Sam Lamott, 32

“Becoming sober is a tall order to ask somebody. For me it was a year of facing the stuff I had been avoiding for 10 years.”

I'm a good old-fashioned addict. As a shy, sensitive, nervous and self-conscious boy, I was very concerned about what other people were thinking and doing. There was always a deep well of anxiety and melancholy. Even these days, I sometimes wake up very sad. And some days it takes a lot of work to get my mind straight before I'm ready for the world.

By the time I had my first drink, I was 12 years old. It felt like I could finally breathe, you know, and for the first time I wasn't worried about what other people were thinking about me. I knew right then that I found the cure to all my problems.

My best friend’s older sister was a senior in high school while I was in 7th grade. Together with her cheerleader friends she was drinking Bacardi Rum. And that was my first drink.

After that it was off to the races. I drank as much as I could; when I drank, I felt great. First only on weekends, but soon I drank every night. Then I found pot which added to the amazing chemical cocktail. When I was around 15, I tried cocaine and ecstasy. I've never came across a drug I didn't like. The moment I found out that there were alternative levels of consciousness, I was in.

Existing has always been hard for me; it doesn’t come naturally, but it is rather exhausting. So, checking out and be drunk and high was pretty great.

On the outside, a lot of things were going wrong, very wrong. School didn't appreciate that I was getting high and drunk, nor did the adults in my life or any clubs and activities I was part of. I was getting into trouble with the law; but on the inside, I felt fantastic. Getting high and drunk made existence more manageable, more bearable. It was the best tool I had at the time, besides being with my dog.

I was abandoned by my father who did not raise me, and I had a few good men in my life. But the amount of time I spent with adults would pale in comparison to the amount of time I spent with my friends. While I was seeking comfort from drugs, I was part of something. We were a wolf pack of kids, we cared about each other, and, in a weird way, stuck by and were loyal to each other. We saw a world that didn't look fun to grow up in. Getting a job, working nine to five, and maybe getting to go on vacation two weeks out of the year. So, we self-initiated, and we thought we were on the cutting edge, carving a new path. We didn't know that this path had been tried millions of times before us, and that the path generally leads to tragedy. I was a confused kid trying to make sense out of life, finding a life that was exciting and meaningful. I understand how strange it is for me to say this, especially because I hope that my son will not use drugs.

My third high school was a boarding school in the hills of West Virginia; I was sent there against my will, when I got picked up in the middle of the night by a family friend. They kept me for three months before I spent 10 months on a work farm for difficult kids. But those programs didn’t really work for me. Indeed, I went from being a drug consumer to becoming a drug dealer so that I could make some money. What I learned in the programs became useful to me only years later.

After high school I worked in construction and eventually got into design school. I kind of cleaned up my act for the first few years of school, but it ended up with me on Adderall, and, eventually, on methamphetamine. I dropped out of college, because it was getting in the way of my using.

Somewhere deep inside myself I was getting tired of all the work it took to be high all the time. It created chaos and unmanageability in my life. It's hard to manage relationships when you're high and drunk. And then you add work, school, laundry. I was getting pretty burnt out and tired. But on the outside, I could not imagine a

way of living without drugs and alcohol. They were part of my identity and had become a part of me. But the

consequences became so big that I couldn't ignore them with more drugs and alcohol. I was potentially facing

legal trouble because of a violent incident that happened while I was high on meth, which could have resulted in years in prison. I was going to lose custody of my son, who was born when I was 19. I was at the end of the rope; it was either prison, die, or get sober.

I didn't get sober because I wanted to, but because I needed time to clean up the the mess in my life and get the court off my back. Truly, I got sober for self-preservation; that was 10 and a half years ago. But then I discovered the joy of sobriety.

Looking back now, it was insanity, like the Wild West. Smoking meth in the Tenderloin is a pretty chaotic existence. I feel incredibly lucky to be alive. I can't believe some of the stuff I did and made it through.

I don't naturally gravitate towards things that are good for me. Learning the art of discipline has taken some time, and it's still an active process. These days, I try to bring myself back into balance with a morning routine: I pray, even though I don't know what I'm praying to, but it's what was taught when I first got sober, and it's what I do. Whatever is out of my control, I give to a higher power. I meditate, reflect on the day, and set my intentions; on some days I journal or read. And I commit to a daily 15 min exercise routine on the elliptical, no matter what. Most days I actually go to the rest of the gym and work out, but my commitment is for 15 minutes.

I am currently going through a sad period; I had a relationship end. When I feel this way, I keep it simple and live day by day, keeping it to the basics. This means taking care of myself and my mammal body, eat as healthy as I can, and nourish my friendships.

Young people are not supported these days. Our modern world demands for parents to be gone and work a lot, and the kids are raised by strangers. Some kids spend more time with their teachers than their parents. And kids aren’t invited to join the parents at work, like it used to be in the agricultural world. Kids worked the land with their parents, and they understood what it meant to be an adult. As a parent you have to have time, energy and commitment; it’s a hard balance in today’s world.

I still have to try, even though I don't know if I can save my son from repeating my mistakes. I am engaged in his life and know every single one of his friends. My son knows me, he knows who I am, and he knows what I do. After school he often comes here and works for us running the studio. I don't know if that'll help. But it's the best that I can think of. He turned 13 a week ago, and we did an initiation; I had all the men in my life come over and share with him what they think it means to be a man. Being a man means something to me, and it's inclusive, without excluding anybody. But I'm trying to not call him ‘kiddo’ anymore. And I say, “You're a young man now, you're going to fall on your face, you're going to make mistakes, and you're going to embarrass and humiliate yourself. We're going to pay attention to this, and we're going to try not to make the same mistakes twice.” I don't know if that'll work, but that is what I do. I hope my son has an easier time than I did.

On Fridays I work for an organization called VILDA, teaching kids outdoor skills, such as knife and fire skills. What I've noticed about the most difficult kids is that they lack attention. I had one kid who really pushed me past my limit multiple times, and then he turned to me one day, scowling, saying that he never gets to see his mom, because she works very hard, and he doesn't like his nanny. Spending the afternoon here, he is getting a week's worth of attention in five hours.

What we humans need is meaning and purpose. The first thing you're meant to do when in sobriety is to go help another alcoholic or addict and call someone with less time than you and call them often. I just got a call from a fellow who has been sober for six years now; I get a chance to call him back and find out what's going on with him. This process of working with each other adds a bit of meaning to life; something I did not have for many years. I'm involved in men's and sobriety groups and have deep friendships. I generally call somebody every morning to check in. Sometimes I’m more like a mentor, and at other times I am a mentee. There is no doubt we are pack animals; we are meant to be in herds. Whenever I'm not feeling well, I try to get back into the center of the herd. I meet with a group three times a week and often more, but that's like, yeah, come hell or high water. That's what I do. I would do more if I had more time.

I don’t think that I can help anybody get sober. Each person has to reach a place that is aligned with wanting just that. And not everybody gets promised a full life. There is nothing my mom could have done to save me. I had to figure it out on my own. I usually tell someone in recovery to buckle up and give it a year, because by the time I got sober, I wasn’t even able to experience happiness. It was as if my brain was no longer capable of producing happy chemicals. My first year of sobriety was basically grey; it was a combination of not wanting to get into any more trouble, not wanting to go to prison, wanting to have my son in my life, and starting to trust that there was a light in the tunnel 6 months in. But it was a very dark time for me. Becoming sober is a tall order to ask somebody. For me, it was a year of facing all the stuff I had been avoiding for 10 years.

Addicts are tough, they are like wild animals. They steal your medication, empty out your retirement account, if they have access to it; they leave you high and dry. Addicts are very frustrating creatures. And they are heart breakers. I had my heart broken many times and lost very dear friends. I am thinking of one good friend, we were inseparable for two years. He died from his addiction, but the two years that we shared together were just as meaningful.

In general, I try to follow virtues that capture my imagination. For example, I may come across a word like magnanimity, and I meditate on the meaning. What does it mean to be magnanimous? Or I ponder about how charitable or disciplined I am going to be in this life. I think this is a good aim or north star. It was in my recovery when I learned to be truthful. I was a liar before, and I learned how powerful truth can be. How truthful can I be in this life, without hurting people? Looking back, I have learned many lessons and almost all of them I learned the hard way by getting knocked on the head. One of the most important lessons learned is the practice of living with integrity. How do I act when nobody is looking? This is a very hard lesson, but working on integrity is probably the best investment, trying to stay true to yourself and your values. It can be really hard, and might mean losing friendships. But it is a much easier way to live.

One of the things I do not miss about addiction is the built intricate web of lies, and the effort it takes to maintain it. Something seems to always go wrong, and the house of cards is constantly falling. So yeah, a simple life of integrity, living day by day, with an aim. I do archery and I shoot pistols. There is something very primal to aim. When you focus on a target, everything else goes away and this is a beautiful process.