When I was twenty-five years old I went to rehab for alcohol addiction. I actually had to go twice in quick succession, but the story I’m about to tell you is from the first time I went.
This rehab had an interesting way of doing things. It was, of course, technically run by counselors and other health professionals. But they had set the day-to-day of the place up so that it at least gave the appearance that the patients, to a degree, were doing some of the running of the place. The whole thing was, I’m sure, a calculated part of the therapy.
There were four designated officers at any time: the President, the Vice-President, and two positions whose title I forget, but whose function was to match new incoming patients with “buddies” to show them the ropes–one officer in charge of males, one in charge of females. These officers were not elected, however, but chosen deliberately by the staff; in addition, their terms were not defined. Most often, once put in position they remained there for the duration of their stay, but sometimes if it wasn’t a good fit, changes could be made when the need arose.
I was in rehab a few days before I finally made it out of my room (the reports are true–withdrawal is a bitch) and experienced my first morning roll call. This particular rehab featured many different rooms, but only one Big Room. The Big Room could fit all the current patients at the same time and we all gathered there only two or three times each day. The morning meeting served many purposes (including of course a “roll call” to make sure everyone was there) such as a hope you had for the day, detailing of tasks for the day, et cetera. These proceedings were all done without the presence of any staff and were carried out by the President, who sat flanked by his three cabinet members in nicer chairs than the rest of us, centered under two enormous (and I mean enormous) banners that listed the twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous (six steps per banner). That morning, the President I witnessed was a man even younger than me, very charismatic and handsome, friendly and genuine who seemed to have held the position for quite awhile. Meekly, I watched everything that was happening through a sunken, terrified exterior. I was underwater.
As my first few weeks passed, I got over some of my initial fear and began to fit in and make friends and even some progress on myself. The routine and workings of the institution quickly became ingrained in me. I watched as the male and female “buddy coordinators” set up newcomers with mentors; I wasn’t there very long before I was showing newbies the ropes myself. The President had a surprising amount of sway; not only was their job to call roll call (in the morning and throughout the day) and run certain meetings, but they seemed to have some say in certain policy. If a patient had been caught smuggling in drugs, the counselors pulled the President into an office to consult; did they think the offender should be kicked out? Or was this a good learning opportunity? Whether the President actually had any real say was debatable, but the show that was put on seemed awfully real.
I was legitimately shocked when, one evening during Movie Night, I was called into the hallway and met with the sight of all the facility’s counselors. I was to be the next President, starting at next morning’s roll call. They all had enormous grins on their faces–it was a truly congratulatory moment. It may not seem like much from afar, but in that moment, in that insular world, it was a startling moment of revelatory self-discovery for me.
Before entering rehab I had been near a human low few people outside of deep addiction can comprehend. Not to belittle your experience with sorrow and depth–non-addiction sorrow and depth is terrible, too, it’s just nowhere near as acute as addicts can achieve. A few weeks prior I in no way could have imagined being asked to lead a group of forty to sixty strangers through their every day activities when I myself couldn’t take a shower without bringing my McDonalds plastic Super Size cup full of gin–and then passing out with the water running before I even washed my hair. Now these health professionals were asking me to be a leader. That moment, in that hallway, is one of those moments: looking back, over the whole course of your life, there will be moments–maybe three, maybe fourteen, let’s say a “handful” of moments–that you can look back on and recognize, that is where part of my actual self snapped into place. We go through life becoming many different people, all the time–various versions of ourselves. Occasionally a new aspect clicks into place for you and you know, ah yes, this is me–this is part of who I have been waiting to be.
I’m not trying to say I am some natural born leader; in many ways I am a terrific leader and in many ways I am a deeply flawed leader. It was the fact that leader was AT ALL attached to me that became a new and permanent (on an admittedly small and primarily retail occupation sense) descriptor for me that stunned. For creating that moment, the rehab had functioned perfectly–and maybe saved my life.
I went on to have, by my account, a successful and lovely term as President for about two and a half weeks, up until the day I was released. One of the more memorable aspects of the position was that, if I was speaking (in a public forum, like at a meeting, etc) and others started talking over me or having side conversations, the majority of the other patients would begin yelling “RESPECT!” until everyone was quiet for me. This was a practice only done for the President. Its effect upon my self-worth cannot be overstated.
I happened to be President over Christmas, too. A hell of a time to be in rehab, and challenging for all of us. I remember the counselors pulling me into many offices, asking my opinions about things like parties, gifts, things like that, and I offered ideas. It felt as though we were peers, me and the counselors. I felt adult and competent. On Christmas Day, the cafeteria staff made us a very special and delicious meal. As we were all sitting and chatting following the meal, I had the idea for all of us to applaud the staff for the meal. I stood to address all sixty or so patients. I stood on my chair and bellowed Excuse me! and as some folks kept talking, they were met with a barrage of RESPECT! I then gave a little speech about how hard it was for all of us to be in here for Christmas, and how we should not take it for granted that all the staff here was working on Christmas, too, and what a great meal they had made us. I then called for a round of applause, which was thunderous, and very genuine. People didn’t stop thanking me for that for the rest of my stay. I amazed myself. It was a small decision, but a decision I had made for sixty people, all by myself, without consulting anyone–mere weeks after being a hopeless, adrift, nearly insane drunkard.
Looking back at that time now, I see the seed of who I’ve become, but it’s almost more astonishing to think about how much more I’ve evolved and changed since then. That was fourteen years ago, and although some of it still seems like yesterday, I’ve been through four or five complete new versions of myself since then. I can’t imagine a life within which I was not constantly evolving. Many people seem to reach a place in life–usually somewhere between ages 25-35–where they decide they have become the final version of themselves. Sadly many seem to do this because our culture values this; to continue to evolve for your whole life seems, to some, unsavory, perhaps even immature. The adult thing to do is to find your sweet spot and stay there.
The unfortunate side effect of becoming sedentary is that you will stop finding those moments where your true self snaps into place for you. Core, true parts of yourself will remain unknown to you. Just like with our planet and the universe, if you stop exploring yourself, well, there’s things you’ll never find. But they are there all along. They are waiting for you to find them.
When I quit drinking, I substituted caffeine for alcohol. That wasn’t quite enough so I substituted buying Pearl Jam bootlegs for alcohol, as well. And then I subsituted working extra hours for alcohol, as well. And then I ran out of Pearl Jam bootlegs to buy so I substituted DVDs for Pearl Jam bootlegs. And things still weren’t enough so I substituted sex for alcohol. And then I tried to quit caffeine so I substituted lifting weights for caffeine. But I still wanted alcohol so I substituted going to concerts for alcohol. And I got tired of lifting weights so I substituted hiking for that. And then I got re-addicted to caffeine. And then I was having too much sex so I substituted eating for sex. And then concerts were getting too expensive so I substituted going to the movies for concerts. And then it was winter so I couldn’t hike so I substituted more eating for that. And then I tried to quit caffeine again so I substituted going to concerts for that. And then it was spring so I substituted hiking for going to concerts. And then I got addicted to caffeine again. And then I quit smoking and I substituted eating for that. And then I was eating too much so I substituted working out for that. But I did too much too fast so I had to substitute even more caffeine for working out. And then I started eating again. And I’m still buying a ton of DVDs. I can’t quit.
So. That was a pretty insane trip home (and lots of other places). I’m not even sure where to begin. This may end up being a ridiculously long and disjointed blog entry. I apologize in advance. If it ends up not being extremely long and disjointed, I will come back and delete this intro, and you will never read it.
First, I should like to thank my family (Dad, Mom, Sister) for their various forms of hospitality and much-needed displays of unconditional love. Yay human spirit and the familial bond! I feel pretty damn good about my family. You guys rule! And thank you to all my friends who made me feel as if I never moved away. I am blessed beyond belief with deep, intense, loyal friendships! In addition, a big frowny face to those who I had to miss on this trip (most notably, loyal blog reader and renowned Muse, Cory. Little does she know, my next trip home is going to be so all about her, she will have to call the cops on me. And the truly lovely Mercedes, whom I am unabashedly smitten with. Also, on-again-off-again blog reader Tiff, who I had *promised* a certain something to…well, next time, ok???). I was stretched a little thin to do and see everything and everyone I wanted, but it was fairly satisfying nonetheless.
My Zany Itinerary
Let me just show you the zaniness of where I’ve been the last week and a half. I am going to include tomorrow, as I go to Pittsburgh tomorrow for a work seminar. Here’s where I was, for the most part, the last ten days:
3/25: Erie, PA/ Carlisle, PA
3/26: Carlisle, PA/ Asbury Pary, NJ
3/27: Mantua, NJ
3/28: Brooklyn, NY/ Newark, NJ
3/29: Manhattan, NY/ Mantua, NJ
3/30: Mantua, NJ/ Carlisle, PA
3/31: Carlisle, PA
4/1: Carlisle, PA
4/2: Carlisle, PA/ Erie, PA
4/3: Erie, PA
4/4: Pittsburgh, PA
4/5: Pittsburgh, PA/ Erie, PA
And I aint even tired yet. Bring. It. On.
My Newville Tour
Early on in my trip, I had a little extra time to kill early in the morning, and I drove into Newville (the small town I grew up in) and walked around the town for the first time in many years (I have been there plenty as of late, but not actually walked around). I took some pictures of major landmarks in my life, also making sure to get a few pictures of some of the places that have played large parts in some of my blog entries. Here is a bit of a pictorial tour of Newville:
My first house, 66 Big Spring Avenue. My bedroom was the top two windows on the right of the picture.
I have been trying to upload the famous picture of my mother and I admiring my grandmother’s garden, but I am having some trouble, so here is a link to that picture on Facebook. And here is a picture of that back yard area today:
One of my most popular blog entries ever was “The Fruit that Ate Itself“, about me being bullied in a local church yard. I snapped some pics of that area in current day:
The church yard itself.
The line of trees is where the dreaded swingset and slide had been.
The Senior Center where the "fight" ended. Those are the bushes I flew through in the climactic moment.
If you’ve read my blog entry “Down the Rabbit Hole“, you may be interested to see this cellar door on one of my childhood neighbor’s homes:
OK, so just a few more pics here, but not related to any previous blog, just some Seth-historic stuff:
The very spot where I got on a school bus for the very first time.
This was my corner when I was a crossign guard.
Friendies
I had almost too much fun with friendies to try to sum things up here. I’ll hit some highlights:
I surprised Kate with my presence not once but twice, and she lost. her. shit. each time. First, Michael and I surprised her at her house:
It was also on this visit that this picture of Michael happened:
A few days later, I was strolling through Carlisle wasting a few minutes before picking up another friend, when I came across Kate and her family at the local eatery The Green Room. As I was leaving them I took this pic of Kate, her husband Matt, and their son Dylan:
Let me just take this moment to say, as I was strolling around Carlisle that night, I was struck by just how freaking cool of a town it is. Those of you who still live there, please do not take it for granted. First, it is totally adorable. And such a great pedestrian town! And for a relatively small town in central Pennsylvania, it is arts-friendly. Open mic nights, free music, poetry readings, public displays of photography, and on and on, are quite common. The area known as the square and the surrounding blocks are humming with a vibrant intellectual life (not to mention some fantastic cuisine). Please partake of what the gem of a town has to offer!
My brief time with Burke was spent in some fairly intense conversation that may, in fact, make me think about my life differently. Oh, and Johnny Depp is a fucking sellout.
I spent some truly hilarious time with Jenny. Jenny is quickly becoming a Major Friend. (if her name is unfamiliar to you, this was the last woman to be an “official girlfriend”…and if my hunch is true– that I am a lifetime bachelor– she may go down in the history books as the last woman to be an official Seth girlfriend…what a distinction!). Anyway, I sure do love this woman. She has the special ability to make me laugh until I am worried about my health…without saying anything. She has a non-verbal humor akin to Kramer. She can just look at me and I lose my shit. Here we are, loving life:
Of course, you know I saw Michael, and it resulted in a moment of hilarity that I am pretty sure you “had to be there” for, but we decided that Merle Haggard had at one point recorded the “classic” song “You’re Gonna Make Daddy Fart (and Momma Aint Gonna Be Happy)”. I still laugh when I type that.
Mary and I had one helluva time trying to find parking in downtown Harrisburg—notable because it’s usually not THAT hard. Sure, those few blocks in the very center of town are tough, but we were unable to find ANY spots on the street ANYWHERE. When we finally did park (in a garage) we ended up just hanging around Strawberry Square , when in fact we had intended to go to the Susquehanna Art Museum. I’m still not sure in the least how this distraction occurred, but we had a blast. But the major news from this venture is that Mary has OK’d some photographs of herself! You may or may not know that pictures of Mary are quite rare. She just hates pictures of herself, and of course I love taking pictures of people, so this is a friction. Plus, she really is one of the most exquisite women in existence, so I always feel as though the world in general is being deprived of some joy by the absence of Mary pictures. When I take a Mary picture, I have to show her, wheneupon she then either insists on immediate deletion, OKs the picture for my own personal collection but not anyone else’s eyes, or (the most rare) OKs a picture for online distribution. So here, lucky world, are 4 new Mary pictures:
That's the back of Mary's head in the lower right.
Staying at Dad’s
It is with much chagrin that I realize I did not take a single picture of my papa and me on this trip. *sad face* Nonetheless, I must say, spending time with my dad just gets more and more pleasant as the two of us age. It never stops surprising me how we continue to grow into friends (while he retains his essential papa-ness). He is one cool dude and we somehow never run out of things to talk about.
This also marked the first time in recent memory that I have stayed at Dad’s for multiple days without my sister also being there. In this sense it was entirely unique. The last time I stayed at my dad’s by myself for more than one night was way back when I was still drinking and on-again, off-again living there. So this was new, and really, really great. In a lot of ways, it felt like a true homecoming, learning how that house and I interact when I’m a grown-up, and sober, and left all alone with it. Turns out we get along just fine. And I sleep magnificently in my old bedroom. But it’s tough getting used to that shower again.
Hey Rosetta!
I’m gonna really have to shrink down the Hey Rosetta! story, or I’ll be here all day. So, in summary:
Here are pictures from Paul and I’s show in Asbury Park, NJ. It was a fantastic time, both Paul-wise (Paul, thanks for helping me see that not all my close friends have to be women!) and band-wise. Really, one of the more satisfying concert-going experiences I’ve had.
Then, I made an audible call and went to see them by myself twice more over the next three days, in New York City (more on NYC later). Long story short, I ended up basically knowing the band. But they started talking to me. I suppose when you are a band that is really famous and successful in Canada, and then you come to the states and are playing bars where most of the people are ignoring you, and there is a short fat guy with gray hair jumping around and screaming your lyrics, when he shows up to your NEXT show in a different state, it is worth taking note. So as I was taking this picture of the chalk board advertising their show in Brooklyn, a few of the band members were walking out of the bar and saw me and introduced themselves.
Because shows like this entail a lot of waiting around (if you insist, like I do, on front row) in small bars with no “backstage” area for bands, as well as lots of changing-out of gear between bands (not to mention trips to very small bathrooms), the two shows in New York would prove extremely fertile ground for me talking to the band. This went way beyond my previous “thank you, your music has meant so much to me” that I’ve been able to give other bands. This was basically a getting-to-know-you situation. Specifically cellist Romesh Thavanathan, lead guitarist Adam Hogan, and violinist Kinley Dowling spoke quite a bit to me and I was definitely on a first-name basis with them by the end of my second New York show, and I’d had a chance to speak to every member of this six-piece band. Certainly, this was fairly incredible, but also….in some ways, not as great as you’d think. Parts of this experience were awkward. I may blog more about this at some point, just because it was pretty intriguing (ever have your favorite band watch you as they are playing?) But don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. It was an amazing experience. Here is a video I took of “Red Song” at Union Hall in Park Slope, Brooklyn, followed by a few select pictures of the New York shows:
I also managed to snag handwritten setlists off the stage two of the three nights. Here are scans of the setlists:
So now, for the benefit of probably just myself and maybe Paul, here is some Hey Rosetta! setlist discussion: on the first setlist shown, Bandages was skipped. On the second shown (from my thrid concert, Manhattan) ‘Bandages’ and ‘Red Heart’ were swapped in position (as were the two songs where a swap is indicated, ‘Yer Spring’ and ‘Welcome’…and talk about a way to open a show! “Lions For Scottie” into “Welcome”!) Here are all three setlists for shows I went to this tour:
Asbury Park, NJ
1. New Goodbye
2. Yer Spring
3. New Glass
4. Bricks
5. Another Pilot
6. There’s an Arc
7. Seeds
8. Red Heart
1. New Goodbye
2. Yer Spring
3. New Glass
4. Bricks
5. Another Pilot
6. There’s an Arc
7. Welcome
8. Red Song
9. We Made a Pact
10. Seeds
11. Red Heart
12. A Thousand Suns*
*’Bandages’ is on the setlist in the 12 spot, but ‘A Thousand Suns’ was played.
Manhattan, NY
1. Lions For Scottie
2. Welcome
3. Yer Spring
4. New Glass
5. Yer Fall
6. There’s an Arc
7. I’ve Been Asleep For a Long, Long Time
8. Holy Shit
9. New Sum
10. Seeds
11. New Goodbye
Encore:
1. Bandages
2. Red Heart
And now, for the record, the sum total of Hey Rosetta! songs I’ve seen, including the two acoustic shows I saw last year:
1. Red Heart–5 times
2. Bricks–4 times
3. I’ve Been Asleep For a Long, Long Time–3 times
4. Lions for Scottie–3 times
5. Bandages–3 times
6. New Goodbye–3 times
7. Yer Spring–3 times
8. New Glass–3 times
9. There’s an Arc–3 times
10. Seeds–3 times
11. Seventeen–2 times
12. Red Song–2 times
13. We Made a Pact–2 times
14. Another Pilot–2 times
15. Welcome–2 times
16. A Thousand Suns–1 time
17. Yer Fall–1 time
18. Holy Shit–1 time
19. New Sum–1 time
Mom’s/ Sisters
So my mom now lives with my sister, which makes visiting everybody much easier! It was quite nice to see everybody all at once! In the same breath, however, I must admit it made me feel as though I did a poor job of paying ample attention to everyone. When you are seeing a gaggle of loved ones all at once for the first time in a long time, it can be a strain to give equal time. I think specifically of the nephews, who I love uncontrollably but whom I was not able to give the sort of attention they are accustomed to receiving from me. When it came down to it, my mom and my sister were the center of my focus (not to mention the antics of Pumpkin Latte). Don’t get me wrong, I had a lovely time! I guess I’m just feeling some guilt, cause those boys worked up a good amount of anticipation for my arrival and I almost certainly dissapointed. That being said, the time with Momma and Sis was marvelous. LOTS of laughs, and a new momma/ son tradition: I claim her and I are going to do the Jumble together, and then I end up freaking out over how amazing she is at it, while I add absolutely nothing to the process (she really is amazing at the Jumble). Also, I “T”d my sister, which always rules. A brief but incredibly heartwarming time. Some select pics:
Sister and Pumpkin Latte, as she was taking their picture
Sis, Me, Mom
New York
The New York trip is another thing I shall have to gloss over, or I’ll be writing this blog entry until next week. I did what I typically do: I drive right into the city, pay a thousand dollars to park, and just walk around. I usually have very little plan other than one or two fairly simple goals. This trip’s goals: see sunrise from inside Central Park, and buy a New York Times from a newsstand and read the whole thing from inside a midtown Manhattan Starbucks during the morning commute hours. I’m not sure why I wanted to do these things, but once the goals were in my mind, I could not seem to let them go. I accomplished both, and although being in Central Park during sunrise was magical, it was not easy to get any great pictures of the event, due to the vast amount of:
a) Tall trees, and
b) skyscrapers
These things blocked the view of the actual sunrise rather effectively, but feeling the world come alive from within the park was quite joyous. Here is the best picture I got of the sunrise:
I spent almost two hours in the Starbucks, enjoying my latte and an incredible issue of the NYT. I suppose for a moment I felt as hip as I’ve always suspected I am. It was a quality time.
I spent the rest of the day wandering around, taking pictures, eating, even napping briefly in the tranquil section of Central Park known as the Woodlands. I also visited, for the first time, the Central Park Zoo, which was a lovely treat. Here is some video I took of the Sea Lions being fed (and putting on a little show) followed by some pictures:
Sunset, Brooklyn
Me in Central Park
Some Things I Learned
1. 8 months is not long enough to forget how to get around (but it IS long enough to cause some occasional navigation confusion)
2. When you are a single man in your 30s who moves away from everyone he knows and doesn’t visit home for 8 months, a surprising amount of people from all demographics will just straight-up ask you about your sex life. This is fodder for an entire blog entry at some point that will be in the form of a “rant”. FYI, nobody need worry about my sex life, mkay?
3. You may think where you live is boring, but leave it for a little while and then come back; you may just find it’s really cool.
4. There are really hot ladies everywhere.
5. Don’t tell people you got fat. You may think it will make your fatness less awkward, but it makes it moreso.
6. Things change. Buildings get knocked down, businesses change their name, streets get re-directed. Accept these things as a natural course of existence. (reminds me of a Hey Rosetta! song: “The schools that we went to have all been closed./ And all of my teachers are dead, I suppose.”)
7. You can walk further than you think you can.
8. If you move and your sports allegiances change a little bit, you can just kinda keep that to yourself on your first few visits home.
9. As you leave places you have stayed for just a day or two, remember to gather all your various “chargers”. We have a lot of chargers in this day and age.
10. Family and friends really are the best things in the world, even if saying so sounds cheesy and cliche. Fuck it, it’s true!
I Almost Forgot…
Today is my 8 year sobriety anniversary! The original purpose of this vacation was for me to have off and see my loved ones leading up to the big day. (I just have to complete my anniversary tradition of watching “Dark Days” on the anniversary itself) So…yay me! But also…yay you! Thanks everybody for putting up with my horribleness when I was horrible, and then helping me live such a satisfying and fantastic life in my sobriety! What a treat, to be able to celebrate the week leading up to it in the way I did. And how neat is it that I almost forgot today was the day??? That must mean life is pretty good. I love you, everybody!
Notes From the Fire 
