Zero

“Tonight here at the senior center we are celebrating a one hundredth birthday. And we are going to find out from this centenarian the secrets of such longevity”. We have all seen episodes on the evening news, usually on slow news nights. The answers to the question “To what do you attribute your longevity?” vary. There is the usual reference to “clean living” or the occasional touting of “a glass of red wine every day with dinner” or the occasional naughtiness of some sort, told slyly with a wink of an eye. I have yet to hear one claim to have known in advance that reaching that age was a given. Some seem shocked to have made it that far, while some are overwhelmed. The common thread is looking back and reflecting on the path. The hundred years leading to that special day.

I am not even nearing that age but if someone were to ask me how I lived as long as I have I would have to reply, in one word, "luck" even though that would be overly simplifying the subject. Luck is a manifold subject. There is good luck, inheriting good genes from parents, bad luck, inheriting bad genes from parents. There is good luck, being just out of the reach of that falling brick, bad luck, not being out of the way. There is good luck, not encountering traffic when late to the airport for a trip, bad luck, getting stuck in traffic when going to the airport. Luck is present, both good and bad, at virtually every step of life. For good luck that does not materialize, not winning the lottery, there can be good luck we will not even be aware of till later, sometimes not at all. And bad luck that we escape is equally anonymous and we may live our lives oblivious to a karmic usher leading us along life's path, ignoring our pleas yet stepping in unbidden for both the consequential and mundane. Luck is perceived in retrospect, after the fact, hidden till some future evaluation. The usher works, seemingly without plan, directing us to events or circumstances with seeming indifference. There ahead is the path, barely influenced by us, illuminated by forces, seemingly indifferent to us. We take the seat in the cone of light without volition or choice. Even those who write their diaries in advance must obey the light.

We take the proffered seat and wait for the show to begin. What follows can be a simple pleasant event or as life changing as an earthquake tumbling bricks around us. Or it could be somewhere in between, like a water pipe breaking. That is what it was for me. On August 24, 1984 about six in the morning my tenant, also my next door neighbor, rang my doorbell to inform me that a water pipe had broken and the water was gushing into the sink and he could not find a valve to turn off the water. I went next door to assess the situation. Yes, his evaluation was correct. There was indeed water uncontrollably flooding into the sink. Since the house was built in the early twentieth century the plumbing did not include a shutoff valve under the sink, as is the practice dictated by modern building codes. I would have to turn off the water where it came in from the street. Fortunately I had a tool for just that. I located the tool, in my basement, and used it to turn off the water at the sidewalk access. My tenant went on to his workplace and I was left alone to face the damage and the work needed to fix the problem.

The broken pipe was only part of the problem. I had a bad hangover. I had a headache and nausea. I had been drinking the night before, a lot. I had been mixing the "B's", beer and brandy until quite late. Drinking a lot was not a particularly unusual situation then. The severity of the hangover was however unusual. I had hangovers before but this one, combined with the pipe disaster and lack of sleep, was particularly unpleasant. I did not want to deal with the plumbing and I did not want to deal with going to work. I did what seemed like the best thing at the time, I called in sick and went back to bed.

I arose a couple of hours later and began dealing with the plumbing. I had to make a quick fix of the pipe so I could turn the water back on. I had to suffer the headache and nausea of the hangover. Those problems I had to face. Those problems, since I had little choice, I faced. It was a miserable day. I was glad the next day was the weekend.

Before the day ended I realized I had to deal with yet another problem, drinking. A flood of regrets, shame, recriminations, blame and disgust about the bout of drinking from the night before swirled through my head. While the drinking had not caused the pipe to burst it had made a relatively small disaster swell to numbing proportions. The broken pipe, the gusher, the hangover all prompted me, "I think it is time" I said to myself "to quit drinking." I had, in the past, flirted with the idea of quiting drinking. I had, in the past, felt that I had a problem that begged for resolution. The broken pipe and subsequent gusher seemed to underscore my concerns about drinking. The concerns, like the water, gushed out highlighting my muse. The previous evening of drinking was not unusual, At that time I drank, not every day, but I drank. When I drank I it was usually too much, sometimes way too much. Even though I drank I was usually able to maintain some level of control, I did not "blackout" or reach other extremes of behavior associated with drinking to excess. My drinking had not reached the level that demanded action. Often others were not as aware as I was of how much I was affected. I was not morose, violent or hostile. I was a "happy drunk". That morning, and throughout the day I was not "happy". Okay, I thought, it is time to make the decision; shall I quit drinking. Even in the past, when I had made trial runs of quitting drinking, sometimes lasting several weeks, I had never "quit drinking", writ large. For some reason I had always felt that the phrase must not be used casually, it must be inviolable. I felt that the act, if taken, must be complete and from deep within. There could be no doubts, no wavering. If I was to quit drinking I had to "know" that I was quitting drinking. There could be no partial "quit". I had not up to that point been committed enough to say I was "quitting drinking". That all changed that day. I quit.

From that day forth, I told myself, I would NOT drink. In my mind I had quit. Strangely I was confident that my resolution would hold. The certainty I felt was rewarding but I was not foolish enough to ignore that there was a possibility I might weaken and slip. I knew the magnitude of the decision so I decided to immediately start taking steps to reinforce my decision. Popular strategies to quit drinking often involved pouring all alcohol down the drain, to remove the temptation. That path seemed to me to be taking the hard way. That seemed to me to assume that failure in the form of relapse would be certain if the temptation remained at hand. I decided that I was not going to let temptation be a stumbling block. I would refuse to give temptation substance and I would rob it of strength. I did not immediately pour out or toss away any alcohol in my house. By allowing it to remain I chose to simply view it as NOT a temptation. I would not drink and not fear being around alcohol and would not fear being around others who were drinking. I would simply not drink.

All of these plans and decisions seemed to emerge almost fully formed. It was as though the decision process had been going on in the background and was simply waiting to emerge. A strange calmness about the decision took root. I had a feeling of certainty that I would succeed. I both wanted to quit and knew I could quit.

The following days and weeks I did not drink and there were no great challenges to my resolve. I still had about a dozen cases of wine in my basement so I decided to sell them. I had some quite good wine collected over the years so I had little doubt I could get rid of them. Long before eBay and the inter-net there was the Classified Flea-market, classified ads in a small newspaper format. I put an ad in the paper listing only the amount and price for the wine. I waited for publishing day. The first day of publication I received a call. "What wine cellars do you have?" the caller wondered. I listed a few cases but before I had completed the census he said, with more than a hint of excitement, "I'll be right there." and indeed in less than ten minutes he had come, happily bought and departed with his trove. There seemed a certain irony that I should get both money and pleasure from the removal of the last potential temptation from my house.

My first measurable challenge to my resolve came about five or six weeks after the burst pipe when a friend got married. There was a reception with lots of champagne, lots of friends, lots of toasts and lots of potential temptations. I went with some concerns but resolved to not let the circumstances and champagne and possible temptations derail my path. I attended the reception and did not drink. I had passed my first serious test and it had been easier than I had hoped. In my mind, I had made it. My success at the reception set the tone for my future. I had the goal and means before me like post-it notes on a refrigerator.

Was that "luck", that burst water pipe? If it was luck was it good luck masquerading as bad luck? If it was not luck was it the karmic usher at work? Would I have quit drinking from some other happenstance? Would I have continued to drink until my life was, who knows. The possibilities are as wide ranging as they are unanswerable. Whether it was luck, karma or choice that was over thirty years ago and I am still not drinking. In retrospect I have often thought of how fortunate I was to encounter just the right set of circumstances that led me on this path. Now if anyone asks how I quit I just give them the mathematical formula that became my guide as well as my mantra. "The easiest number of drinks to keep track of is zero."