Room for One More

A physics professor sauntered into his classroom with a large empty mason jar in one hand and a bag in the other.  A hush fell over the room as he walked up to the front and set the jar on the podium.  "This is your life," he said, pointing to the empty jar.

The Professor then reached into the bag and produced a box of golf balls, "These represent God and your family."  He poured the golf balls into the mason jar, filling it to the brim, and studied the room. "Tell me," he said. "Is your life full?  Can we fit anything else into this jar?"  The class unanimously agreed the mason jar was full.  Nothing else would fit.

With that, the Professor reached back into his bag and pulled out a sack of pebbles.  He said, "This is your career," and preceded to pour the tiny rocks into the jar.  The pebbles bounced between the golf balls, filling every available nook and cranny.  "Is your life full now?  Is there room for anything else in this jar?"  Once again, the entire class agreed that the jar was now full.  Nothing else would fit.

The Professor dipped into his bag for a third time and lifted out a container of sand.  "Your friends and social  life."  Once again, he poured the contents into the jar.  The sand trickled down, filling every crevice to the top.  "Is your life full NOW?" he exclaimed, pounding his fist down on the mahogany lectern. "Can we fit ANYTHING else in this jar?"

The class buzzed with excitement.  "NO!" they cried.  "The jar is absolutely filled to capacity!  Nothing else could possibly fit!"

The Professor paused (more for effect than anything else).  Slowly, he reached into his bag one last time.  The students leaned forward in unison, tipped on the edge of their seats, anxious to spy their instructor's denouement.  Could he perchance yield some sort of matter smaller than a grain of sand?

With methodical mastery, the Professor at last produced two solitary bottles of beer.  He popped the caps and systematically dribbled the ale over the sand, filling it to the lip.  The students leapt to their feet in thunderous applause.  "And there you have it," he proclaimed in summation. "No matter how full your life gets, there's always room for a couple of beers."

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In my addiction, I lived my life exactly as the Professor directed ... in reverse.  I started by filling my jar with booze.  When time came to add the more important things, there wasn't much room.  Not that I didn't try.   I made every attempt to insert a social life, sprinkle a career, and jam God and family into my life.  Ultimately, there just wasn't enough room and my jar overflowed, causing a big mess.

It took the Rooms of Recovery to straighten me out.  Sobriety required that I empty my jar and start from scratch.  I learned to prioritize, putting the big important things in first, while letting the smaller, less significant things fill in the cracks.  In this lesson, my friends, lays a valuable moral:  We can make room in our lives for all things we hold dear if first we learn how to pack.

Alas, I must take issue with the Professor's final observation... In my life there's NEVER room for a couple of beers.  ;)