In my work with people who use drugs, I often talk with people who are filled with regret, shame, and deep feelings of sadness about where their life is. One of the joys of my work is being a part of people moving from this place of unhappiness to a place of significantly more joy. This extends beyond just drug use. At heart, I am fairly optimistic, and believe in people’s ability to learn, to grow, and make peace with themselves.
Bad endings
While I hope this for everyone, I also get a first row view of what happens when this growth does not happen. In addition to getting a front row seat to stories of tremendous growth and transformation, I also have a front row seat to people doing poorly, to not transforming, to staying stuck in misery. And many times, I see people remain in a fairly tortured place until their final day.
Many lives, many stories, do not have a happy ending. We don’t all find redemption or peace, learn and grow, or get to look back with peace on the time we spend on this planet. On some level we all know this, but it is an uncomfortable reality. The fear that we might live a life we ultimately regret is at the root of much of our anxiety, our disquiet, our drive.
Looking Away
Because this is such an uncomfortable possibility, we tend to turn away from it. We tell ourselves that things will work out, that we will eventually do the things that matter, that we will repair what needs repairing. But these reassuring stories can themselves become a way of avoiding the possibility that they might not. Our own mortality is uncomfortable in itself, but the idea of a life poorly lived is scarier still. We think about what we can do to avoid that possibility, but we rarely sit with it directly.
We usually know (or at least have a good idea) of what we need to do. We know that our relationship is suffering, and have an idea of the direction we need to move to repair it. We know that the path we are on is hurting others, but we don’t step off it. We are clear that the drugs are causing problems, but we can’t give them up just yet. When we survey our life, we often know where the work needs to be done– and often, we don’t do it. The distance between what we know and what we do is often the root of our suffering.
There are different reasons for this. Perhaps we know our marriage needs repair– but we don’t know how. Perhaps we know the drugs need to stop, but we’re unsure how to start. Knowing the direction does not mean we have clarity about the next step, but we do not need to know every step before we begin moving. Some of our deepest regrets come from knowing what matters and never moving toward it. And often, this work takes years. There is a particular tragedy in watching someone finally begin to move in the right direction, knowing there is still a lot of work ahead, and then watching them run out of time.
This is not a moral failure or judgement. Turning towards those areas of pain are painful, scary, and difficult. Moving towards them requires courage, kindness towards ourselves, vulnerability and risk that we might get hurt. There is no guarantee that it will work. That is perhaps the hardest part of all– we might show up to do the work, and find that in spite of our willingness, things still do not go as we want.
Postponement
The danger of postponement is not only that we might run out of time. Our lives continue while we wait. A relationship does not remain where we left it while we avoid addressing it. Distance grows, resentment builds, avoidance becomes habitual, addiction deepens, and fear shapes more of our choices. The things we postpone do not simply wait for us; they change while we are delaying. Waiting has a trajectory, and inaction moves us somewhere, even when it feels like we are standing still. The consequence of delay is not necessarily catastrophe, but accumulation. If our marriage deteriorates for five years because we never address it, we have not merely “failed to fix it.” We have participated in its trajectory—not because we consciously chose to damage the relationship, but because we repeatedly chose not to change its direction.
This is not an argument for living as though every day might be our last. It is not a call to seize every opportunity, rush to resolve everything that matters, or make some dramatic gesture. Those actions can matter enormously. Sometimes one conversation really does change something. But many of the deeper challenges we face are not resolved by a single action. The significance of that action is often in what comes next. When an important relationship has been ruptured, picking up the phone may not fix it, but it may begin a series of conversations, showing up, working on things, and moving in a different direction. The first step does not guarantee an outcome, but still matters because it may be the beginning of a new direction.
Accumulation
We often think that one dramatic decision can make or ruin our lives, but the reality is that our lives are generally built around the daily decisions to build– or avoid– the things we know are important. We don't need to know how the story ends, but we do need to pay attention to which way we're moving. We often do not know all the steps– or sometimes even the next step– but we do know the direction. That might be enough. Readiness often follows movement rather than preceding it.
Watching people spend years of their lives trapped in patterns they know are hurting them is exquisitely painful. Bearing witness to this is one of the hardest parts of my job. Because it is so painful, most people look away from it. But looking away does not make it disappear. We might all live with less regret if we spent more time really sitting with the natural outcome of continuing the patterns we know are hurting us.
The saddest stories are not about one terrible decision, but about years of knowing something needed to change and repeatedly waiting. For example, relapse can paradoxically be a trigger for enormous growth– the decision is not good, but the overall direction can continue to right. Mistakes can be clarifying, a catalyst for more growth. A setback in the right direction is less worrisome than a single good decision on the wrong path. The most tragic stories to me are the ones where the accumulated direction never changes.
What if the rest of your life looked a lot like your life does now? What if the things you've been meaning to change, repair, or pursue remained where they are—not because you tried and failed, but because you kept putting them off? Sit with that possibility. Not as a judgment, and not as a prediction. Just as an honest look at the direction of where things are now. We cannot control the ending. We can spend years trying to repair a relationship and still have the other person choose not to reconcile. We can do the work of recovery and still struggle. We can pursue something that matters deeply to us and still not get the outcome we hoped for. But there is a difference between trying and failing and never really trying. There is a difference between struggling while moving toward something and struggling while moving away from it.
Love,
Doc
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