Addiction & Play

managing our insides

John Mulaney is all over Netflix right now—at least the version catered to me. I watched David Letterman interview him on My Next Guest Needs No Introduction the other day and was touched by their interaction. I have yet to watch “Everybody’s In L.A.,” but probably will by the end of the day. When “Baby J” (Mulaney’s most recent special) first came out, I watched it three times in quick succession. There are a number of reasons for this:

1. I think he’s funny and have always adored him.

2. Many standup specials have intricate narrative arcs and I like to study how they’re structured.

3. I’m a sucker for an addiction story.

I’m more likely to feel true and complete compassion for someone who is an addict/struggles with addiction that someone who is/does not. They are often the people with the biggest hearts, people with enormous capacity and insight who experience a pretty severe dissonance with the world around them in one way or another (if you have these qualities and are not an addict, you’re still amazing and I’m still capable of loving you and this is not about you).

I also gravitate to addiction stories because I can relate. Maybe not to the extreme tales of public humiliation, but certainly to finding myself in the grasp of something that has an inexplicable power over me. A thing I know I should stop doing. A problem which I only evaluate once my relationship to it gets tenuous, once the regularity has overridden any ability to resist.

I’m drawn to the stories of addicts to better understand my present, but also my past. My family history is riddled with the tales of mental illness and addiction. There’s no question I’ve inherited the gremlin of addiction (I know there is conflicting science about the heredity of addiction, but I feel certain it’s at least partially legacy-related, if not exactly biologically). When someone tells me they have no inner voice who, after two beers, insists on a third, I am dumbfounded.

My compassion for addiction in others is not something I extend to myself as easily. This is pretty typical—shame is a huge enforcer of the cycles. So what I’ve worked hard to remind myself in recent years is this: it’s just best not to give her (me, but also anybody) a hard time about drinking. She (everyone) already knows it’s not great.

I desperately don’t want to be someone just around the corner from her capacities, just on the brink of accessing her potential. I don’t want to keep saying, I can’t write because it’s too dark, I can’t write because it’s too nice out, because the house is messy, because it’s not quiet enough, because it’s too quiet, because I can’t find my headphones, because there are too many people on this entire island I know and I can’t focus here.

A lot of this is ADHD. The two regularly go hand-in-hand for a reason.

We have intricate hierarchies for which mental health concerns are “okay” and what habits/addictions make someone “bad.” But we’re all just finding different (albeit often ineffective and sometimes deadly) defaults and tricks for the basic work of managing ourselves.

How do you respond when your inner life is a jumbled mess?

At the risk of saying the same thing in every post, I do not write this newsletter because I’m an expert in play. Play is not a daily ritual I maintain. I write this as a reminder.

One thing I know about myself is that I’d actually rather be deep in play—making drawings for people, playing the same one song on the ukulele, cutting up an essay I’m working on and gluing it back together—than even a little buzzed. I’d rather be jumping into an endless expanse in my mind and creating things than having a fourth beer in a loud bar. Sober me—actual me—likes being me.

Something I know about the world around me is that marketing and alcohol are powerful forces. From Mommy Wine Time to commercials of joyful dance parties, we receive the message all day every day that alcohol = play.

Does it?

I do and can and have had wonderful, connected experiences and conversations while drinking. There have also been times when I’ve felt so alive and clearheaded even alcohol couldn’t alter a certain sobriety.

I can be a pretty great time while drinking. As when sober, if I remember to, I can bring play to the table when drinking. But the majority of the time, I think alcohol makes me less me, less creative, less optimistic, less honest.

One of the main reasons I haven’t made the jump to a life of sobriety (from alcohol), is that I truly believe addictions matter less when we are able to access source. Don’t we let capitalism and society off the hook when we take on all that personal onus? When it’s as basic as jumbled messes in a world that’s a jumbled mess? I’m aware this arguments is convenient for the gremlin.

What I’m really after is that when I’m playing enough, I don’t even want to drink. When inside the guilt and “shoulds” surrounding alcohol, the idea of sobriety sounds like such a slog—bone-on-bone work. But when half of me is wrapped up in a creative project, I’d rather be there. In those moments, sobriety is a no-brainer, doesn’t seem hard. When I’m tending to the dynamic clutter that is my insides, alcohol loses its power.

In recent weeks I’ve started glimpsing the freedom some people talk about with sobriety. All my human defaults are toward claustrophobia and rebellion, but I’m beginning to appreciate how taking a thing off your plate for all time means freeing up a whole part of your mind from the same old receptive dance. How saying, “never again” actually sounds fun, is the same as saying, “I’m all in.”

Here’s my current on-repeat song. Billie Eilish is a gift to humanity.

Optional Assignment:

Write down—right now—4 things you know make your insides less jumbled when you’re a mess.

If you’re a mess right now, set an alarm for ten minutes and go do one right now.

Maybe later you’re like, “Woof, I’ve had a day. I could use a drink.” Take a quick look at your list. I don’t give one single shit if you drink or don’t or take any other number of substances. I just want to remind you what you already know about yourself.

If you’re already sober, I salute you. You still have to write down the 4 things and do one right now or maybe tomorrow.