I am in an airplane flying home from Bermuda. I’m sitting over the left engine. I’m happy. I love to fly. I look down at the wing and love the miracle of lift; all that air flowing over and under the wing creating lift, allowing this big metal box full of people to rise into the air and stay there until the pilot changes that air current to bring the plane down.
We know that sometimes. .very rarely in reality…things happen and a plane can have a bad landing or a crash. That’s where my fantasy comes in. I have had this fantasy a long time. I always think “If this plane goes down, I die happy”. To die in a plane crash beats cancer and MS and ALS and cardiac deterioration and so many other things. As I’ve said, I love planes.
But another fantasy follows that one. I imagine there is the crash, the disaster, near disaster, the emergency landing, the lost engine—and I survive. I’m one of the survivors and as the fantasy continues I am able to help others. I can see the way out, I lead some people thru the flames; I unbuckle someone who is stuck and shout, “That way, go that way”. I survive this near-death horrible fate and I’m able to help some others to survive too.
I’ve had this fantasy for years and never told anyone shamed by the lack of humility in this fantasy: The hero is me. I survive and save others.
But then, in this plane on this trip I hear myself and I hear the words of this fantasy in my head: “I survive and I am able to save some of the others.” Then it hits me: It’s already true, that’s already happened. It’s happening now. I survived and I AM able to lead some others to safety.
It’s not a fantasy. Recovery from addiction is a gift and a miracle and we survive and have a chance to lead someone else to safety or at least point the way out. Recovery is a gift. I survived the crash.