— Gabriel S.
When I was in high school I would watch MTV’s spring break special every year, ecstatically awaiting the charmed college life I would soon be living. No class. Just warm sunny beaches with beautiful women, muscles and success all falling right into my deserving hands. Well, as it turns out … I’m a drunk. When I first figured this out, I was outraged at the thought of abandoning my dreams of frat-stardom. Poor me. Instead of my riotous spring break plans I was now envisioning myself waking up early and brushing my teeth everyday. (I only did one of those things today) I left the idea of having fun in sobriety back in Disney World when I was 11 years old.
Let’s fast-forward a few years. I am a junior in college living happily in long-term recovery and have even rediscovered the blissful state of freedom that I once knew as an overweight child. However, there is still a piece of me at times that will inevitably become jealous of my “normal” friends, living out my old spring break fantasies with impunity. Shortly before spring break this year, as I was listening to them talk about all of the amazing times to come, a thought crossed my mind. “Why not me?” I knew I couldn’t afford to fly out to South Padre with them because money was an issue but that didn’t mean I couldn’t plan my own escape. I called a long-time friend and we set out on planning a spur-of-the moment road-trip to Colorado. My friend, let’s just call him Cole, wanted to go climbing. I wanted to meet up with our mutual friends and hit the streets in search of excitement, but to humor him I happily agreed and said we could work it in.
Two days later, Cole and I were on the road. We had a loose outline of what our trip would be: day 1-climbing Devil’s Tower in Wyoming and day 2- go to Colorado. The rest was up in the air. Climbing Devil’s Tower was unsuccessful due to weather conditions so we packed up and left for Colorado. Upon arrival we met up with our old friend Charlie who was gracious enough to put us up for a few nights. The three of us went climbing the next day. I was feeling a little weary about this endeavor. The last time I tried to climb anything was gym class in 5th grade and I didn’t make it off the ground. (Oh yeah, I’m also afraid of heights so there’s that.) It was a beautiful 60-degree day, the sun was shining and the trees were lush. There I was, all tied in and ready to climb. I set forth and successfully climbed my first pitch. What an unbelievable feeling of accomplishment. After that I was hooked.
We spent the rest of our trip climbing and since being home it is all I can think about. The freedom I felt was unbelievable. Climbing higher and harder routes everyday, I realized something. I’m not afraid of heights! I’m afraid of falling. For years I was so afraid of failure that I didn’t bother trying to push myself to new limits. Instead I just chose to get high and hope that everything would work out. Recovery has given me more gifts than I could have ever imagined. In the recent months I have found a new passion for life. Whether it is rock climbing or my social work classes I am able to go forward without the fear of failure that hindered me for so long. I also have no more interest in my MTV fantasy because I’ve found so many things vastly more fulfilling than that.