Chapter 1: Morning Rituals and Reflection

At 6:12 a.m., I find myself awake, having been roused from a vivid dream that left me feeling unsettled. Despite the absence of a tangible reason for my discomfort, I'm filled with anticipation for my morning routine: brewing coffee, hydrating, and then settling down to ponder the night’s dreams while I read. I often wonder if I will ever grasp the complexities of myself and the world around me.

Once I shake off the remnants of my dream, the sound of the coffee maker beckons me. “Cliff, I’m ready for you. It’s time to start your daily coffee buzz.”

The timing of the brew varies; sometimes it feels like an eternity, while other days it aligns perfectly with my journaling. Today, however, the coffee is ready just as I finish my entry. Instead of dwelling on last night’s unsettling dream, I immerse myself in a book titled Storycraft, Second Edition: The Complete Guide to Writing Narrative Nonfiction by Jack Hart. It’s quite an enlightening read.

As I embrace the stillness of my morning ritual, my inner writer nudges me: “It’s time to write, Mr. Seat of the Pants.”

Before heading to my office, I fill my cup with my fifth serving of medium roast Scandinavian blend coffee from Sprouts. I ponder the idea of being “high” on coffee and question whether I might be developing an addiction. After all, it’s just coffee—a morning companion unless I need to stay awake late for a dinner in a sparsely populated restaurant. It seems older folks prefer early meals, and with the world now calling me "Sir," I must look quite aged. Thankfully, I have learned the beauty of acceptance.

My trusty Keurig tells me I’ve brewed 12 cups, though I often doubt its accuracy, much like my past habit of ordering two drinks in one go. My wife would ask, "Is it normal to order two at a time?" I’ve grown comfortable with that voice, which is far gentler than the one I used to hear, criticizing me for never being “enough.” In my youth, I sought solace in alcohol and marijuana to numb my feelings. Coffee, however, never serves that purpose.

For those raised in an Irish Catholic environment like mine, where fear, guilt, and shame were esteemed, you might relate to my former relationship with substances. I vividly recall my first drink at 11, when a half-full glass of chardonnay left by my mother seemed to call out to me. “Chewy, drink me! You’ll feel better about the world.” Chewy was my childhood nickname, and even today, my friends from Laconia, New Hampshire still use it.

I used to consume alcohol excessively, often finding myself day drinking on the golf course, where many would perform poorly despite their lower handicaps. The harsh reality is that excessive drinking is the true handicap.

Chapter 2: Substance Reflections

I was a typical drinker, using alcohol to escape my daily struggles. Growing up, my family made “cocktail hour” a nightly tradition, which served as my early training ground. The older I became, the more I relied on alcohol to cope with a world that increasingly felt chaotic. If there had been a sport for Keg Racing in college, I would have been the captain. Although drinking made me feel temporarily okay, the relief was fleeting, often replaced by deeper feelings of despair. Alcohol, a depressant, took a toll I eventually recognized.

If alcohol was like a cousin, marijuana felt like my best friend. I first smoked weed around babysitters in the 70s—Connie and Bill—who would indulge as soon as my parents left. The sweet scent of burning cannabis was irresistible, and I longed to join them. Unlike alcohol, marijuana doesn’t depress or stimulate the central nervous system. I once read about its effects, and against my better judgment, I found myself falling back into old habits.

The author of that piece wasn’t a medical expert but a mother who found relief through marijuana for her afflicted child. This led me to believe that it was okay to indulge again. Cannabis often transported me to a realm of creative thoughts, albeit many were delusions. The absence of hangovers was a welcome change from the aftermath of wild college parties.

These days, as I lay my head on the pillow, I recite my go-to mantra: “I love you, I’m sorry, please forgive me, thank you.” I am thankful for my sobriety, with coffee now being my sole indulgence.

This powerful prayer, borrowed from Joe Vitale's Zero Limits, originates from the Ho'oponopono tradition, offering a path to healing. I’m grateful that the only substance I rely on today is coffee. It has taken years to master the art of sober living, embracing the philosophy of “living life on life’s terms” that I learned in 12-step meetings.

While some days challenge me more than others, I’ve come to accept myself, which lessens the world’s burdens. This acceptance has been one of the greatest rewards of my journey. People and situations that once triggered me now have less power, which is a significant shift for someone who once struggled with control.

Sure, many creatives believe that substances enhance their work, and I respect their choices. However, after years of experimentation, I've discovered that sobriety is what truly benefits me. Whether writing, painting, or engaging in photography, life is much richer in clarity when I am sober.

In conclusion, coffee is my ally, giving me the energy to tackle the day. I can enjoy my medium roast without fear of legal repercussions, unlike marijuana. While I support the decriminalization of cannabis, I recognize its valid uses—both medicinal and sacramental. As for me, I’m neither ill nor saintly; I choose to remain sober.

Living a balanced life, free from excessive substances, has proven to be my path to clarity. I’ll check on that last cup of coffee now, and if it's cold, I’ll accept that I’ve reached my caffeine limit. My journey through addiction has made me a more compassionate person, and for that, I am eternally thankful.

Welcome to my ongoing journey of awakening and finding peace through sober living. Now, it’s time to feed my rescue dog and see how that last cup of coffee fared.

Thank you for reading, commenting, and sharing. When I’m not coaching emerging entrepreneurs, I focus on enhancing mental wealth and quality of life through writing, speaking, and advocacy. Explore more at www.CliffordJones.com, or subscribe to The Clarity Letter on Substack.