WELCOME TO SELF-HELP AND RECOVERY FOR BEGINNERS!

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For both men and women, knowing where to begin a better life can be overwhelming. I’m only the doorman to tomorrow. I can show you where to start, but I will not tell you where to go.

“…it’s easier to undertake a journey when the entrance is clearly marked.”

When I first set out to seek out new avenues and new sources for self-improvement, I made a trip to my local book store expecting to find exactly what I was looking for. I didn’t. I stood there facing several hundred choices wondering where to start. Surely someone had written a beginner’s guide, a square one launching point that wasn’t overwhelming. My goal was to find something not only easy to read, but informative and entertaining. I sought plain and straight forward instruction on how to move ahead in my life. I wanted a resource that would offer the basics and inspire me to continue researching whatever subject might stimulate my interest.  After thumbing through several dozen publications, I found out rather quickly my thirst for knowledge was being offered to me through a fire hose. There was no doubt every answer conceivable lay buried in the pages of the volumes I was wavering in front of, but the process of sifting through endless manuals to look for what appealed to me was not one I was eager to attempt. For the most part, each title addressed a specific topic, and that was fine, but my tastes were much more generalized. What I longed for, even though I didn’t know it at the time, were the right questions. Eventually, through trial and error, I became interested in specific authors, various subjects, and diverse teachings. Even though the road I chose was slow and treacherous, I never stopped progressing. There is, however, little doubt in my mind, I’d be a lot further along than I am now if it had been somewhat less intimidating. It is my opinion that the absence of an easy first step keeps many a wandered traveler from finding their way home.

There was a time when I was truly certifiable. I had nothing in my world that someone would have wanted in theirs. In 1995 I was drinking two-fifths of vodka a day. Since July 28th of that same year, I have been in recovery. As the years progressed, I worked on various elements of my character that needed nurturing. My health improved as did the rest of my personal life. Abundance flowed in, while misfortune waned. In the summer of 2007, came one of my biggest wake-up calls. I had hit the high mark of my weight–347 pounds. After committing to a weight loss program early in 2009, I lost over 105 pounds in six months without loss of energy or strength. I now tip the scales at an average of 220. I’ve had heat stroke, carbon monoxide poisoning, viral pneumonia, MRSA (staph infections), pulmonary embolisms, and car accidents. There are those who may use similar events to convince others how unlucky they are; I use them to prove how fortunate I am. I’ve survived these and other temporary setbacks with flying colors. If attitude is everything, then I’m the direct result of the resolute belief that life gets better every day.

My attempt with this blog is not to provide a goal, but rather an introduction. I’m not a scholar, nor am I a counselor. As a matter of fact, I’m a plumber; a blue-collar worker who has no problems getting his hands dirty and breaking a sweat for a living. Hopefully, my background will offer an approachable and relaxed alternative for those just starting out. I know it’s easier to undertake a journey when the entrance is clearly marked. I’ll never tell anyone where to go, but I’ll be glad to talk about where I’ve been and if you want to visit these places, I’ll simply point the way.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

159. A LIFE OF DECLARATIONS

I had no real ambitions as a boy. My motivations were mostly based on doing my best to avoid fist fights in school while trying to sidestep the same type of situation, but worse, at home. Fleeting daydreams of what my world might turn out to be as an adult were fantasies more than goals. Even if I had wanted to pursue a focused future, my parents never planted the seeds of ambition, nor did I give the idea any serious thought on my own. I suppose I wanted it to be related to my predilection for artistic pursuits, but my parents told me straight out that there was no money in such a frivolous talent. Advanced education was seen as something my privileged, well-off friends could (and did) take advantage of.

In my case hindsight is extremely revealing as well as a little spooky because everything I said I wanted to do, actually happened. I clearly recall a pivotal moment in third grade. I was standing around with a bunch of my classmates, all of whom were rattling off what they wanted to be when they grew up, cop, fireman, astronaut, soldier, etc. The standard generic ‘heroes’ at the time were all name-dropped. When it came my turn, I thought some humor would be in order and I gleefully stated I wanted to be a garbageman. Yes, it got a laugh, but I had no idea how much power that tiny declaration carried, and frankly, I didn’t connect the dots until many years later.

One of my first real jobs ended up taking place at elementary school. Somehow, around fourth grade, I wrangled my way into getting paid to help the school janitor, Stu Morelli, take the trash out after lunch every day. I did miss some recess because of it, but I didn’t mind. If I recall correctly my duties netted me about fifty cents a week, which equals about three dollars in purchasing power today, enough to satisfy the mindless wallet of a ten-year-old.

Fast forward seven years and I found myself working night shifts at Target… as a janitor, which is really just a glorified, indoor garbageman. I ended up blindly following this career path for fifteen years, and while I eventually got really good at my duties, which included supervision, ordering supplies, fixing equipment, hiring and firing hundreds of people, and eventually earning the reputation of having the best and cleanest store in the city, my life remained woefully unfulfilled. At this point I STILL hadn’t recognized that my current position in life had aligned with what I had said all those years ago. It was during this time another seemingly random event altered the course of my life.

During lunch on one of our shifts I was sitting in the breakroom with the rest of the crew when the subject of the ideal life came up. I was maybe twenty years old by this time. When it came my turn, I was rather unprepared. I hesitated for a bit and in a moment of speculative inspiration I said, “I suppose I’d love to be in a position to provide jobs and better lives for the people I care about”. Nothing specific as to how to get there came to mind, but the objective came from a place of absolute sincerity. As fate would have it, that’s exactly what happened.

Eventually our employment by Target was terminated and the scope of work taken over by a subcontractor who kept us hired in the same positions. Some years later I was approached by my employer to take care of several Payless Shoesource stores here in town, maybe two dozen or so. At the time I was running janitorial duties in a Kmart and was too overwhelmed with additional obligations to bear the extra load. I had recently hired my roommate to be my lead man since he had lost his job at a tire company. I suggested to management he could possibly shift his responsibilities to earn some extra money and handle the contract himself. They both agreed and he took on the work load swiftly and efficiently, and as he got busier, I soon had to acquire a new lead man. At the time all we were required to do was to scrub and wax Payless’ backrooms, that’s it. However, several weeks later he approached me asking me how to clean their carpets… which was NOT a duty agreed to by our company. A store manager had asked him to do this on the side, so I covertly ‘borrowed’ the necessary equipment and met him at the first store for a training session. As time went on, he picked up more and more side jobs from them. Lock and safe combination changes, painting and repairing walls, parking lot clean ups, building shelving, fixing toilets, basically anything maintenance related, though indoor cleaning services remained the backbone of his income. He eventually took over the contract from our previous employers and he became the go-to guy for three districts, or about 100 stores. When one of the district managers was to be transferred to Seattle, and wanted the same convenient services there, I volunteered to move and work for him to help expand the company.

Within five years he had secured a maintenance contract for the entire company, more than 3,500 stores in several countries. As time went on his only direct employees were eventually limited to the original metro area as he farmed out everything else, basically giving Payless only one number to call when something needed fixed or improved. My own Father ended up an office manager for years for him and two of my best friends were also employed for quite some time. He also approached and acquired Einstein Bagels with the same strategy, though I don’t know if he got the entire chain. Payless is out of business these days, but he was smart enough to see the ship sinking, so he didn’t drown with them. These days he’s pared way down, but don’t fret, he’s well off enough now to not have to ever worry about his funds running out.

I’m NOT taking one iota of credit for his obvious ambition and years of hard, meticulous work, that’s all on him, and thank God for it, but it’s nice to know I had a hand in starting him on the path he continues to walk to this day, and it WAS, and continues to be a manifestation of that spontaneous statement I’d said in the mid-eighties.

The ultimate reveal is this. Everything of significance that has come to pass in my life has been born of some sort of statement. A thought all by itself (which of course precedes everything) was not enough. It turns out what has been voiced, both humorously and solemnly carries some sort of special energy, at least from my perspective. There’s not an event in my life I don’t recognize having as a hand in creating once I’ve spoken an opinion about how my future should unfold, and that goes for outcomes both wanted and unwanted… unfortunately. I don’t even have to dig all that far into my history to reveal those points.

So if you’re like me, be mindful of what you say. You might end up either the richest person in history, or the most miserable person in the lowest gutter. Personally I’m glad I’ve said more constructive intentions than self-destructive ones, and yes, I’ve said, and own, both.

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With Love and compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood


158. DOMINO PROBLEMS

I know the burden of problems, the feeling of a hundred thousand overwhelming issues weighing down upon the spirit, crushing optimism and reinforcing hopelessness. When we are buried in the massive wreckage of addiction, the last thing we want to be reminded of is that all the carnage we’ve caused is irreparable. As a result we keep going, refusing to acknowledge our actions, intentionally ignorant of direction, apathetic to outcome. We run faster and with increased blindness towards an inevitable conclusion, oblivion.

This oblivion we sprint towards has, in its wake, collateral damage of a horrific nature, and our suspicions of this ruin ensure we arrogantly remain blindly on target. Even if we did glance back it would only serve to speed up our irrational resolve. The suicidal vehicle we become does its best to avoid even the slightest awareness of its consequences, and it only vaguely knows its final destination. Ironically, in this situation, we’ve convinced ourselves that self-termination is more welcome than letting the past catch up to us.

This belief, this self-fulfilling prophecy that corrective actions are futile is a conveniently egotistical lie. The proof that this point of view is indeed a lie presents itself in the lives of those who have had the humility to do nothing more than take their foot off the gas and ask someone else to drive. When I stopped drinking in 1995 I was only weeks from death. Weeks. My guess is I had maybe three months left at most. Even I, twenty-eight plus years later, am flabbergasted I’m alive, let alone productive, responsible, and at peace. The truth is I’m NOT one in a million, I’m one OF millions. I’ve gone from the center of the earth to the surface of the moon, and oddly, the trip wasn’t all that difficult.

Yes, the wreckage of our aftermath I spoke of earlier must be dealt with once our course corrects, but it is often not the overwhelming task it appears to be, and there’s an easy way to illustrate this point. Think of our past difficulties as if we were setting up dominos, only the longer we line them up, the larger and closer together they get. It might start with being late more than normal and proceed into treating people rudely, then avoiding debts, and then our health deteriorates, and finally DUI’s and jail time. While this example of a timeline may sound stereotypically simple, the point is still easily understood. The behaviors, unfortunately, are not separate. Once we start, we accumulate patterns, they compound and gain negative power, meaning by the time we are at our most destructive, we are continuing everything all at once. What was once a small storm has turned into a hurricane.

So what happens if we turn around with both courage and guidance and push back on the biggest domino? What takes place if we face our largest set of problems first and tackle them? Well, it eventually loses balance and topples into the one behind it, which, by the way, is smaller. Then THAT one falls into the next one which is even smaller, and so on. The point is that if we correct the largest things first, then by attachment we are on our way to attending to almost everything else. Keep in mind I said they ALSO get closer the bigger they are, so there may come a time when the smallest ones may need a separate nudge.

Let’s illustrate a less intimidating example. Dropping a two pack a day smoking habit, which costs someone an average of six-hundred dollars a month (or over seven thousand dollars a year), not only increases health benefits, but adds funds to take care of possibly neglected bills. In turn this could ease mental anguish and lead to a better nights sleep which produces more energy to potentially keep the house clean and walk the dog. All this comes about from doing the big stuff first.

I get the tendency to look at everything as a group and see a monster we’ve created that’s just too big to handle, but I PROMISE it’s an illusion, one that the ego keeps in place so we have continued excuses for destructive behavior.

At the end of July 1995 I owed thousands from bounced checks. I had burned bridges that needed to be totally rebuilt. My health was, at the time, at a new low, and I had nothing in my future to entice me to keep going. You may not believe this, but it took less than one year of facing my demons to virtually erase all my pervious iniquities. One thing handled led to three, which took care of ten, and then fifty, and so on.  

Keep this in mind. There are legions of people that were worse than you (and me) who have managed to emerge from the dark spiral of desperation and live lives of high value. They stand as steadfast examples of bravery over cowardice, and modesty over vanity. Let their path inspire yours.

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With Love and compassion,

Daniel Andrew Lockwood

157. 28 YEARS IN RECOVERY

It’s been an odd year. My last job was so involved that I’ve had little time to attend to my blog. If you’re from Denver, or you’re a South Park fan, then you know about Casa Bonita, which is really a bit of an indoor carnival/Mexican restaurant. If memory serves, it seats up to seven hundred at a time, so it’s damn big. Since the previous menu needed purged and badly upgraded a world-class chef was also brought on board to revamp the menu. Both her skills and her personality are impressive. The food is indeed much better as are the inner workings of the establishment itself. From May of last year to June of this year I was the plumbing foreman in charge of the remodel. We had to sign NDA’s (understandably) and other paperwork that would allow the creators, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, to turn us into cartoon characters if they so choose. It was a huge challenge and I’m glad it’s over.

During this time I’ve been dealing with hyper increased arthritis, which my rheumatologist says I have in every joint now. I can even feel it in my jaw which clicks and crunches, but thank God it doesn’t keep me from being a blabbermouth, at least not yet. Two weeks ago I went in for a pro-op to get my left knee replaced on August 2nd (the right one was done a year and a half ago) only to find out, in their words, I have massive blood clots in both lungs and behind my left knee. The blood thinners I’m on are causing migraines which are pretty disabling, but they are getting better. Also, because of the clots I have trouble breathing which adds to my energy level being pretty low. For now (but not forever, I like to work too much) I’m on short term disability which is a nice safety net. 

One thing’s for sure, other people are definitely going though much worse than me, in fact the weekend I went into the hospital a beloved coworker was in a horrific motorcycle accident. He’s alive but his injuries are extensive. Another of my coworkers has cancer. They are on my mind all the time.

If all these events are a test to see if I’ll turn back to the bottle, then I’m winning hands down. This path never enters my mind as a way to escape. Last night I had a lucid dream where I was using again. I was lying in bed, knowing I was ‘awake’ and asking myself if my wife could smell my breath while I tried to go to the bathroom without looking like I was drunk. These episodes feel as real as anything in life and it always takes me a while to shake off the illusion. I’ve said it before, my occasional nightmares of slipping are a precious gift that keeps the horror close, even twenty-eight years later.

My wife bought me the item in the picture above. It’s nice she cares and celebrates with me.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

156. FOR ART’S SAKE

I am, and always will be, a fan of art, both as an observer and in practice. I’m an artist myself, one who chooses to express my proclivity through many mediums. These days writing is my main outlet, but I do have a painting and drawing studio in my home, one filled with all kinds of resourceful tools; too many, in fact. My collection is so extensive I had to buy a large upright rolling toolbox in place of a traditional taboret. I own a few easels as well as an ancient drafting table along with its traditional accoutrements. In paintbrushes alone I hoard over two hundred, and I have stacks of various art pads and canvases. I must admit, however, that my amateur skills in this area have waned as I have grown older, and admittedly, lazier. Most of the time they collect dust, but at least they are there when the mood strikes.

Often, when I mention a personal inclination and enthusiasm towards an artistic frame of mind, many of my colleagues will, without hesitation, deny that they have the same tendencies. While I’m hesitant to call anyone a liar, they are, in fact, totally incorrect. The stereotypical and shallow-minded definition of art is not limited to the contents of museums, libraries, and concert halls, it literally saturates our surroundings, and this includes all things both man-made and natural.

The inability or unwillingness to recognize this in everything is a subconscious attitude of apathy towards the world. This choice robs us of a connection from spirit (or imagination) to manifestation, and without this frame of mind, all the work we do becomes nothing more than programming and drudgery. It’s important to point out that almost all of us were, as children, deeply involved in all kinds of artistic activities. Crayons and glue, clay, colored paper and paper airplanes, coloring books and paint were associated with leisure and fun. So was singing, pretending, and looking for dragons in the clouds. This is because we were still connecting to the world from the inside out rather than the outside in. We wanted to reach out to everything at one point and make it blossom, but for many the reverse eventually happens and sadly, we decide our efforts are a waste of time. Instead of creating the rain that makes things grow, we choose to believe it’s better or easier to wait for the right conditions to come to us. We want reward without action, not realizing the reward IS the action. Everyone has an inner garden, and while some have ignored or neglected theirs, they can always be revived to a point of flourishing if properly attended to. The seeds of creativeness may lie dormant, but they are never nonexistent.

Passionate expression isn’t just a personal pursuit, it is an enviable one, meaning the person who’s best at envisioning and subsequently producing something, can often be an inspiration to others. This action radiates magnetism and demands an audience. Not only that, the process is transferable. It can be consciously shifted into other, unexplored, or unconsidered areas. For example, if a person is an expert at restoring cars, there’s no reason this obsessive energy can’t be refocused into becoming a skillful cook. 

They say practice makes perfect. This clichéd saying is its own dichotomy. If practice makes perfect, then the time will come when practice is no longer necessary, and since perfection is both unattainable and highly subjective, then practice is a waste of time to begin with. Personally, I don’t like the word practice. It’s been my experience that the Pavlovian response to the (covert) definition can stir up connections to previously perceived failures, and in turn it can lead to disenchantment and negative outcomes. I feel the word persistence is much more productive and positive. The vernacular may be subtle, but the consequences are obvious. The road of persistence is about the journey, and the only goal is to make the journey itself more and more pleasant.

And so we come to the idea of art in practical applications, not just as an occasional emotional outlet, but as an extension of everything we do. If we allow our inner spirit to influence outer actions, we reinforce purpose. If we apply an artistic frame of mind to most duties they’ll cease to be strictly motivated by gain and eventually become driven by how we deliver them. The side benifit is people will ALWAYS be willing to pay more for that which is done with an attention to detail and a disposistion for beauty. Gain (or profit) then becomes automatic. If we find a way to anchor enjoyment to our responsibilities, then does it not become a habit we want to repeat and enhance? With practice all movement becomes dance, all words become poetry, all we touch becomes sculpture, all we hear becomes music, and all we see becomes one vast painting.


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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood



155. WORDS IN THE DARK

When I was between the ages of nine and eleven, we moved into our third house in Colorado. My new room in this home happened to be in the attic. It was small, but the entire floor was all mine. Between first and tenth grade we ended up living in no less than nine places, so looking back, there was a decent variety of spaces to compare it to. I imagine this one ended up being the most memorable because of the privacy it provided. It had its own full-sized staircase with a door at the bottom. There was also a window that faced the backyard which not only helped to give the room a complete feel, but, when necessary, eased the hot summer nights and allowed the droning of crickets to fill an otherwise extreme mountain silence. My parents rarely came up as it was just big enough for my twin bed, a dresser, and a kid sized desk. If my memory is correct, they couldn’t even stand up fully. This was the best real estate I was to occupy up until I was in my twenties.

Over the stairway was an ancient globe light fixture that had a pull string switch I could reach from my bed. For some reason my father had put a low wattage blue bulb in it, and this ended up being fortuitous. When I needed to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, it was plenty to illuminate the way, but I often used it for more clandestine reasons, reading.

Once I started third grade, I was already quite the reader. Not because it came naturally, but more because the idea itself was intoxicating and therefore a worthwhile and satisfying pursuit. My parents had started teaching me at home when I was quite young, and when I realized what was (possibly) printed on undiscovered pages, it was like discovering new worlds. I’m also sure that being an only child fed into my favorite pastime. For most of my childhood all I really wanted for gifts were books. I recall going to the school library (still in third grade) determined to check out the biggest book I could find and tackle it. Now, I was focused on the BIGGEST, which in my mind meant size, so I’m glad I didn’t go for “The Complete works of Shakespeare” or something of that nature. The one I did pick happened to be “The Wonderful Wizard of OZ”. Honestly, it was a real struggle. My parents helped when asked and I bleeped over a lot of words, but I did make it through.

Soon after finishing the novel we moved into the house I previously mentioned. A neighbor who was a friend of my parents, and was the manager of a bookstore, knew I’d done this and to my surprise bought me “The Marvelous Land of OZ” for Christmas the following year, which is the second book in the original series of fourteen. I had no idea the storyline continued. When I found this out I went out of my freaking mind, and she was thrilled. She also bought me the complete boxed set of “Winnie the Pooh” which I adored. We called her ‘skinny Jenny’ and she was, but I remember her more for being very pretty and sweet. She had no children of her own so I suppose that played into her motives. In any case, Baum ended up as a staple in my library, even to this day. We knew her long enough for her to introduce me at a later age to the “Chronicles of Narnia” and “The Phantom Tollbooth”. The books she enthusiastically gifted ended up being my go-to fantasy escapes for years. To this day “Tollbooth” is still my favorite book.

Most nights, after I knew my parents were asleep, I’d quietly pop on my light, dim though it was, and read for hours, always with mixed feelings of paranoia that I’d be caught, and euphoria that I was getting away with it. At some point I had a little flashlight I used occasionally under my covers (this felt better, probably because it was sneakier) but batteries were hard to come by. One of my other stand-by authors during this time was Thornton W. Burgess who wrote the “Old Mother West Wind” series, which no one seems to remember these days even though he wrote close to one hundred seventy books.

Being read to by various teachers back in the day was my favorite class activity. It easily eclipsed art projects, softball, or even recess, and it too spurned me to continue feeding the habit. Here is where I first heard “James and the Giant Peach” (along with other Roald Dahl titles), “The Pushcart War” and “Half Magic” and at least a dozen other long forgotten titles.

By fourth and fifth grade my path found the Henry Reed series and Beverly Cleary’s collection, which included the joyful “The Mouse and the Motorcycle. “Charlotte’s Web” and “Stewart Little” by E. B. White were there as well. The road of discovery continued later through Edgar Rice Burroughs’ library, which I’ve often called ‘romance novels for guys’. Several hundred of his titles (I was an avid collector for years) in various editions, some extremely rare, still sit on my shelves to this day. As I grew older new interests and more serious publications caught my eye. In the eighties newspapers (remember those?) and magazines, particularly those of a scientific nature, were common distractions. Eventually my tastes shifted into self-help, psychological, and even spiritual titles, especially once I sobered up in nineteen ninety-five. Wayne W. Dyer, Alan Watts, and Viktor E. Frankl are currently part of my ever expanding foundation of influence. Audio books are a large part of my itinerary these days as well, and sites like YouTube provide an almost endless supply of free, previously unconsidered publications. Altogether my library consists of about three hundred audio titles and three thousand print ones, and no… I have NOT read them all.

One thing is certain, reading, whether it’s in tactile form or in audio format, definitely continues to feed my imagination, creativity, and probably most importantly, my intentionally evolving point of view. I hope the journey never wanes. I’m blessed to have had such passionate teachers, friends, and family who guided me into the world of other people’s expression.

And now we come the the point of why I wanted to write this post on a blog that is focused on self-help and recovery for beginners. If you’re feeling empty, lost, or overwhelmed, read, please trust me. Contrary to what one may think, (most) books don’t really take the reader anywhere but inward, to the spirit. They unmask and reveal our inner selves, and that’s the best discovery of all.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

 

 

 

 

154. GRUMBLE, GRUMBLE…

I find it endlessly amusing that those who constantly grumble about others being offended are themselves the biggest group of people who are offended. By opening their mouths, they become instant hypocrites. Not only that, they have no idea they’re even doing it, and when I point it out while trying to keep a straight face, they fall apart like wet toilet paper.

Fun times.

Now, you might find this odd, but I’m not the type of man who sees complaining as a waste of time or even necessarily negative. There’s a genuine reason for my stance, and it’s supported by this observation.

“Nothing ever changes unless someone becomes dissatisfied with how things are.”

This means one must voice a tone of dissatisfaction when it comes to either altering or manufacturing unwanted situations. So far, the idea has neutral energy. Obviously one could become disillusioned and angry with their position in life and as a result, they decide to take actions which turn out to be abusive and unethical. If the chain of events following said declaration hurts or endangers others, then the original intention is doomed to failure. Unfortunately collateral damage along this route is frequent. Jails and prisons are full of people who have instigated paths of widespread and ignorant harm, so there’s inarguable evidence of  an incorrect direction in life. On the other hand, one can look at the world and envision magnifying the needs and dreams of not just themselves, but others, which in my case will usually trigger a colorful and vocal response… in the form of complaining. THIS is the catalyst to all constructive change in the world, and while it has a similar tone to those who practice selfish goals, it has a totally different quality.

The temptation to mindlessly follow the crowd is high, and I’ve caught myself occasionally jumping off the cliff with those who practice such (often covert) self-defeating conduct. I’ve talked about this before, but it seems most people whine because in their minds it includes them in what they think are the voices of reason when in fact it simply adds volume to the problem. Adding problems to problems eventually make for gigantically overwhelming problems. This is why real solutions, however well intended, voiced, or funded, often get buried by the mountain it faces. It doesn’t happen because the solutions aren’t good, it’s because those heaping fuel on the bonfire are blindly motivated to keep the habit going. Why? Because the more people can distract from their own shortcomings by pointing fingers, the more they will continue to do so. The droning of the masses is loudest when it’s convinced spotlighting more problems will eliminate what it is they are feeding. The most common mantra is “We know this is a mess, but wait… what about?” which is akin to tossing HUGE logs into the inferno.

It’s a cancerous loop, and because it often is, we instinctively see complaining as unwanted behavior. It isn’t. What I’m getting at is this, please don’t think you’re complaining needlessly if you actually intend to follow through on creating a positive difference. Everything which has turned the world to a better place has ‘discontent’ as its opening move. This is easy enough to verify, by the way. History is replete with examples of good things happening where the first move was a single voice (or action) offering a needed or inspiring message on the perfect stage. Rosa Parks comes to mind. Be aware, however, that solutions, REAL solutions, will illuminate the REAL problems which are keeping them from manifesting, and this usually means forcing fingers to turn and point at themselves. Enemies, therefore, are unavoidable, and knowing this ahead of time takes courage.

Obviously one cannot extinguish a volcano by pouring a glass of water into it, but if they are brave enough to advertise their action (protest) to a massive and attentive audience, then it becomes the first domino to fall in a chain of inevitability. If we make ourselves a part of a solution which is first expressed by complaint, we generate and demonstrate the best of who we are through intention followed by action.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

153. TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS IN RECOVERY

When I turned 27 years old, I stood at the edge of a cliff. It would be three more years before I sobered up, and the time between the worst of my addiction and my surprising salvation was to be hell on Earth. I started breaking down with tremendous strides, both physically and mentally. My pace back then was a handle of vodka a day. I did, however, manage to keep working, though looking back, I don’t know how. My boss (who I’m still friends with today, go figure) was either oddly sympathetic or just didn’t care. In any case what was required of me, I accomplished for the most part, so repercussions were rare. Since I was a one-man crew and no one else relied on me showing up, I would often blow off my duties in favor of staying home and getting hammered. Putting off my workload was rather easy since it required no sacrifice (other than broken expectations) on the part of the customer, so this “logic” justified my ever-increasing incompetence.

During this period I was sent north to scrub and wax a TJ Maxx in Fort Collins, one of many such similar trips. I usually felt like garbage, but this night was especially tough. After being left alone to my duties I decided to call a hotline looking for help, mental help, and all they did was repeatedly ask me if I was going to hurt myself. I said no several times, but they were persistent with the question. They ultimately asked me if there was anything in the store I could hurt myself with, which startled me. I remember saying I suppose I could take a running start with my head down at a brick wall. When I told them that, they called the police department. Luckily the front doors were locked with just a turn bolt inside (they normally were keyed on both sides) and after talking for a couple of minutes through the glass, I reluctantly let them in. They didn’t officially arrest me, but they did shuttle me to the station after contacting the store manager.

I had acting normal down to a science even when I was falling over inside, and they were surprised to meet with someone who was outwardly, quite calm and stable. I passed a breathalyzer so there was nothing they could charge me with. We talked about my issues but little else came of the incident. They were kind, and after a few hours they brought me back to my truck and I drove home. Looking back these days, I understand why the cops were called. The person on the other end of the phone could not act unless I was a danger to myself, so they played the script they had. I disagreed with their motives, but to them they were warranted.

The horrors of the days to come couldn’t have been described by Dante’. My trips to the bathroom were always a bloody mess, literally. The first time I turned the toilet red I almost passed out from the sheer sight of it. The second time, I didn’t care. My urine was consistently pink, and I could spit blood. Nose bleeds were common too. My bouts of dipteral tremens were exceedingly common, and blackouts, once something I had sidestepped, became the norm. How I managed to live through those times could only be described as astonishing. How I got out was miraculous.

Today I celebrate my 27th year in recovery. Twenty-seven years ago I was a liability to anyone who knew me, and truthfully, to most people I met casually as well. On the 28th of July in 1995 I took my last drink and have been actively in front of my demons since. I have so many things to be grateful for these days and constant practice of this attitude feeds both continued resolve and a life of abundance. There’s nothing on earth I would trade my journey for.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

152. PAYING IT FORWARD

When I was in kindergarten we lived in a modest apartment in Bakersfield California. The couple who resided above us were older and the husband was retired from an unusual job, he had owned and maintained a variety of vending machines which included those small glass encased ones at the entrances and exits of stores designed to entice kids into begging money from their parents for cheap trinkets and bits of candy or, of course, gumballs. Pennies were easy to talk my parents out of, but silver coinage was another matter, so when I did manage to get my hands on larger denominations, my excitement rose considerably. Nothing I managed to buy was all that thrilling, but it was the anticipation of the unknown which made my eyes go wide at the sight of colorful and usually pointless baubles.

One night there came a knock.

“Good evening, I’m the gentleman who lives upstairs.”

My mother let the man in while I bounded towards the visitor with enthusiasm. My fear of strangers at that age was limited to one-on-one encounters, meaning while in the presence of my parents any such apprehension would never have manifested. As he stood there with his hands behind his back, he looked at me and smiled. 

“I have a gift for your son” and with that he produced a good sized plastic bag stuffed with dozens of gumball machine prizes. I was stunned that an almost total stranger would go out of his way to randomly give me something without really knowing who I was. All my previous gifts up until then had some sort of expectation attached to them. My relatives and parents gave me all sorts of things, but they were always because an occasion such as my birthday or Christmas had arrived. This was the first instance of random generosity I had encountered. He went on to explain where he had acquired his stash of miniature toys and thought I’d be happy to have them.

None of the individual items were all that impressive, but the event itself has become one of my favorite memories. As a result of this incident, I too was eventually inspired to periodically give without expectation of repayment, especially to strangers. Every once in a while when the mood strikes me I’ll take notice of the abundance in my life and the urge to share will strike. If the person does know I’ve done something, and they say they would like to eventually repay me, I always say, “just pay it forward.” I’ve occasionally purchased items when the person in front of me realizes they can’t afford everything they’ve picked out. Sometimes I’ll buy the order behind me in line at the drive through. I’ve also bought scratch tickets for whoever’s next in line, whispering to the cashier to tell them it’s a gift.

Other times I’ll be a total nutcase about it and I WILL ask for something in return, but this is rare.

A few years ago I was walking into a 7-11 and a young woman approached me asking for a dollar. One dollar, nothing more. I told her to wait. As finished my transaction and stepped out I said, “I’ll give you the dollar, but first you have to do this.” and I started doing the “old prospector dance”. After a few steps I stopped and went Ta-Dum! With a  dumbfounded expression she informed me she wasn’t going to do that, and I said with a goofy voice and an overanimated gesture, “Then you can’t have it.” She looked annoyed so I made a compromise, “I’ll tell you what… I’ll do it with you.” She sighed and we both started dancing in front of the store. My goal was to get her to at least smile, which she eventually did when we stopped. I then handed her the bill. “Here you go, not only did you get your dollar, but now you feel better too.” Honestly, I think being a dork is in my genes. 

To this day if I have change (or I can bum it off my wife) and I pass by those machines full of juvenile surprises, I’ll buy a bunch and leave them on top for the next kid to unexpectedly find so they too can share in a tiny bit of the joy I felt as a boy. Maybe someone years from now will remember their random discovery and they too will be inspired to pay it forward. 

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

151. ADOLESCENT SENIOR MOMENTS

When I turned eight my parents abruptly informed me that no more allowance was forthcoming. I was somewhat baffled since I had never really gotten one to begin with, so I immediately demanded back pay. I was serious and they thought it was funny. I suppose it WAS pretty funny. In any case they prodded me into generating my own income by suggesting I contact our neighbors and ask if I could do any odd jobs for them. Thus started my working habits at a fairly young age.

I was raised in the mountains of Colorado about twenty miles west of Castle Rock between 1971 to 1980 from the age of seven. The community we lived in was quite spread out and I really was one of those kids who had to walk quite a ways to the bus stop, often in horrible weather. Sometimes going to see a friend took an hour or more before finally reaching them. I didn’t complain because I never knew any better, it’s just the way I was raised. There were, of course, a few kids my age around, but I was close with only two or three over the years. In time the majority of my friends turned out to be those I sought comic book money from by doing various chores. Most of these people were, in fact, senior citizens.

Their names live on in my memories. Ed, Jack, Darlene, Kathy, Paulene and Paulene, Cecil and others had me doing all kinds of things for them over the years. Shoveling snow was usually the biggest one, but often it was gardening, chopping wood, cleaning gutters, hauling coal (a lot of people still had coal fed furnaces) cleaning trash, and clearing weeds.

Jack, the gentleman I eventually did the most work for, had me accompany him once a month to town so he could have someone help him to shop at health food stores, which were, at the time, rare… and for some reason remarkably tiny. Nothing like Whole Foods existed. I used to buy carob bars ( I know, ick… ) and other weird trinkets when I was out and about with him. One of his stops was around the corner from a used paperback bookstore, which for me, was like hitting the jackpot. Forty-five years later the bookstore is still there but the market is sadly, not. Jack definitely needed help carrying his groceries, but one of the weirdest things he’d have me do was swap out wheels on his pickup when the weather was bad. One set had chains preinstalled on them, the other had regular tires. By this time I was in my early teens so my strength and size were more valuable and I could swiftly handle such cumbersome duties. In the winter the weather was often harsh where we lived, but once we had usually reached a lower altitude, increased traction was no longer needed so his solution was to change the chains in this strange manner. Honestly it made no difference to me, there was no judgement on my part because I took any opportunity to get into town and explore. The money I earned was secondary. The saddest thing I did for him involved one of his dogs, which I of course knew quite well. One of them had crawled under his home and died. Jack needed me to get him out of there so I wriggled into the structural space and crept on my hands and knees through all the spiders and bugs. I got a hold of him by his leg, and dragged him free. It was quite a distance, maybe thirty feet or so. Once outside I proceeded to dig a grave. I buried him with as much dignity as I could and placed a makeshift marker in the spot. I cried the whole time.

One of the Paulene’s I knew was the owner of a car dealership and had two homes, one of which was close to my normal school bus stop about three quarters of a mile from my home. One day she asked me to do something strange. Her house was built in such a manner that the foundation walls were in place for a basement, but the builder had, for some reason, filled it back in with dirt, and most of it was to the rafters of the main floor. There was enough room to go down the stairs to a hollowed-out area where the propane furnace sat, but the rest was inaccessible except for a doorway to the back yard directly across from her makeshift mechanical room. Since it was a walk-out design, there was a way to exit the “basement” without going upstairs. By this point you’ve guessed what she wanted me to do, dig out her basement so she could finish it. It was easily a thousand square feet, and to add complications, the heat from system had dried out the soil (for what was likely thirty years or more) all the way to the mantle. I cheerfully accepted, and for the next several months I spent every evening after school digging out that rock hard earth. I’d end my shift with watering down the top so the following day I could scrape off about a half inch. I did waste a lot of time watching TV upstairs as she was really never there, but I ultimately got it done over the course of several months. In 1979 I made 100.00 off that job and walked away feeling like Midas.

Looking back I now see a common thread most of these people shared. Ed Cummins lived in a trailer and had advanced emphysema. Cecil Bookie had a small home in the valley where she sat, retired. Miss Rodgers was pretty much in the same boat as were several others, and Paulene was a widow. Basically they were all… lonely. It never occurred to me then, but often I spent more time just sitting and talking with these people than I did doing whatever they said they needed. Perhaps that was their primary goal to begin with. And while I enjoyed their company I didn’t label it as friendship until much later in life. Looking back I’m glad to say it was mutually beneficial as well as an honor to have served these people.

My understanding is when I left the neighborhood another kind young soul, a neighbor I knew of but was not friends with, took up my services and continued where I left off, so that’s comforting. I’m glad those who relied on me were not left with burdens they couldn’t handle on their own. These days the culture of youth going door to door to ask for work has vanished. My wife and I  have lived in the same home for twenty years now and never once has there been a knock from someone looking to earn a few extra dollars. Perhaps it’s because the comradery I had grown up with in this country has grown increasingly caustic, full of fear and suspicion. Some are faster to grab a gun instead of wield a smile when the doorbell goes off, but perhaps the real truth is many people want to be left alone these days, and that’s a shame, because those who desire solitude will assume the rest want it too.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

150. POSTS ONE HUNDRED THROUGH ONE HUNDRED FIFTY SUMMARY

When I started this blog almost nine years ago it was upon the recommendation of my editor. She suggested my skills in writing, as well as expressing myself, would improve with practice. Hopefully she was correct. I know when I reread some of my old posts they lack a smoothness that later ones do, but self-evaluation is not a good indicator of quality, so my assessment is most likely off. While she is continuing to work on my book, (which is almost done, promise) I cannot afford her services on this forum, at least yet. Some of my favorite entries on this list are numbers 102, 104, 106, 107, 136, and 141. I doubt this entry will get seen by many, but it’s a good tool (one of three now) to see and access all my topics in a condensed format.

Here are 100-150. The titles in bold are links to each page.


101. WHAT’S YOUR CALLING CARD? How people sell themselves, mostly subconsciously.

102. STAYING YOUNG What I’ve done to keep a youthful outlook.

103. A MAD LIB FOR ADDICTS PART 2 Just what it says, fun AND serious.

104. IF I COULD SNAP MY FINGERS My deepest wish, totally serious.

105. TWENTY-THREE YEARS IN RECOVERY Thoughts at twenty-three years, I NEVER write about my yearly anniversary with any aforethought.

106. THE SEVENTH SENSE Explaining my REALLY odd sense of humor.

107. AN UNPOPULAR OPINION The futility of trying to get rid of what’s unwanted. .

108. HOW I STARTED IN A.A. – PART ONE Self-explanatory.

109. HOW I STARTED IN A.A. – PART TWO Self-explanatory.

110. HOW I STARTED IN A.A. – PART THREE Self-explanatory.

111. HOW I STARTED IN A.A. – PART FOUR Self-explanatory.

112. MY SECOND FAVORITE JOKE Gosh, I hope no one is offended…

113. SEEKING HIGHER POWER A.A. themed.

114. PLEASURE AND HAPPINESS How most think these are synonyms. They’re not.

115. THE REAL MAGIC WORD It’s NOT “please.”

116. WHO AM I? Trying to be objective in the mirror.

117. ALMOST DEAD – PART ONE Self-explanatory.

118. TWENTY-FOUR YEARS SOBER Skipping on down the recovery road. 

119. EYES OF WONDER The inner “child” is NOT a child. 

120. ALMOST DEAD – PART TWO Self-explanatory.

121. THE 21ST CENTURY PLAGUE A worldwide self-defeating mindset illuminated.

122. SOBRIETY VS. RECOVERY My definition on the difference between the two.

123. HOW DO YOU FEEL? Learning how to “feel” after years of indifference.

124. OPEN EYES Just a thought.

125. SEARCHING FOR INSPIRATION What works as motivation in my life.

126. LOVE POEM Written for my wife when I first met her.

127. GODSHOTS PODCAST WITH LYDIA CORNELL The first of many to come.

128. LET’S BE WEIRD Why weird is cool, and highly productive.

129. SILVER LININGS IN THE PANDEMIC STORM CLOUDS My intentions if things go south.

130. IN SEARCH OF THE ENEMY Where to find our true adversary.

131. GOODBYE, DAD A few words about my father.

132. TWENTY-FIVE YEARS IN RECOVERY Thoughts on my silver anniversary.

133. SUICIDAL TENDENCIES I’ve been there

134. SILENT RESPONSE Sometimes this is what is wanted most.

135. GODSHOTS PODCAST WITH LYDIA CORNELL # 2 – HOW TO MAKE WISHES COME TRUE Second of three on this list.

136. THE GREAT EXPERIMENT Existence itself approached as a lifelong experiment.

137. MANAGING FEAR Using what we want to avoid to leverage what we want.

138. 10 LIES WE BELIEVE, 10 TRUTHS WE IGNORE Some probable surprises.

139. SEEING 2020 – 20/20 Looking for the good in a bad year.

140. A BRAND-NEW LIBRARY Tossing out my old user manuals and finding new ones.

141. AN EMPATHIC PATH What if empathy was taken to extremes?

142. IF AND WHEN The power of one word vs. the weakness of the other.

143. 26 YEARS SOBER My yearly mindset on this day.

144. PATIENCE The real fuel for everything.

145. THE BRAVEST WORDS Hint, it requires a ton of humility.

146. LET’S TALK TALK Observations and experiences on the skill.

147. A BLOODY CHILDHOOD A painful past does not need to equal a miserable present.

148. IN SEARCH OF PEACE Looking for a precious commodity these days.

149. GODSHOTS PODCAST WITH LYDIA CORNELL #3 The third show I’ve appeared on.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood