commitment, and a vision for the future that Lisa drove me to the Southern California rehabilitation center where I checked myself in at the end of November 2001.
Today, as I tell this story, I am amazed by the events that prompted me to escape the death I was surely facing. Many of my friends from that time in my life did not fare so well, and are now either dead, incarcerated, or still entangled in the web of addiction. I was fortunate to have found an incredibly supportive, loving wife, checked into the best possible rehab for my situation, and encountered the right teachers. The deck was stacked against me, and yet I got another chance, one I didn’t believe I deserved.
I am now a successful, prosperous business owner, mentor, husband, father, friend, and contributor to life. But even after all this time, I know that checking into rehab that day was the best investment I have ever made.
That 28 days taught me how to turn my problems – problems I had believed were insurmountable – into solutions that put me on a path of healing, forgiveness, and happiness. I began to get at the root of my addiction, tracing issues like my own feelings of inadequacy and fear of failure back to my childhood. I took an inventory of my life and my fears, grappling with each one of them in order to divest it of its power. In a difficult month’s time, I emerged a changed man, whole-heartedly committed to starting my life anew, clean and sober, and to continuing to shed the baggage that had landed me here in the first place. And I knew the process had only just begun.
Over the course of that month, I also developed a number of friendships. In a community so close-knit and reliant upon each other, so connected by troubles as we were, you couldn’t help but form friendships. One of mine was with the owner of the treatment center, Chris Spencer (whom I just called Spencer), a recovering alcoholic himself who had turned his life around and dedicated himself to serving other addicts.
Early on in my stay, as he and I got to talking, I shared with him a little about my story – about my “family business,” and what it was like running nightclubs in Vegas. Spencer said we had something in common; he, too, had worked for a number of years in the service industry. He had, in fact, owned a chain of restaurants. We compared experiences, discussing the fact that the service industry is a breeding ground for people like us.
“Back when I was drinking, all I wanted to do was open up restaurants,” Spencer said, rubbing his chin and chuckling as he recalled those days. Then he looked right at me. “Now that I’m sober, all I want to do is open up treatment centers.” Then he stood up, patted me on the back, and said, “Maybe you’ll want to do the same thing.” I chuckled too, and shook my head, dismissing the notion.
Lisa and I did a lot of healing work together through the program, and she had driven down for a weekend to attend sessions with me and my counselor. And we had been able to talk a lot on the phone about what I was going through.
When she arrived to pick me up on my last day, I felt a mixture of relief and joy over seeing her, sadness about leaving what had been a safe haven for the last month, and growing dread over returning to Las Vegas, the site of my destruction.
Before setting out on the five-hour drive home, we stopped at the Dana Point home of my stepbrother (and namesake of my workplace), Dylan, where a holiday party was in progress. While it was nice to be surrounded by family, it didn’t take long for an uncomfortable silence to settle over the party after our arrival. It seemed no one quite knew what to say. I was eager to share my rehab experience with the group, and reveal all the things I’d learned, but when I’d broach the subject, my family members seemed either to visibly squirm with discomfort or act altogether dismissive, as if to say, “Sure, Josh, that sounds great. But we’ll see.” Of course, they’d seen me go down this road a few times, so it was understandable that they would be cautious. After all, we had all made a living from selling alcohol and partying. It was awkward to challenge the very thing that was putting roofs over our heads and food on our tables.
SIDEBAR:
I was proud of Josh for taking this
on and he is correct that we did a
lot of healing work. I was surprised
how easy it was for me to forgive
and let go. I was so ready to
move forward and have this heavy
burden of addiction, this heavy
weight of anger, sadness, and pain
go away that when we processed
with his therapist, I was able to let
it go quickly. I hadn’t felt that good
in years and I knew that letting go
and not holding resentments on
the past would enable us to have
a brighter future. If just he healed
and I did nothing, our relationship
would still be unhealthy. Learning
from, forgiving and healing the past
is an important part of personal
development and being able to
move forward successfully in your
future. Sometimes we don’t know
what we have to let go of. If you
are stuck, take a good look at your
past to see what has to be cleared.
Still I was anxious to get going. After dinner and opening our gifts, Lisa and I packed up and readied ourselves to make a quick exit. We said our goodbyes, exchanged a few hugs, and headed out into the night.
“Wait! Josh! Hold up!” called my dad, who was running down the front steps with a box in his hand. “I forgot this! I wanted to give you both something.” He reached us and stretched his arm out to hand me the brown cardboard shipping box. I looked quizzically at my dad, then ripped off the tab to open the box, revealing a purple and gold box entitled You Can Choose to Be Rich. A slick, salesy photo of the author, Robert T. Kiyosaki, smiled at me from the cover of this set of audiobook CDs.
With a half-hearted smile, I said, “Thanks, Dad,” and handed the box to Lisa with a subtle eye roll. My dad had a habit of buying his kids things he’d seen on infomercials – useless and overly complex exercise gear, motivational programs, gadgets that didn’t work. He’d get caught up in the excitement of the ad and want to share it with us, but it always seemed to miss the mark. This gift, I thought, would be no different.
My dad read all that in my expression. As if reading my mind, he said, “This guy is different, Josh. You’ll like him. I promise.” Then, after waiting a beat
