An Ode to the Humble Whiteboard

And some stuff about sobriety

Hello subscribers! You are precious and helpful and amazing and I thank you greatly. Paid subscribers get two bonus letters/missives/love notes per month, so here’s the first one of April. It’s inspired by, of all things, my whiteboard. (Regular subscribers are seeing a hopefully-tantalizing preview.)

In my late twenties, I dated a guy who had just quit drinking. His crowded, untidy surroundings suddenly felt like chaos. He threw out a ton of his excess stuff (including his dishes, because cleaning the dishes was too much as he fought for his life. Can you blame him?) After paring objects in his home down to what was manageable for him to keep tidy at that time, he followed somebody’s advice and got a whiteboard.

It would be years before I a.) got sober or b.) got a whiteboard, but anyway - I’m glad he did all that and told me about it. It made his life better, and years later, I remembered how that whiteboard helped him.

When you first quit alcohol, your brain is kinda scrambled. It can also feel like a beautiful, peaceful, newly joyful time - what some folks in 12-step recovery call “the pink cloud.” Not everybody has this experience, mind you. But some people feel that life is fantastic and everything is all better now that they’ve removed booze.

Inevitably, though, real life creeps back in and you have to deal with all the stuff you had to deal with before. Now, though, you don’t have alcohol as a numbing device. That can be an EXCELLENT thing, don’t get me wrong. But in my experience, it’s hard to get used to doing some stuff like, you know, going to a party. Or falling asleep. Or having a feeling.

Enter the humble whiteboard.