I had never been able to drink like others.

I could never stop at one drink.

I was sick, in every aspect of the word, and weighed only 137 pounds. In comparison, I am the same height and now weigh 220 pounds.

I had been given many chances to get sober, and was never able to do it.

Another treatment center. Another night of drinking the same day I left.

One year after that, I felt ill. I saw colleagues and friends my age lose their lives because of drinking. I tried to stop on my own, and it never worked. Not even for one day.

One of my Navy shipmates, whom I met in treatment, came home for the holidays. I hadn’t seen him in over a year. During that time, he had gotten sober. In fact, he had stayed sober since he left treatment!

It was all in his eyes. They were clear. His smile was genuine. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I first saw him when picking him up from his ship.

We went out. He told me about the last year. He was OK with me drinking. As he talked about the joys of sobriety, I kept drinking.

A few days later, I was drunk and lost. Lost, as in I had left a Christmas gathering in Richmond and ended up not in Norfolk. I had no idea what happened, where I was, or how I got there (I was, fortunately, still in my car). After coming to, I drove around and soon was back on I-64 heading back to my ship.

A couple of nights later, I was sitting in the enlisted club. I was soon drinking in my usual manner. I think it was kamikazes that night. It never really mattered. A Simple Minds video, “Alive & Kicking,” played. I knew I was f**ked.

I decided to leave the club and go to the Navy rehab center on base. They told me about a meeting I could go to that was starting in about 30 minutes. I headed to the meeting.

The meeting had already begun when I walked in. I saw an empty seat and sat down, quickly moving an ashtray towards me and lighting up.

I didn’t understand anything I was listening to, even though I had been in dozens, if not over one hundred, meetings before. I listened to each person intently, as if my life depended on it.

The meeting wrapped up. They offered chips, starting with a white chip. I knew what that was and that it was for people who wanted to begin their sober life. I picked one up.

I still have that chip.

People welcomed me, and their welcomes felt genuine. One woman approached me and invited me to an alkathon the next evening, which happened to be New Year’s Eve. That invitation would make an incredible addition to my early sobriety.

I went back to my ship and immediately went to sleep. The next morning was a workday, and while I did what was on my list, I began to panic about my decision to be sober. As 24-hours since my last drink came and went, I headed to the alkathon. In a matter of minutes, I was surrounded by hundreds of sober people, many of whom were around my age or a little older. At 19, I was drawn to other young people.

The alkathon was a series of meetings, plus dancing. It was an incredible way to spend my first full day of sobriety. I met so many fellows on a sober journey, people who had weeks of sobriety to over two decades. I left feeling hopeful. This was the first time that I felt hopeful that I could grasp sobriety. It was an odd feeling. Along with hope, I left with a meeting list.

The next few days, I began the terrifying process of getting sober. In that first week, there were constant thoughts of thinking I had gone overboard in picking up that white chip. I was drawn to the places I drank. And amidst all of that, I went to a meeting every day. There was one day I went to two!

I started picking up suggestions from well-meaning people in the meetings: get a sponsor, 90 meetings in 90 days, no matter what, don’t drink, etc. At that same time, I started hearing what I would hear for years: that I was too young to be an alcoholic. The funny thing was that I agreed with that. It’s what kept me from sobriety. Why couldn’t I drink for twenty or thirty years like so many I was meeting in the meeting rooms?

About thirteen weeks later, I drove to a meeting that I had decided was my home group. I was filled with excitement as this was the night I was picking up my 90-day chip. Unbelievable.

During those 90 days, I was filled with joy and with terror. I hit the point where I knew I wanted sobriety more than anything, quickly followed by agonizing thoughts of not being able to do it. What sticks out more than anything, and something I can happily say is still the reality for me today, is the long list of people who consistently reached out and showed up in my life. No matter what was going on.

Forty years later, while writing this, the memories flood back of those first days and weeks of sobriety. I’ll be 60 in a couple of months and have had quite the life, one I don’t think I would have had without getting sober.

I hope to have many more years, and as they say in the rooms, if I do today what I did yesterday to stay sober, I have a great chance at staying sober today. And even though I have been sober for quite some time, I never take it for granted, and I know what I have to do to get another day.

I am forever grateful to so many in the rooms of AA, especially Matt, Kay, Fred, Dee Dee, Mike, Spencer, Walt, Mutt, Eric, Wendy, Felix, Tim, Lil, Kathleen, Joey, Doug, Scott, Jennifer, Sasha, David, DeeAnna, Paul, Dan, and Wendy.

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Go Vegan. Vote. Be Kind.