyone else pretty much sucks. But alas, my fomo feelers were standing at attention Saturday night. No Mike’s Hard or absinthe balls for me. I wanted a travel coffee mug with whiskey in it. The lack of public bathrooms made beer seem impractical. I didn’t drink, but I thought about it enough to assess the toilet situation.

I’m feeling better now, thanks for wondering. I got some pretty good sleep and went for a run. I’m not ready to take on the world, but I’m not thinking about whiskey and toilets anymore, and I’ve returned to ambivalence about most everyone else sucking.

And I’m feeling curious again.

When I got sober and we started our SHOUT Sobriety program, we did so because the 12 steps and Alcoholics Anonymous were not a good fit for me. I viewed AA as a spiritual practice based on a book written almost a hundred years ago before humans developed a scientific understanding of the brain chemistry of addiction that I find so enthralling. I found articles online that pegged AA’s success rate in the single digits, and decided we could do better. SHOUT Sobriety incorporated modern knowledge about neurotransmitters and recovery nutrition, and I was convinced that we were building a better mousetrap.

I was wrong.

What we built with SHOUT Sobriety is a different mouse trap. It turns out that there is a surprising variety in the recovery needs of mice. Who knew?

What I know now is that the wide variety of addiction recovery resources we are blessed with about a quarter-of-the-way through the 21st century are both revolutionary and necessary. The reason the wild-ass guesstimated success rate of Alcoholics Anonymous is often said to be in the single digits is because of the variety of people in the world. Different people with different experiences and different adolescent brain developments need different things to stop drinking. AA isn’t broken, it just isn’t right for me. Or the majority of people. Despite their catchy slogans, it doesn’t always, “work if you work it.” It most often does not. But sometimes it does. It just depends on who you are.

I’m also not a fan of, “letting go and letting God.” I am far too curious for that. I accept that something went terribly wrong with my drinking, but I need to understand the error of my ways. I am curious. That is why technical books about brain chemistry, along with memoirs written by others who had found their way out, were the perfect concoction to help me find lasting sobriety.

When asked by a 12 stepper what I did to get sober since I didn’t do AA, I explained that I read a lot. He smirked and promised to save a seat for me at a meeting for when I relapse. Thanks for the motivation to stay sober, asshole. But also, I was having a conversation with someone who lacked curiosity. I told him something unfamiliar, and he flipped through his mantra catalog looking for the perfect insult.

There is nothing wrong with Alcoholic Anonymous. I think they should be very proud of their success rate no matter what it is. They have helped millions of people get and stay sober, and for that, the institution should be recognized as a pillar of excellence in our society. No sarcasm. I mean it. AA continues to provide great service to humanity.

What I didn’t understand when we started SHOUT Sobriety was that we didn’t need a better mousetrap. We needed different moustraps. Lots of them. And what makes the mousetraps different from one another is what makes them great.

AA, and the other recovery platforms based on the 12 steps, are largely spiritual practices. That’s cool. I like spirituality. I am a spiritual being. In fact, I prayed for God’s help in putting these thoughts into sentences and paragraphs. But for sobriety and recovery, I needed something other than spirituality. I needed to have my curiosity quenched so I would stop drinking the toxin that drowned it out.

When we started SHOUT Sobriety, I didn’t understand that it was about curiosity. We named it “SHOUT” because we knew it was about vulnerability. Every time I told someone I had stopped drinking when I was in early sobriety, a remarkable conversation ensued, and a powerful connection formed. Whoa. That got my attention. I learned that there was power in vulnerability. “SHOUT about your sobriety, and join me in this unique sense of belonging,” I learned.

What I now understand is that my vulnerability leads to the vulnerability of others. And when others are vulnerable, I almost always learn something. Either they validate an assumption, or they send me down a new path of curiosity. Knowing stuff is boring. Learning stuff is where it is at.

Some people learn from books or reading research papers. I do my share of that. But I also learn from people with direct experiences. Painful, haunting, traumatic experiences. My vulnerability is like paying the cover charge to get into the room with other curious people who are willing to exchange their vulnerability for the relief of knowing they are not alone.

We didn’t create a better mousetrap. Lots of people try SHOUT Sobriety and find that it isn’t a fit for them. SHOUT is not a better mousetrap. It is a different mousetrap for curious mice like me.

I have met lots of smart, successful,  tenacious people with competitive spirits and an internal drive for achievement that leads to overcoming every obstacle in their path. They have a ton of admirable traits. But people with those specific attributes are rarely curious. Awesome, worthy, esteemable people for sure. A lack of curiosity doesn’t make a person a bad person. But a lack of curiosity means that bibliotherapy, patience and vulnerability are probably not the right concoction for them to find sobriety. They need a different mousetrap.

Some people find reminders in rock-bottom stories. Others of us need to ponder what’s next with a growth-oriented mindset fueled by curiosity. Neither is wrong, but rock-bottom stories won’t quench a thirst for curiosity. So if what you have tried hasn’t worked, it doesn’t mean you are destined for alcoholic purgatory. It just means you need to try something else.

There was a guy dressed convincingly as Michael Myers at the parade on Saturday night. I am a devotee of the Halloween movie franchise, so I watched him walk slowly behind us, up and down the block. When he encountered a couple arguing, and a man trying to take a phone away from a woman, he stopped and made his creepy presence known just a foot or two away. I’m not sure if the couple even noticed that arguably the world’s most famous horror character was poised to come to the woman’s rescue. But I noticed. If you want to feel your own brain twist in knots, watch a serial, indiscriminate slasher come to a woman’s rescue. That sight caused an overheating of my curious mind. That I might have felt compelled to help Michael Myers was more than I could take. Thankfully, the woman held onto her phone, and the alcohol-fueled domestic dispute wandered further down Broadway without incident.

Like my buddy Mikey with his navy-blue coveralls and his pale-white mask was on Saturday night, curiosity is both a blessing and a curse. Curiosity leads to profoundly satisfying discoveries, but it also has no off switch.

Can you relate? What kind of mouse are you? Maybe leave a comment and let me know.

I am curious.

If you are ready to stop stifling your curiosity with alcohol, maybe you are ready to check out SHOUT Sobriety.

SHOUT Sobriety