The NA program, like the AA program, has a daily reader of thoughts and ideas that bring us back to a sense of reality that much of what we’ve done has removed from our lives. That’s the thing, we don’t see it. We don’t realize it. You see, that is why these “diseases,” and I add quotes there in case there is opposition to that—this is my opinion only—overpower. We don’t realize we are doing most of the things we do. It’s also often the determining factor behind statements like “I have a problem,” “I can’t take this anymore,” “this needs to stop,” and others. The list is endless. What anyone says, reconciling that they are finally seeing that life is not what they are thinking and believing, is the key, and the hardest part. That’s what we call “a bottom.” Many times it needs to take enough pain, just enough of the negative taking over the positive, where there is a final hairline crack for hope to peek through. That’s when it happens.
In strengthening my connection to my world, as this day’s reading states, I don’t always stand in front of others, nor do I go to a store. It doesn’t mean buy something either. At its simplest, and again, this is only my personal experience and belief, it is thinking of someone else and connecting that way. Right now, my connections are limited. It is true, I am so stressed it’s beyond me. It is also true that feeling stressed and staying in stress is going to eventually kill me. Death doesn’t care how it happens as long as it does. Agony doesn’t give a damn if you get over it as long as it leaves a trace. And yes, I can go on. These things, they’re only being exactly what they are. They show up, they do what they do, and then go.
This may all seem very metaphysical, and it is. It is only because I’m not saying, you know, these feelings are like matter. I am now. Agony exists. Matter exists. It can’t be created. It can’t be destroyed. It can change, though. As it can’t be destroyd it changes in me. Why in me? I am carrying this. I am a material being. I can change phases just the same. If you wonder about becoming a liquid, look up liquid cremation. You’ll see there. My agony changes to relief, a breath that goes along with it, and then I go on. I carry that, instead. And so, as matter, it is possible, and as a feeling that I carry, that I experience, it is possible just the same because it’s in me.
As for Just for Today, my connections are strengthening as I think about the future. Thinking of the small things. Thinking about where she is and where I am, and it doesn’t matter because what I do is not about me at all. This will, naturally, as a sober woman, allow me to see where I am failing and where I am not adapting as best I can and know how. I’ll get to make a choice. Despair? I will naturally connect with my puppy and naturally go outside to get the mail when no one is around, so they don’t have to. I will naturally open my mother’s front door, say hello, and see them even if for a few minutes. I will pick up the phone and call to see what she is doing today. I will continue looking at the weather because she matters that much. I will continue listening, possibly sharing, connecting with statements, with readers, with anything and everything, but one way or another, connecting and getting outside of me.
I am not meant to implode. I am not meant to dwell on who and what I think I am. I am not the one who can measure me. That’s the deadly trap of thinking I know when I don’t. Know me, know you, know what you don’t know about you, and know that what you’re telling me is wrong. How? Do you see now? The disease? The lack of logic? The lack of emotion and feeling? Oh no, we feel, but we only get one half. We get sadness and not happiness. We get worry and not serenity. This may go against many opinions, and that is fine. We do not live in a world of duality, even though we sometimes do. No, we live in the grays. We live where everything is in the same place, shady, hazy, unclear, and difficult. That’s how we are not in duality. From there, we can choose to see better, see clearly, see something good, great, beautiful, or even love. I dare use that word. I dare to say that I would rather live in love than in disagreement with the things I truly want and experience indifference, apathy, hatred, or anything else that keeps me at war with myself, whatever your choice of words and philosophy may be. Mine is the opposite of that, so those things that give me peace, a smile, happiness, feel present, feel real, feel true, feel honest, useful to someone, like I’m giving them what they need, that they matter that much—something like love, give or take.
I wish I could remember what 200 days of sobriety looks like, feels like, or what I think about it. I know what I think about it— “That is a lot of days.” You see, when you’re drinking and using from the time you wake up until the time you go to sleep, 5 minutes of being “dry” is a lifetime, and what may feel like a few of those, too. I know that, not a whole 24 hours, but from the time I went to sleep to the time I woke up and decided I would do nothing, was a huge step. It was scary. I had no idea what to expect. I didn’t have AA. I detoxed at home, not knowing that I shouldn’t do that, considering my level of daily intoxication. I can think back and say that everything got really slow. I got really slow. I did one thing at a time. And the entire time, well aware of what I was feeling and that I was feeling it. But my degree of “insanity,” as they call it in the rooms, helped a lot.
You see, I romanticized my addiction. It’s not that it was cool. It’s that it was my way of life. It wasn’t that I didn’t have a job; it’s that I was going to school, getting a degree, and living while using regardless. My use numbed a lot of ill feelings about myself. About the things I had done, what I had tried, what had failed, where I was, what I let go of, what I never tried, and so much more. I didn’t compare myself to people I went to school with; that would have hurt even more. They didn’t cross my mind, actually. I go back to middle and high school because my drinking and using “career” was long and extensive. I began very young, lied about it, made things seem fine to everyone around me, especially my family, but had nothing to show for it in my own life, except that I could do things for myself. I can pay my own bills, my own car; I can rent an apartment for someone and not live in it. I can pick up and move, save people from being on the streets, and so much more, all while I was destroying myself, my sanity, and everything else along the way.
I remember feeling my skin boil from the inside out. I don’t remember DT’s; maybe I had them, but I felt like I had ants inside of me, and it was not pleasant. I would take shower after shower, wash my hair, lie in bed, try to sleep, but not be able to sleep. I asked myself so many times what was happening, and scared out of my mind because I was taking medications, didn’t know how that would interact with the detoxing, but remembered why I did it. I was sitting at a friend’s dinner table when something came up, and I got up quite abruptly and said, “I have to go.” One of the girls came to my car, “I forgot my cigarettes.” “Here.” I left, and I did everything possible to disappear from that world. See, I can’t remember when it happened, not sure if simultaneously as I got up and said I had to leave, or right before, and it was the flash of a thought, but I looked at everything around me and said, “Is this really the life you want for yourself?” I thought to myself, “No.” And that set everything off. Something asked, something wanted to know, something cared, and I didn’t read into the question. It was so clear, so bland, objective, so “this is a yes or no question.” All I could do was tell the truth. It wasn’t about the people; it was barely about the things. I am not going to sit here and blame what I used as the culprit for jumping into my system and causing addiction. No. I did that all on my own. And so, I made the decision.
As for my romanticized ideas, they did help me. I romanticized my addiction. I also romanticized my detox. If you’re going to do it, live through it. Experience it. That’s what I would tell myself. That doesn’t mean put yourself in harm’s way. Your health needs to come first—detoxing is a health issue. But that’s what I did. I said okay, now I get to feel what I’ve seen. Yep, movies helped. They showed me what to do and what to expect in the process. It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t “yay,” or “I’m here.” None of that. I think back, and I think nothing happens by mistake, no coincidences, so maybe it was for me to be able to do it and not get caught in some wildfire and burn to death in the process.
I can’t make sense of what 200 days felt like. I felt inadequate. I had many dreams. I no longer romanticized my life; all I did was compare, see how others had a life, and see how mine was in shambles. That’s, though, 200 days into Alcoholics Anonymous. That was me comparing and not seeing the similarities. That’s not what my sobriety looks like now. Two hundred days into the dry detox, though, were waking up early, doing yoga stretches, meditating, working, going to school, going to the studio to paint until 10 P.M. Then home, doing relaxation yoga, and meditating. Then sleep, wake up, repeat. My food intake included 2 sunny-side-up eggs in the morning, 1 slice of vegan cheese, and a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil. I rarely ate at work but had soy nuts for emergencies. Dinner was tofu, cabbage, white tuna, salmon, and water. I still had coffee for another week during detox. After a few days, I had to stop. The caffeine was too much. I smoked cigarettes. That was gone quickly, too. I felt everything. The smallest thing would strike up some kind of, not craving, but a horrible feeling of what it felt like when I was drunk and high. I didn’t like it. I was paranoid as all life. I never wanted to be there again. And that made me stop and live as methodically as I could.
That’s what a few hours was like. What two-hundred days looked like. What life looked like until February 28, 2004, around 7:30 P.M. That’s when the accident happened, and life changed. Today, it’s… It’s magic. Ask me why. That’s the best question anyone could ask me today. “Why?”
You know that feeling when you catch yourself mid-judgment, that split second where your brain has already categorized someone or something before you’ve even taken a full breath? Yeah, I’m intimately familiar with that moment. At 40, I’ve spent enough years wrestling with my own tendency to jump to conclusions to know how seductive and dangerous contempt can be.
It wasn’t until my late thirties that I really started understanding how deeply contempt before investigation had shaped my worldview. Growing up, I’d learned to armor myself with quick assessments, sharp observations, and what I mistakenly believed was “intuition.” In reality, it was just a protective mechanism—a way to feel in control by quickly sorting the world into neat, manageable boxes labeled “good” and “bad.”
Take work environments, for instance. I remember how swiftly I’d size up new colleagues. That guy who always wore wrinkled shirts? Clearly disorganized and unprofessional. The woman who spoke softly in meetings? Obviously lacking confidence. These snap judgments said far more about my own insecurities than about the actual people around me.
The turning point came during a professional workshop where we discussed unconscious bias. The facilitator challenged us to pause—truly pause—before forming an opinion. It sounds simple, right? But for someone who’d built an entire career strategy around quick assessments, this was revolutionary. What if, instead of immediately categorizing, I got curious? What if I asked a question instead of constructing a narrative?
This shift wasn’t just professional. It permeated every aspect of my life. I started noticing how quickly I’d form opinions about everything: restaurants, neighborhoods, political movements, parenting styles. Each judgment was a wall, preventing genuine understanding.
Learning to suspend contempt doesn’t mean becoming naive or losing critical thinking. It’s about creating space—breathing room between observation and conclusion. It’s recognizing that every person, every situation, carries complexity far beyond our initial impression.
I’ve learned that contempt is often a shield. It protects us from vulnerability, from the uncomfortable work of truly understanding. When we look down on something or someone, we don’t have to engage, to empathize, to acknowledge our own limitations.
These days, I try to catch myself. When that familiar surge of judgment rises, I take a breath. I ask myself: What am I not seeing? What story might be underneath this surface-level observation? Sometimes the answer surprises me, revealing layers of humanity I would have missed in my previous, more dismissive approach.
This journey isn’t about perfection. It’s about practice. Some days, I’m more successful than others. But each moment of caught judgment is a small victory—a reminder that life is infinitely more interesting when we approach it with curiosity instead of contempt.
Creating motivation that flows seamlessly from our daily routines into our work, relationships, and broader life is about embracing a holistic approach—where the mind, body, and spirit work in harmony to fuel lasting drive and fulfillment.
1. Start with Purpose
Motivation springs from meaning. Connect your daily tasks, career goals, and personal relationships to a deeper sense of purpose. Reflect on what truly matters to you and regularly align your actions with your values and aspirations. When your life feels purposeful, motivation naturally follows.
2. Cultivate Healthy Habits
Physical well-being directly impacts motivation. Build simple, repeatable routines—like regular exercise, balanced nutrition, and enough sleep—that energize you throughout the day. Good health boosts your mood, sharpens your mind, and increases resilience to stress, allowing motivation to ripple into every area of your life.
3. Practice Mindfulness
Self-awareness is the bridge connecting all aspects of life. Pause regularly to check in with your thoughts, emotions, and progress. Mindful reflection helps you adapt flexibly, preventing burnout at work and improving the quality of your relationships by making you more present and engaged.
4. Build Supportive Connections
Surround yourself with positive, motivating people. Relationships that encourage growth and understanding strengthen your drive, whether at home or in your career. Celebrate achievements big and small, offer support, and openly communicate—this kind of network helps motivation thrive and transfers energy from one sphere of life to another.
5. Set Boundaries and Goals
Balance is key. Set clear, attainable goals in both your personal and professional life and give yourself permission to say no to overcommitments. Celebrate progress, not just perfection. By maintaining boundaries, you protect your energy and motivation, ensuring it’s available for what matters most.
6. Integrate and Reflect
Holistic motivation means tying all parts of your life together. Reflect regularly on how actions in one area influence others: learning a new skill at work can build confidence for personal projects; caring for your health can deepen your connections at home. Recognize these links and use them to create upward momentum in all aspects of your life.
Motivation isn’t just a fleeting feeling—it’s an integrated force built by daily habits, meaningful connections, and the pursuit of purpose. By nurturing your mind, body, and relationships together, you create a cycle where motivation continually renews itself—helping you approach success as a whole, fulfilledled person.
The moment I choose for you, what you bring into my life, who you are, what you can be, what you mean, who you’ve been – anything that takes me from my space to invade yours – I lose all possibility of experiencing you. I believe in magic. I will always choose vanilla cake.
A strange realization has been lingering in my mind for some time now—a recognition that most of my thoughts are not based on reality. Not really. They are based on my subjective experiences, a knowledge base constructed by me, not necessarily by truth.
I used to assume that what I thought must be, in some way, a reflection of reality. That my perceptions, opinions, and gut feelings had some validity simply because they existed within me. But I’ve come to see that most of what arises in my mind is just that—arising. Not from an objective, factual foundation but from a lifetime of conditioning, biases, and influences that I have absorbed without much scrutiny.
The Subjectivity of Thought
Most of my thoughts are automatic. They pop up without permission, shaped by my past experiences, the stories I’ve been told, and my adopted interpretations. But how many of those thoughts are true? How many are simply echoes of things I’ve heard or assumed rather than reflections of reality?
Even deeper, I must ask: what is “truth” anyway? So much of what I know—or instead, what I think I know—comes from human-made structures: books written by people with their own biases, cultural narratives shaped by power and historical convenience, and scientific theories that are constantly evolving. Even facts, in how we think of them, are subject to change when better tools or perspectives emerge.
If my thoughts arise from this shifting, subjective landscape, then how can I trust them?
The Mind as a Filter, Not a Mirror
I used to believe that my mind was a mirror of reality, reflecting things as they are. But now I see that it is more of a filter that distorts, colors, and reshapes everything it processes.
My thoughts are dark and cynical if I am in a bad mood. If I am happy, everything appears lighter and more hopeful. The same situation can feel entirely different based on my emotional state, my level of fatigue, or even what I ate that day. How can I trust my immediate thoughts when they are so easily swayed?
Even memory, something we tend to rely on as a source of truth, is deeply unreliable. Every time we recall something, we reshape it slightly, filtering it through who we are now rather than who we were then. The brain fills in gaps, alters details, and reinforces whatever narrative we already believe.
Living in a Constructed Reality
Beyond my own personal thoughts, the world I live in—the ideas I take for granted, the values I uphold, the rules I follow—are all human constructs. Money, laws, morality, social norms, identity itself… all are ideas that we, as a species, agreed upon.
I once thought knowledge was a ladder, something we climb to reach a higher, more objective understanding. But now, I see it more as a web—an interconnected mass of ideas, stories, and beliefs, none of which can ever be fully isolated from human subjectivity.
What Do I Do With This Awareness?
Where does that leave me if I cannot trust my thoughts? It would be easy to fall into nihilism, to say, “If nothing is certain, then nothing matters.” But instead, I see this realization as freeing.
It means I don’t have to take every thought seriously. Just because a thought arises does not mean it is true, meaningful, or worth engaging with. I can observe my mind with detachment, recognizing when it feeds me outdated beliefs, irrational fears, or baseless assumptions.
It also means I can be open to change. If my mind is not a fixed, reliable source of truth, then I do not have to be a slave to my past beliefs. I can question. I can unlearn. I can recognize that the reality I experience is not necessarily the reality and that there is always more to discover beyond my thinking.
I cannot trust my own thoughts. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe the real wisdom lies in trusting them and knowing when to let them go.
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