Learning to Cuss

When I first learned to cuss, it was a riotous, embarrassing affair. I’d bucked the trend for a long time—holding on to this one standard while others fell away.

But I gave in a little. Because I was surrounding myself with questionable characters.

It’s the same story with so much of my life’s course. The ol’ peer pressure stuff ends up being more true than not. And the costs and consequences get ratcheted up as life goes on.

It’s unlikely I would have progressed into the full scope of my addiction as quickly (or at all?) if I had been hanging out in different crowds.

People, places and playgrounds. We’re told to change them all when we enter recovery. It’s common sense. My chance of long term recovery dramatically increased when I was removed from everything and transplanted into a new community.

Geographic cures are a myth, but geographic change is like a booster shot to early recovery if our willingness lines up with it.

Wherever I am, I am there. And there will be choices to make, people to follow, places to avoid.

The conscious effort to choose wisely, though, makes the difference. To strive to put aside the old ways of thinking. I couldn’t do it alone; I couldn’t do it perfectly; I couldn’t imagine doing it forever.

But I was willing to make a beginning. I was willing to ask for help. I was willing to listen. I was willing to pray. And that was enough to start.

God, keep me free of enticing distractions.