I had a friend, Brett. He like to talk about his scars as battle wounds. I liked this very much. Our wounds hold the key to lessons that couldn’t have been won any other way. Its all training.

Yesterday, I was not so well. I did wonderful in every activity, but internally… I could not stop the tape obsessing about the conversation I was inevitably due upon the return of my friend, tenet whose rent I did not have in its entirety. I obsessed about this conversation in every way possible. Multiple forms of blame, waves of self-piety, undeniable fear… I would run these internal conversation by my friends, other people in recovery, my sponsor, and the responses I would receive bound themselves to my own reflection. All things must be lived, accepted.

I could not quiet my mind these days leading up to this conversation. It was a conversation where I admitted defeat. I was given the gift of failure again. I failed my spoken commitment to Mikey. I got to apologize. I got to give him what money I had for rent – half. I was not kicked out of my house. I was asked to leave by Oct. 1st. He refused to sign my renters assistance housing verification. I got the opportunity today to appear before my case worker without his signature and now, according to their records, I am homeless because I cannot verify my address. Super humbling. I told her that my roommate would not sign the form because he believed continuing my relationship to aid further enabled me. I believe this… And at the same time feel a sense of punitive disregard for my circumstance. It is a rich space. He told me that the old Adam relies on aid and that the new Adam does not. He’s very right. I’ve gave up being right when I began my recovery.

I was texted messaged today asking what I planned to do about housing come Oct. 1st. I laughed out loud at some point on my bike thinking about the last year of my living arrangements or lack thereof. There were some days where I had no idea where I would sleep that evening. I never really feared. I would experience bouts of anxiety about my homeless situation, but I had some acute awareness of my own powerlessness which made me strong in faith. Strong. It is paradoxical in that way. I have nothing to worry about and this is a revelation. It was the thrill of powerlessness that I sought with such addictive vigor. True powerlessness is absolute freedom and faith in God. Refined, Distilled, Pure, Cultivated.

Today all my thoughts were at rest. I woke up and stepped with peace. Every action… effortless. Workout with Sebastian. Sweat. Sun. Ride to GA office, approved for 59.00 a month as a homeless, able citizen of San Francisco. Ride. Eat Subway. Hair Cut with Erran. Sweat smells of shampoo & conditioner, nurturing words of agreement – the power of Spirit find us where we’re at; I will have a job. Handsome Head. Ride. Wind. Sun. High Noon. Got to share. Collective Recovery IS. Ride. Deliver rent checks, shower, dress for success. Ride. Resumes. Connection with former employeer Scala’s – they are actually hiring servers – man… I made great money there in 08. Ride. Film – Borne Legacy. Ride. Training at Glide. Ride Home – the home I have for now I carry with me.

We pretend like things aren’t in their place. We change things all the time. And still… as Winston Churchill insisted: “The truth is incontrovertible, malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end; there it is.”

I am more and more on the side of destiny. I remember when I beat myself about turning down a job back in April 2012. I went home to Chattanooga, TN. The day after I arrived my grandmother died – June 12th, 2012.

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