No intelligent, sentient being has ever journeyed into a recovery lifestyle because they thought it would be a better choice than whatever hellish life they were previously living.

It just doesn’t work that way.

It isn’t a cerebral moment of decisive absolution; it’s more like tripping over your own feet, only to land on them again.

We call it an act of humility when someone acknowledges that they didn’t do it on purpose, and call ourselves spiritual when we say God did it. Whatever.

What really matters is that you’re here, in recovery, and that you’re relishing in all the sunshine rainbows that come with this so-called pink cloud experience, before you realize you’re expected by your peers to be and act like the responsible adult you were always meant to be; work a job, pay taxes, make meals, feed your pets, put gas in your car, attend all the meetings, go after that degree, and get your rightful place in the American machine!

But, wait… Shouldn’t we be thinking about all the harm we’ve caused? NOPE!

Save that for when you’re ready to deal with it. In the meantime, enjoy the 90-in-90, and celebrate the mere fact that you’re a living drug addict! Completely aware, and high on life (and lots and lots of caffeine)!

“Stick with the winners,” they said. And that’s what you do, but you also made some pretty close ties in treatment, and you can’t just turn your back on your new friends.

After all, you’ve already told all of your old friends to f— off, because they never really cared about you anyway, and were likely just as sick as you, if not worse.

So you sally forth with your new crew of clean kids, and you regenerate the same kind of childlike energy you had in high school, even though you’re now old enough to be considered “old” by someone in high school, and you hit every meeting, and every coffee shop, and every meeting and every coffee shop again.

Because you can’t just stop. You have to keep going. The party cannot end. Where would we be if we settled into the dust of our deepest despair, and allowed the lull of our languish a sapid reprieve?

We must keep it all light and fresh, and push on to the next fellowship, for the wind guides us as gods would do so unto kings.

Editor’s note: Part 2 of this column appears in the Oct. 19 issue of The Clarion.