When the Mission Gets Scrubbed

Life can blow at any seam, and at some time or other we all find ourselves lost in space. But we don't have to travel alone.

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"Houston, We Have a Problem"

The holidays are hard for everybody. The older I get the more I think that there aren't many exceptions. This year has been particularly brutal for a lot of folks I know. Unexpected deaths. Illnesses. Broken relationships. Lost jobs. And then, of course, there's the standard holiday fare: out-sized expectations that can't possibly be met. Not by others, and not by ourselves. And loneliness, which may be the worst of all.

As humanity lurches blindly forward, as our lives become more virtual and less actual, we're rapidly losing touch with what it means to celebrate the miracle of human love and connection in a cold, dark world. The old rituals fail to satisfy, and mass consumerism becomes less fulfilling and more competitive with each passing year.

Social media robs us of the ability to experience the present moment, as it shifts us from living our lives into curating them for future consumption. Connectivity increases exponentially, but actual connection dwindles.

The bright lights and celebratory spirit of the holidays should be life-affirming; a wonderful respite from the darkness of winter. But for so many of us they're only a reminder of something we've lost; a job, a loved one, a life partner. Maybe the loss of physical mobility, or the ability to enjoy a few drinks without negative consequences.

A friend of mine calls the stretch from Thanksgiving to New Year's the "Alcoholic Playoffs", because with each new holiday the stakes ratchet up, and each celebration is sudden-death. Succumb to the pressure and you're out for the season, maybe for good. The way people push cocktails and good cheer can make relapse extremely hard to avoid.

When I first got sober I felt like I'd lost an essential part of myself-- like the life I'd always known had been ripped away. In its place was demoralization, weakness and embarrassment. The prospect of never being able to take another drink felt a bit like a death sentence.

I did have to eliminate drinking from my life, but today I see things completely differently. The “death” of my old habit has led to an unbelievably satisfying new way of life, but there was a cost involved. I had to accept that the old way of doing things was a dead-end. I had to be willing to let my ego die, to discover a new set of values and a new sense of myself.

Today I meet a lot of folks whose lives have been run into the ditch by booze or drugs, and they've usually fucked things up pretty badly before they're willing or able to ask for help. People don't tend to come to sobriety riding the wings of glory.

The Mission Has Been Scrubbed

When I chat with someone still raw and hurting I frequently think of the movie, "Apollo 13." There's that great scene where a small explosion on the ship leads the guys at Mission Control to realize that not only is the scheduled moon landing off of the table, but that the oxygen is running out, and odds are that the astronauts won't even survive.

The problem is assessed, but no solution presents itself. And so the guys at NASA fill a box with every single piece of gear and equipment the astronauts have access to in space. Dumping it all onto a table they determine they have to find a way to make a square peg fit into a round hole.... with only the items aboard the spaceship.

The old mission has been scrubbed, and now there's a new mission; simply to make it back home alive.

Seeing your plan get scrubbed isn't limited to those struggling with addiction, of course. Life is fragile, and it can blow at any seam for any of us. Those of us who’ve had children diagnosed with neurological disabilities, or born with other challenges face the same struggle. Grief for the lives they won’t ever lead, and a need to dig deep within ourselves to find the emotional resources we‘ll need for the new journey.

For some it’s a death, or an infidelity. A layoff, or a promotion that didn’t come. The death of a loved one, a partner or, God forbid, a child. Most of us who pursue careers as artists are likely to meet sooner or later with a level of failure that we simply cannot overcome. For each actor friend I’ve known who’s grabbed the brass ring in Hollywood or New York, there are a hundred who flamed out early, or who stayed in the game a few years longer than they should of, with no fallback plan or security. The world feels terrifying and unfair to all of us at some point.

We've all had something blow at the seams, a sudden explosion that’s forever altered the trajectory of our lives. Lost in space, we’ve had to find a way to let go of the old plan, the old idea, the old reality, to embark on a new mission. An unexpected journey to find our way home-- a new home-- relying only on that which is already within us to keep us alive.

An Inside Job

We can ask for help and guidance, and we should whenever possible. But this new mission can only be completed with what‘s inside of us. We will need to break things apart, re-purpose them in unexpected ways, sacrifice any concern for how it might look from the outside and find the new connections that will keep us alive.

Some people can't make it. Or won't. The explosion might be too big. They might not be able to find the essential tools within their vessel. They may lack the courage to rip apart the things which no longer serve them. But the new mission always requires destruction before we can rebuild.

We have to sacrifice that which no longer serves us completely, with the understanding that it will be gone forever. Or at least forever altered. But if we do, we'll discover resources we never knew we had; we'll find that all we need is already within us. Salvation is an inside job.

But we never have to go it alone. For nearly every challenge in life there is a corresponding version of Mission Control. A hospital, a church, a clinic or a twelve step program. A community that has intimate, firsthand knowledge of what’s inside of us... because they've already discovered it within themselves. If we can calm ourselves, listen with an open mind, and follow instructions carefully, we can recreate the solution for ourselves.

Even if such a community isn't present, we can tune in to find that soft, still voice that's always broadcasting deep within. This is an echo of the eternal sound, the original cosmic vibration. It's always there, always accessible, always life-affirming. But most of us need a Mission Control to help us tune in, and to guide us along the path. It’s never without risk, and fear is a frequent companion, but if we're open and willing we can do what seems impossible.

We can accept a new mission.

No matter how far out we’ve gone, no matter how cold and isolated we’re feeling, there’s always a way to right the ship. Every single one of us can find something inside we can shape and modify to fit the hole that’s within us.

Life can blow at any seam. And yet, miraculously, it usually doesn’t. And there's always a path back home. Even if it’s a new home, a home we never wanted or expected. It will be ours, and we can make it beautiful.

We just have to be able to recognize it when we've blown a seam, and be willing to admit, “Houston, we have a problem.” If we're brave enough to follow the directions offered by Mission Control, we will make it home. Maybe even in time for the holidays.