Responsibility. What’s that? Responsibility not quite yet. I don’t want to think about it, we’d be better off without it.1
These lines from an MxPx angsty youth anthem of my adolescence capture my sentiment still to this day as a thirty-seven-year-old man, as embarrassing as that is to admit.
But, admit it I must. Or I guess “must” is a strong word, falling a little too close to “should,” so we’ll steer clear for reasons that will become more obvious.
Sovereignty has been a word on the brain this week. No, I didn’t recently discover that I am reclaiming the British throne (even if I do often make this quip to my lovely wife given my 23andMe’s verdict that I am incredibly English and to quote Vampire Weekend, “Unbearably White”). No, sovereignty in terms of choice and choosing. As in, in the kingdom of my life, I get to make decisions and choices. I can have a say in what goes on.
This might seem completely obvious to you. Of course, a grown man with a family and a job has a choice. Why are you writing about this? You might be thinking. And you’d be partly correct.
Unfortunately, I haven’t always seen it this way. Because for as much as I look like a thirty-seven year old with a good job who is relatively well adjusted, there is a part of me (to borrow from Internal Family Systems’ view) that feels much younger and feels like it doesn’t have a choice. When I blend with that part, I feel like life is happening to me, and I can only react, rather than the more active choose or decide.
But back to sovereignty and choice. I started listening to
’s Push off From Here, her second book after her debut memoir We Are The Luckiest, which played a key role in my quit lit library of early sobriety. McKowen offers nine truths in Push Off From Here: “1) It’s Not Your Fault, 2) It Is Your Responsibility.” Go buy the book or give her Substack (Love Story) a subscription for the other seven, she’s a great writer and has been a powerful voice for me on the sober journey.So, as you might guess, the “It Is your responsibility” thing landed solidly. I was minding my own business, mowing the lawn, and she dropped these truth bombs: “…the most debilitating thing happening in my life right then was the belief that someone else had all the answers. That someone else could live my life for me, better than I could.”2
Followed by: “No one is coming to save me (you).”3
The combo is brutal: Not only have I been waiting for someone to tell me how to live my life. What job to do, where to find value, what to value, etc. Hoping that the next book or podcast, or conversation, or online course, or business strategy, or mindset, or whatever would bring me the peace and calm I’ve so desired. The knockout punch is that this is my life, and by definition no one can come to save me and make it better.
No one except for me.
But, for me to save myself, I have to admit that I’ve looked outside myself for long enough. That the things I’ve been hoping may provide some relief—booze, money, accomplishment, fill in the blank—are like continuing to scratch the itch without putting the ointment on that might give it a chance to heal.
Even if I didn’t believe someone was physically going to come and save me (I’m an almost forty year old man after all) I still lived like they might. Doing things I should do, living how someone else would live, copying their morning routine, or diet, or style, or mindset, or again, fill in the blank. Showing up to work, doing pretty good work, and wondering if everyone around me is feeling the same internal dissonance. And on the surface there’s nothing inherently wrong with any of these moves. Imitation is the highest form of flattery so the quote goes. And yet, I’ve tried all those things and to pull a quote from A Knight’s Tale, they’ve all been weighed, measured, and found wanting.4
Looking back at my younger days and pursuit of a calling into Christian vocation and ministry, I see how much of it stemmed from duty, from obligation. From the hope that if I did ministry and teaching well enough, maybe I could be worthy of being loved. And you know what? It never scratched the itch. Or it did scratch the itch, but it didn’t provide the balm. The itch would inevitably return.
Because all that sense of duty and obligation created resentment, I was trying to do all the right things the right way and somehow they still didn’t work out. I fell out of alignment with a group I was working with. The church I was seeking ordination in didn’t want me to be on that path as much as I did.
And so I blamed others and I blamed myself.
And I tried a different way, maybe getting a different job and making money for my family would be the healing balm and not just another itch.
And it worked for a while, as all scratching does. And now, I’m not so sure. Scratch that, I’m confident it’s not working anymore. The internal dissonance is too strong along with the sense that I should stay out of duty or obligation. Because why would anyone take a different direction?
Because, freedom. Later in the responsibility chapter, McKowen writes, “Responsibility creates freedom (if only in our mind); duty and obligation create resentment.”5 Responsibility creates freedom because it means I have a choice. Again, this is kind of a “no, duh” moment. I’ve had choice all along. But somewhere along the way, I forgot that. I let myself get pinned in, by myself. I locked the door and forgot I had the key in my pocket.
I don’t know exactly what this new path will look like, it’s still taking shape. Which has been a big part of the fear keeping the door locked. The life I’ve built feels so known and this new zone of possibility is inherently unknown, because that’s how possibility works.
And, the wild thing is, I wouldn’t have been able to get to this point of freedom and responsibility in the whole of my life if I hadn’t taken responsibility for my drinking first. I won’t go into all the details here, this post is long enough. But, that one decision to stop drinking (and recently to find some folks who share that journey, more on that in another post as well) has literally been life-changing and life-giving. It has allowed me to remember I have sovereignty in my life.
I’m not (as) scared of the possibility anymore. And, I’m more likely to make decisions out of courage and alignment, than fear and “knowing.”
Beyond all that, the itch isn’t quite as strong this week. The responsibility that seemed hard, and might have stung a bit at first, has opened up to more healing and freedom than I could have imagined. With all due respect to MxPx, I’ll stick with the responsibility thing from here on out.
What aspect of your life could benefit from you taking more responsibility?
"Responsibility.” (2000) MxPx. The Ever Passing Moment.
(50) Laura McKowen, Push Off From Here, 2023, Emphasis original.
(51) Laura McKownen, Push Off From Here, 2023.
(58) Laura McKownen, Push Off From Here, 2023.
I love Laura Mccowen’s book push off from here, so much inspiration and YES it is our responsibility and no one is coming to save us, so it’s up to us to figure this out and find peace in sobriety 🥰
Awesome Josh. Great reflections. Big things underfoot. Keep going!