The Man In The Mirror

They say that life changes in a second. There have been few moments in my life that have truly solidified this point. These past few weeks have taken me down a path that has tested my very essence as a human being, and a man. The narrow, dark alley of despair that I once strolled through aimlessly had transformed into a wide, sunlit boulevard of potential. I could feel it in the marrow of my bones and the rhythm of my heartbeat, pulsing stronger with each passing day. The victories, which allowed me to break through the other side, happened on a second by second basis. Which block to walk down, a decision that once carried the weight of finding the next drink, now was a choice of which scenery would fuel my creativity and drive. What to eat; no longer a mindless grab of whatever could soak up the alcohol in my stomach, but a thoughtful selection of nourishment that honored this temple that is my body. Letting go of cigarettes, and embracing life with each breath, instead of death. Each inhale now tasted sweeter, cleaner, like the crisp air after a cleansing rain. The acknowledgement of the cosmos, and the all-defining power of whatever created this thing we know as life. Every day, I’ve looked deeper and deeper at the man in the mirror, and I began to see a new face. A face lean and vibrant. A brighter smile. A more toned, muscular physique, the outward manifestation of my inner strength regenerating. This metamorphosis is happening in real time, and with everything in my life taking the shape of a man freed from the shackles which once held him hostage, I see no other way to go but onward and upward. God extended his hand, and pulled me from the abyss that ego, greed, and alcoholism put me in so long ago. A hand that felt warm and infinitely strong, yet gentle, like a loving parent lifting a child from a fall. And knowing exactly where my life is headed, I remain steadfast in this charity, the telling of my story, the real life “Truman Show”, which, based on the amount of comments, messages, and support that I’ve received from complete strangers, seems to be something that many experience in this life, but have not been blessed with the abilities to tell their story the way I have. The late-night messages of hope, the tearful voicemails of thanks—they fuel me. For these gifts, I will be eternally grateful, and use them in my testimony, in hopes that someone along the way would see what I’ve experienced, and use it as motivation to grab the hand of their God, and pull themselves out of their own darkness. As I close each day, with prayers whispered into the night, I feel not only the weight lifted off my shoulders but also the profound purpose settling deep within my soul.