After waking up the fourth, fifth and sixth time fully clothed, on a rubberized blue lazy-boy my shoes having been replaced with some oversized slip-resistant socks, my keys, wallet, phone and anything else that would be deemed unharmful from my pockets, tucked away in a locker on the other side of a locked door I figured I was damn near ready to start trying something different. Not that there hadn’t been effort, there had been plenty. Rehab, meetings of various degrees of anonymity, self will and fitness. Nothing had stuck and I was really getting tired of the bland oatmeal, one boiled egg, a banana and the possibility of a cheese sandwich for lunch. No mayo, no butter, just a slice of tasteless orange amongst two pieces of dry brown bread. Fucking over it!
This last time in the Psych I stayed for at least two full nights, maybe three, hallucinating and keeping to myself, sitting on the 100 square foot caged balcony looking down on some ledges I used to skate as a kid. I never liked those ledges, they were too high and I wasn’t great at skating ledges at the best of times. After I was deemed to no longer be a “threat to myself or others” I was sent upstairs to dry out under medical supervision, then to detox as you have to go there before you can get any further help, regardless of how long you’ve been clean for. That massive flaw in the system is an entire book unto itself and the barriers it creates, they discharged me within 40 minutes and I soon got myself into my second rehab.
It’s here, on a diet of cheese sandwiches and hard-boiled eggs, trading workout passes like smokes on the yard that I began journaling. I kept a diary of my days, my thoughts and surroundings. I worked through a book that would help me visualize my future. I didn’t know it at the time, as the word gets thrown around too often with too little meaning, but I was laying a foundation to manifest my dreams. Manifestation, as I knew it at the time, was something that only people in illogically loose clothing, tank tops with necklines that dip as deep as the rise in their inflection at the end of every one of their sentences.
I had heard of people manifesting apartments by simply looking at ads of apartments, then signing a lease and paying for this manifestation. Or manifesting a dream vehicle by searching ads for the desired vehicle and then agreeing to a price to pay for this dream manifestation. It seemed to me that manifestation was really just capitalism in a beaded mala and rice farmer pants.
Years after that last, and hopefully THE last, turn through rehab I went back and revisited my journals and workbook from this period with no real purpose in mind. Driven by simple curiosity and a desire to see more clearly the road I’ve travelled over the ensuing years I was shocked to see that many of the dreams I had written about had indeed come to fruition. As a drug addict and alcoholic with my back firmly planted on the rock that was my bottom I really didn’t desire much. Financial stability to a degree that I could feed myself without stealing groceries, secure housing, and a peaceful, communicative and supportive intimate relationship. I let myself dream; owning a house and building schools for people in need. All of these were daunting goals far from my grasp, thoughts of failure, self-doubt and resentment would build. But I didn’t have time for that. I wrote down my goals and started showing up for myself. Daily. Weekly, and eventually yearly.
I continued to write, for myself as a cheap form of therapy. To express my dreams to myself. I put my boots on and got to work, throwing myself wholeheartedly at my trade. I was employed by a development company in town but I worked for myself. I showed up early and stayed late to show myself I could. I didn’t cut corners and held myself accountable to rewrite my narrative. I ate well and got to the gym or the yoga studio to keep my body in shape to perform the best I could. I grew flexible and strong and felt good about how I looked. I showed up for myself when I needed to and felt good about it.
When offered a beer after work by a client, I declined and made some self-deprecating joke about my lack of self-control and his house not getting finished if I had a drink. It turned out his godson was struggling with addiction. Over the next few months, we chatted a bunch, I shared my story and things that helped and hindered me along the way. His godson got clean (still is 4 years later) and when this client who has become a great friend of mine started a charity to bring clean water to a couple of villages in Cambodia, he brought me on board as a way to say thanks and saw my work ethic would be needed.
While in Samrong, touring the village and assessing the water needs of the villagers, we came across a run-down house on a large plot of land that was for sale and our Cambodian team lead wanted to buy. She had visions of a school for the children that couldn’t get into the government school, a more reliable and consistent source of health and education. And so, I helped build a school in Cambodia. And bring clean drinking water to hundreds of children and families that have it so much harder than we could ever imagine.
It wasn’t until years later when I went back and looked at those old journals from rehab that I realized I had put that out there. I wanted to help people, not so that I could tell this story now, but out of a genuine desire to live the exact opposite life that I had been living. Lying, stealing and hurting people. I showed up for myself, got vulnerable and shared what I could. I put effort into changing my narrative and kept writing down my dreams. Call it coincidence, call it manifestation, call it whatever you want; but I sure as shit didn’t buy it off Marketplace.
To me, manifestation is something that can be tangible. It can be worked at. Whatever you desire will come to you. Chances are it will not come to you the way you want it to, but if you show up for yourself, it will show up for you. We have to be open to see the signs and take advantage of opportunities. Have our hearts and our minds open. Be flexible and willing to change. Have faith in yourself and take action when needed.
I continue to dream and work on myself. I try to share my vulnerabilities as they give me my strength. Life treats me well and I trust it will take me where I need to go, even though I can’t for the life of me figure out what direction it’s taking me.
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