For a long time, I likened myself to “The Dude” from The Big Lebowski. I was a simple, laid-back guy with a cavalier attitude. A steady intake of marijuana and alcohol bolstered my claim, although I didn’t drink White Russians.
Then sobriety happened, and I soon discovered I was not “The Dude.” In the absence of a steady stream of pot and booze, I was actually a non-dude. Anxiety replaced mellow. Frustration replaced tranquility. I was on edge 24 hours a day in my first few weeks of sobriety.
I’d conveniently forgot the young teen who’d been encouraged to attend anger management classes at the age of 16. When presented with the prospect of joining ranks with society’s rage-a-holics, you might be able to guess how I reacted – angry.
When pot, booze and The Big Lewbowski came along, I slipped into perpetual mellow. Anger dissipated in a cloud of smoke. Frustration melted in a bottle of whiskey. My nickname growing up was “Dink.” And with a newfound formula for internal ease, the Dink abided.