sober at the bookstore
I started working at the bookstore in October, after working at the farm and feeling completely unsure about what I would do with my life. I know this sounds insufferable, and maybe it’s extra insufferable to be aware of it. But it is true because it’s what I felt.
And so I got a job at the bookstore and I spent many moments feeling very weird because I had recently became sober. Such a strange phrase because does someone “become” or “begin” sobriety? Do I dare refer to it as a “journey”? Is that insufferable too?
I unpacked boxes, I labelled books, I talked to customers, I counted coins. I freaked out in the literature section and the travel section and the baby section. I found the elusive copy of the book others swore we couldn’t find. Other times I gave up after looking for just one minute. On bad days I dragged myself behind me, the me that didn’t feel up for it, that couldn’t count properly or stand & smile when all I wanted to do was REALLY say how I was feeling when asked “how are you” by a very well-meaning customer. On good days I refilled the coffee carafe so my coworkers could have some too, I smiled at every baby that came into the store, I treated everyone like they were having a bad day because maybe they actually were.
In the travel section I sit at my desk, flipping through The Untethered Soul by Michael Singer - (my soul is sooo fucking tethered, I think). A woman around my age walks over, begins perusing at the spirituality section behind me. “Can I help you find anything?” I ask. “I’m looking for the book that will finally fix me.” She says. I show her the cover of my book and laugh and say, “I think that’s what I’m doing too.” I watch her read the title quickly: “I tried that one. It didn’t work.” She says she’s looking for Radical Acceptance by Tara Brach. I know exactly where it is, I pull it off the shelf and hand it to her and then say “you’re not broken, you know.” And then I ramble on about how I’m here reading my book because I think it can fix me and she’s buying that book because she thinks it can fix her and someone just came in an hour ago for the same reason and maybe if all of us feel broken none of us actually are?? She buys the book and leaves.
“when does sobriety get better reddit” I type into the incognito Google Chrome tab on the work computer. I gotta know. It feels hard and bad and weird. I read through dozens of comments, ignoring the people who said it took them three months to feel better because I’m four months sober and still kinda feel like shit half the time. Around January things start to feel a bit better. It’s slow progress and everyone on reddit keeps saying stuff like “five miles into the forest five miles out.” I put away books in the Psychology section lingering for too long in the Addictions subsection. I read the spines and flip through the pages and take photos of graphs explaining why it feels so good to drink & why sobriety feels so bad to start.
I take me with me wherever I go no matter how I feel. I make myself go for runs when it’s -40 out, I make myself eat when I don’t want to. I tell myself that we are going to be OK even when I don’t believe it because somebody has to. I drag me behind me on days I want to let go. I eat too many frozen pizzas but I class them up with red onions & cremini mushrooms. I try every single non-alcoholic beer at the grocery store in the mall. I get sober/am being sober at the bookstore.
Late for work, walking to my desk with a black A&W coffee (one time I asked for milk and it for-real tasted sour) and beside the desk is a guy with a hat. He’s looking at the John Elizabeth Stintzi book Bad Houses. I say “hello” and sit down at the desk & drink my coffee. He puts the book back and says, with real genuine sincerity: “I just want to say thank you for saying hi to me.” I say “Oh what the heck, of course!!” with too much enthusiasm probably. He leaves and I think OK I wonder how many times this person has not been acknowledged, been made to feel invisible. I wonder what’s going on in his life for him to be moved enough by a “hello” to not only think that it meant something but to say it out loud. I wonder how small the world must make him feel. How small it makes all of us.
An old man at the cash register asks me what’s going on with Salman Rushdie. I say “WHO?” And then he says “Salman Rushdie?? The author??” and then he pauses for dramatic effect before saying “How can you not know who that is?? You work at a bookstore for christsake.” My mind is going a million miles a minute, trying to come up with the sickest comeback in the world but all that comes out is, “I only really know about Dr. Seuss.” Sick. But rather than placating him my response infuriates him and he says, “Come on, you’re lying!!” and then I say “No, sir. I don’t even know how to read.” (??) And then he leaves. End of story, I guess.
In early November, just a few weeks after starting this job, a customer buys me a book. It’s a surprise and it’s kind & lovely. The interaction which led to the gift-giving is one where she asked me to show her the book Women Who Run With the Wolves. I say Yes I can show you I know exactly where that is and I’ve always wanted to read it. I tell her about the book Succulent Wild Woman by SARK which came out the year I was born and is a bible to me if bibles were written in crayons. We talk about succulence and ferality and trying to figure it all out. As the conversation ends I tell her thank you and I’m so excited to read Women Who Run With the Wolves one day. I go get tea from the backroom, I take my time, I talk to a coworker. When I return to my desk I see a copy of the book (!) with the note: Riva - enjoy succulently. A gift, an offering, a prayer from her to me as I was just beginning a new way to be, as winter was just starting, the sun had already set.
And then, suddenly - spring. And blue. And light. And the place looks the same but the feeling is different. The parking lot is a deathtrap with all the melting and thawing and melting and thawing. First sober spring in years, like for real. Going on walks now I remember how I couldn’t imagine going on one without a water bottle full of wine. The action is the same but the feeling is different. The big thaw of sobriety happens slowly and then all at once. I say about my drinking: it was so fun until it so wasn’t. And when it wasn’t fun it really, really wasn’t fun. Brain chemistry changing. Probably for the better. Sky becoming bluer. Pain becoming lighter. Old dog learning new tricks, I guess! The whole world feels like it happens at the bookstore. I see it all and sometimes just want to look away. But other times I look, stare life directly at its face, which is - of course- the face of every stranger I see at the bookstore, and I smile before asking if they found what they were looking for today.