 One of my favorite late-1980s science fiction movies is an under-the-sea adventure, called “The Abyss,” starring Ed Harris and Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio. Most of the action takes place on an oil rig resting on the Atlantic Ocean floor.
There’s a scene where Harris’ lead character, Bud, has to dive into ridiculously deep waters to save the crew from certain death. To survive that insane depth, he has to employ a special suit with a weird breathing device that aspirates liquid instead of air. At first, Bud fights against inhaling the strange, milky fluid. As it enters his lungs, his body violently rebels. But then he relaxes a bit and starts to get used to this new way of breathing. Pretty soon, he’s good to go.
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 Since he was born in October 2012, I have made a concerted effort to visit with my sweet little (honorary) nephew, Raylan, at least a few times a month. (OK, I go over there to see his parents, too. His mom is my best friend, Whitney.)
During my last visit, Whitney and I were talking about Raylan’s many emerging, unique traits — what makes him giggle like a madman, what foods he loves, and which of his toys and blankets he favors. It’s wonderful to live vicariously through this new little family, because God knows I am done having babies myself. Talking about baby stuff got me to thinking about my son, Ethan’s, favorites back in the day. He’s 18 now, so most of his playthings are packed away in our basement for safekeeping, except for the few he has kept in random drawers in his room.  There was a time not too long ago when I took pride in my amateur detective skills. I was always sticking my nose where it didn’t belong, and I usually came away with some dirt. I was a modern version of Gladys Kravitz from “Bewitched.”
Yes, I was that annoying guest who spent a little extra time in your bathroom, opening cabinets and drawers, trying to find some evidence (of what, I have no idea) lurking under your sink. And God forbid you left me alone in your house for any length of time. In my world, every nook and cranny were fair game. So, yeah. I was an entitled asshole. I mean, srsly. I don’t know why exactly I possessed such a nosy nature. I wasn’t trying to learn your seedy secrets so I could expose your dark side. My motivation was never malevolent.  There is no deal lucrative enough to ever motivate me to shop on Black Friday. My serenity is worth a hell of a lot more than a $250 rebate on a flat screen TV at Best Buy. Just sayin’.
All you nutty people who get up long before the ass crack of dawn to wait in line for the latest kids’ toys and other trendy gifts can have at it. The crowds, chaos and confusion are more than I can tolerate. That being said, I don’t mind shopping on a normal day. Depending on the circumstances, I have been known to actually enjoy it. I am a girl, after all. In fact, on Small Business Saturday this past weekend, a fabulous new girlfriend and I spent hours browsing shops along Bardstown Road and Nulu. Each store was bustling, but none were so crowded as to incite a panic attack. (Being very petite, I get claustrophobic in large crowds, sometimes to the point of breaking out in a rash.)  This is the time of year when lots of folks voice their thankfulness in a very public way. They send cards, buy gifts and post on social media. Hell, some people even take out paid advertising.
Yes, cynics who complain all year long about all that’s wrong in their world are suddenly the epitome of humility and gratitude. (I can say this without enmity because I used to be one of them.) I am grateful to have a much more positive outlook on life these days, but I think I am most grateful to get a month-long break from these Negative Nancys’ incessant bitching. SIGH. Nope, I haven’t engaged in any of the public lists of thanks this year. I think I haven’t felt the need because I am privately grateful all year long. I frequently write gratitude lists in my journal, or send short daily prayers of thanks up to my ol’ HP (higher power). I actively count my blessings every day because taking that action plays a major role in keeping me sane, serene and sweet. For realz.  Today, I know how damn lucky I am to be happy, joyous and free. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t acknowledge my gratitude for life, the universe and everything in some small way.
I owe my sustained bliss to the tools for living I adopted as a direct result of the ravages alcoholism has wreaked on me and many of my loved ones during the past couple of decades. I was introduced to those tools because of someone else’s problem drinking, then in my 30s, developed a problem of my own that quickly reached critical mass. I am so grateful that I already had a foundation of recovery and knew exactly where to go for help. This Wednesday, Nov. 20, it will be four years since I had my last drink. Four years free of hangovers. Four years out of the abyss and into the sunshine. Four years of gifts that just keep on givin’. |
About Amy HiggsA former newspaper columnist, Amy takes her random, slice-of-life stories to the web. After 12 years, she's still just saying. Archives
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