The Scarlet Letter

My wife and I recently watched a docu-series about the hacking of the Ashley Madison website.

If you don't know, the Ashley Madison website allows married men and women to meet, incognito, and have elicit affairs, with no strings attached and no fear of your spouse finding out (or so it seemed). 

In 2015, the site was hacked. All of the adulterers' names were released to the public. 

As you might imagine, a feeding frenzy of self-righteousness ensued. Thousands of people poured over the list, weeding out names of celebrities, YouTube stars, pastors, and neighbors. Marriages were destroyed, careers were ruined, and yes, some people opted to take their own lives rather than suffer the indignation of a scarlet letter.

Some say, "They got what they deserved!" 

I say, "I'm SO glad my drinking days were in the rearview mirror prior to the advent of social media."

We live in an age where society wants to crucify anyone who's ever committed the slightest public faux pas, not just in the recent past, but EVER. Hordes of busybodies, digging through years of social media postings, mining any grievances they can find, then demanding a public apology (followed by an equally public lynching).

There. Is. No. Room. For. Forgiveness.

Personally, I shudder at the thought of ANY of my past misdeeds becoming public knowledge. 

I was a monster in my addiction: A selfish, self-centered, angry, spiteful, lying, thieving, remorseless, abusive, self-loathing criminal. I was a cyclone of destruction, leaving devastation in my path wherever I went. I betrayed friendships and hurt the people I loved. I was a walking disaster... not even a shadow of who my parents raised me to be and the person I was to become in sobriety.

The cretan who wore my skin during those years was not me, it was the addiction. I don't know that person. I don't recognize that person. That person was not me. 

There are people, who to this day, despise me for the selfish actions of that person. Rightly so. Some continue to drag my name through the mud, 25 years later, despite my attempts to make amends.

That's their cross to bear. It's sad.

I'm just glad there was no FaceBook, Insta, or Twitter back then. None of my past humiliation has been immortalized on the inescapable big-screen of social media. 

Thank God for small favors.

-------------------------------

In the final moments of the Ashley Madison series, a woman whose husband took his own life, stated, "We shouldn't be so quick to judge others... We all have a list that we're on, one we wouldn't want anyone to know about."

No truer words have ever been spoken.

Glass houses, people. Glass houses.

Answered Prayer

Jesus prayed for an end to his suffering on the cross. He cried out to the Father, asking for relief. Did he expect God to answer his prayer? Was he delusional? Or was suffering an important part of the plan?

As a new-comer, I had a LOT of delusional beliefs. For instance, I was fairly certain that everyone in those early AA meetings were showing up for me, alone. I was convinced they were there for the sole purpose of seeing me through my early days of sobriety. 

Therefore, I HAD to stay sober or risk devastating the entire purpose of the group!

I wasn't so delusional to think the group would disband in the event of my relapse, but I was fairly certain there would be a group-wide day of mourning, followed by a total examination of the efficacy of the Program. 

And so (for them) I was determined to hold up my end of the bargain and stay sober. 

See? Delusional.

I also carried the pretentious belief that once I hit the magical "One Year" mark, I would no longer be a new-comer, whereby mastering the intricacies of the world. I was certain that without the interference of addiction, accompanied by my head full of recovery, the pieces of my life would fall into place. I would be happy, joyous, and free all the live-long day!

See? Delusional.

At the end of the day, my prayer was sincere. I prayed to be taken from my cross of addiction, to be relieved of my suffering. 

Was my prayer answered? 

It was... 

but not without suffering.

Early sobriety was difficult. I suffered through withdrawals, sweats, sleepless nights (pretty sure I only got about 4 hours that first week). I struggled with mental anguish, thoughts of relapse, and white-knuckling moments of temptation. My body, spirit and mind each twisted around the other in an attempt to figure out this diabolical new set of circumstances. 

I was miserable, 

I was suffering,

and it was absolutely necessary to my survival.

My suffering authored an intense appreciation for my journey to a sober life. It staved off relapse for fear of having to relive the agony of having to dry out again, lest I give in to the disease. 

I survived the journey through my suffering and it paved the way to my salvation.

People Pleaser

I'm a people pleaser.

I've spent my life bending over backwards to entertain anyone who would pay attention, silently begging, "Please love me! Please love me!"

This has been a source of great disappointment in my life.

I grew up in an international Christian organization known as The Salvation Army (you may have heard of it). My father, now retired, was an ordained minister in the organization and was a bit of a maverick. He broke barriers and rocked the boat on a regular basis. As such, he made enemies.

By association, his enemies became my enemies. Not on my part, but on theirs. Those who were threatened by his success figured if they couldn't destroy his reputation, his children were the next best thing. (and yes, I did say this was a CHURCH organization. Surprise, surprise!)

During the summer of my 15th year, I was on my way to a youth conference and was caught by airport security with my knife collection in my carry-on bag (long story... I was coming from summer camp and forgot they were in there). By the time I had reached the conference, the aforementioned "haters" had gotten hold of the "incident" and twisted it (via the gossip network) into "Noland's kid got caught with drugs and alcohol and the only reason he's not been sent home is because of his father."

I was henceforth known to the international church community as "the drug addicted drug dealer whom their children should avoid."

I wish I was making this up.

Fast-forward 20 years later: After decades of estrangement, I returned to the fold and began attending a Salvation Army church. There was a woman named Linda who was an ordained minister of the church (not the pastor) who also attended this particular parish.

I knew Linda from afar, but never really had any contact with her, other than the occasional polite "hello" in passing. To be clear, she knew my parents very well, and knew who I was, but she and I never had occasion to connect on any significant level.

One Sunday AM, the pastor was preaching on "amends." He pointed to a tray of bread that lay in front of the pulpit and invited members to tear a piece of bread off and offer it to someone in the congregation to whom they felt they owed an amends.

I sat quietly, as I was relatively new in this particular parish and hadn't had the opportunity to interact with many of the members, much less develop resentments.

Moments later, I felt the presence of someone standing next to me in the aisle. I looked up and there was Linda, standing there with a piece of broken bread extended toward me.

"I'd like to apologize." She said. "I've wrongly judged you since your return and I would like to ask your forgiveness."

I was floored. Judged me? I've never even SPOKEN to this woman! How could she have judged me on any level???

Not only did I forgive her, I greatly admired her courage and the fortitude of honesty she displayed. Her amends were public, unflinching, and warmly received.

To be clear, she was not the first (nor last) to admit implicit biases toward me, but hers was the first to really ring a bell in my brain... "Wait, I've never wronged this woman in any way, yet she managed to find reasons to dislike me? Why?"

I've always been a person who gives people an opportunity to be loved. I've never disliked another human unless they made it clear they wanted me as an enemy. Sadly, there are many, many people out there who are looking for reasons to hate, without cause, anyone whom they might perceive as a threat, with or without predication. And no, the church is not immune to such biases (in fact, I dare say they're much more prone in many instances).

It was Linda's amends that woke me up to the reality that people, as a whole, are broken, frightened, and flawed. 

It's not my job to please everybody.

I CAN'T please everybody.

All I can do is be the best person I can be, 

live a life that is holy (I fail often at this),

be kind to everybody (not as easy as it sounds),

be a little bit better today than I was yesterday,

and realize that there will be people who will still hate me for being the best me I can be, because it shines a light on their own shortcomings.

"Only fools inherit other people's enemies as some sort of weird loyalty." In my lifetime, I've made a lot of enemies who were fools.

Rick Rolled

I got rolled by a business owner who lived 3000 miles away.

Short version: I had lost my SCUBA certification card sometime back. This guy's website promised he could locate any certification for $50. It seemed like a legit business... so I bit. Turns out, my "particular certification" was beyond his purview, but instead of refunding my money, he claimed he had a right to keep it because he "had to spend time looking for it." 

You should know, I have a somewhat overdeveloped sense of justice. I cannot abide bullies, thieves, or liars. Wrong is wrong.

As you can imagine, I was consumed with anger... this guy did me dirty. It wasn't the $50, I didn't care about that. It was the principle. He was WRONG and I was RIGHT.

I went about making his life miserable. I wrote the BBB, Florida Chamber of Commerce, Florida Attorney General's Office, Federal Commerce Commission... I wrote bad reviews on Yelp, Google, FB and anywhere else I could think of. I dragged his business's name through every mud puddle I could find.

My every waking moment was focussed on finding justice. I was consumed with this resentment.

Consumed.

It finally dawned on me that this guy was renting some MAJOR space in my head. The poison of my resentment was eating me up from the inside. At the end of the day, this was not his problem, it was mine.

I knew what I had to do - I had to make amends. 

Trust me when I say, I hated the idea... I was absolutely 100% in the right. I had been wronged. 

For my own peace of mind I had to do it.

Not for him, for me.

I sent him a note and apologized, without condition, for my vitriol. I took responsibility for my part. All of it. 

A funny thing happened... the hatred was gone. Instantly. 

Shortly thereafter, I received notification from my bank that they were reversing the charge and giving me my money back. 

The old me would have shot a note off to the offender to rub his nose in my victory. 

I didn't do that. 

My amends had brought me peace...

and I wanted to keep it.

Why Don't You Drink?

"You don't drink? Why not?"

How many times have we heard this question?

I've always worn my alcoholism on my sleeve, never ashamed to proclaim, "Because I'm an alcoholic!" 

99.9% of the time, the response is something along the lines of, "Really? Wow... good for you. Keep it up!" But .1% of the time I'll run into that idiot with .1% of a brain. I call them the ".1%ers"

Years ago, I was applying for a position as a reserve officer with Burbank PD. As such, I was required to interview with a department detective. One of the (many) questions was, "How much do you drink? 

Sadly, this detective was a .1%er, so the conversation went something like this...

Me: I don't drink.

Him: At all?

Me: No. Never.

Him: Why not?

Me: I'm an alcoholic. 4 years sober.

Him: I see... in that case, I think we should wrap up this interview. We can't hire you.

Me: (confused) May I ask why?

Him: You just admitted you're an alcoholic.

Me: Correct, 4 years sober.

Him: But you could relapse.

Me: And a meteor could hit LA tomorrow and vaporize us all... what does that have to do with it?

Him: We can't take a chance.

Me: What about the officers in your department who are alcoholics?

Him: We don't have any alcoholics in our department.

Me: (LAUGHED OUT LOUD)

It was at this moment I learned there are people in this world who simply do not have the intellect to grasp a concept as simple as sobriety. 

Moving forward, I continued to proudly expound on my sobriety to those who inquired after my temperance. Occasionally I would come across a .1%er and would simply answer, "I don't drink because I don't like the way it makes me feel."

It's an honest answer: I don't like the hangovers, I don't like the loss of friendships or the physical breakdown of my body, mind, and soul. No answer could ring more true regarding my abstinence: "I don't like the way it makes me feel."

Feel free to use this response yourself. Not to worry, they won't see past your answer, as that would require more than .1% of brain power.