Life is a Song Title
Lyrics from old songs play in my head this morning–Maureen McGovern’s, “There’s Got to be a Morning After” and Eddy Arnold’s “Make the World Go Away,” most recently made popular again by Martina McBride.
Those two songs were my mantras in my drinking days. I’d reach a point in the evening when I knew I’d crossed a line–or multiple lines–and all I could do was pray for daylight.
I’d get myself into situations that happened “to me,” (oh, poor me!) and I whined to anyone who listened about my sad, sad state all the while mentally slapping the back of my hand against my forehead. Make the world go away . . .
I was the strange drunk who could be a victim and still take responsibility for everything. I tried to draw attention without being too obvious. Please, feel sorry for me but watch me rebuff your attempts to help.
Those were insane times that extended into sobriety. I didn’t know anything about healthy relationships and I certainly didn’t know how to care for myself on an emotional and spiritual basis.
Today, when I’m on the beam, I know better. “There’s got to be a morning after” is a more positive refrain, as in, hang on and believe that tomorrow is a new day. The morning after no longer represents a time to discover the wreckage of the night before but a time to believe that God is all about do-overs.
For me, the morning after is a mental switch from “Good God, it’s morning,” to “Good morning, God!”
As for making the world go away, that has become a meditative practice of turning inward to the still, small voice and away from the chatter and clamor of the outer world.
I used to cry out in frustration and desperation to be left alone–make it all go away!–now I welcome my alone time with the Spirit who guides me.
Funny how the meaning of these two musical phrases has evolved as I have matured in my recovery life.
Thank you, God, for the gentle peace of learning to listen to my soul.



In July of 2009, I had an epiphany. For about a month prior, I was emotionally distraught, increasingly depressed and having serious thoughts of drinking again (after 18 years of sobriety).
I struggled to wrap my arms around what could possibly be wrong with me. I had all the trappings of a good life, one others would love to emulate--great job, dream house, traveling for a living, a life mate . . . the list goes on. 





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