17 Years Without a Drink... and I'd Like to Keep the Body Parts I Have Left

On June 6, 2026, I celebrated 17 years without a drink. That's 17 years since I last picked up an alcoholic beverage, and I am incredibly grateful for that gift.

I received a medallion, or as many of us call it, a chip, recognizing the milestone. When I picked it up, I was reminded of something that has been said in meetings for years:

"Pick up the chip to show the newcomer that it can be done."

I love that thought.

Have I worked the program perfectly? Absolutely not.

In fact, when I stop doing the simple things that got me here, life has a funny way of reminding me who's really in charge. Somewhere along the way I've lost a leg, gained kidney failure, and accumulated enough medical specialists to field a baseball team.

At this rate, if I stop working the program, it's only a matter of time before I run out of body parts to donate to bad decisions.

Humor aside, I've learned something important.

I once heard that science is the ability to reproduce the same result over and over again. In that sense, the recovery program I work is scientific enough for me. I do the work, I receive the gifts that are promised. I've seen it happen in my own life, and I've watched it happen in the lives of countless others.

The difficult part is that recovery often requires me to do the exact opposite of what my brain naturally wants to do.

I want to isolate.

The program tells me to connect.

I want to think only about myself.

The program tells me to help someone else.

I want to complicate everything.

The program reminds me to keep it simple.

For whatever reason, those simple actions continue to produce extraordinary results.

Today, I have friendships I never imagined, opportunities I never expected, and a life that—while certainly not perfect—is far better than the one I left behind 17 years ago.

To everyone who has walked beside me during this journey, whether for a day or for years, thank you.

Your encouragement, friendship, honesty, patience, and example have helped carry me through some incredibly difficult times.

I appreciate each and every one of you.

And if you're new and wondering if recovery is possible, I'm holding this chip for you.

It can be done.

On June 6, 2026, I celebrated 17 years without a drink. That's 17 years since I last picked up an alcoholic beverage, and I am incredibly grateful for that gift.

I received a medallion, or as many of us call it, a chip, recognizing the milestone. When I picked it up, I was reminded of something that has been said in meetings for years:

"Pick up the chip to show the newcomer that it can be done."

I love that thought.

Have I worked the program perfectly? Absolutely not.

In fact, when I stop doing the simple things that got me here, life has a funny way of reminding me who's really in charge. Somewhere along the way I've lost a leg, gained kidney failure, and accumulated enough medical specialists to field a baseball team.

At this rate, if I stop working the program, it's only a matter of time before I run out of body parts to donate to bad decisions.

Humor aside, I've learned something important.

I once heard that science is the ability to reproduce the same result over and over again. In that sense, the recovery program I work is scientific enough for me. I do the work, and I receive the gifts that are promised. I've seen it happen in my own life, and I've watched it happen in the lives of countless others.

The difficult part is that recovery often requires me to do the exact opposite of what my brain naturally wants to do.

I want to isolate.

The program tells me to connect.

I want to think only about myself.

The program tells me to help someone else.

I want to complicate everything.

The program reminds me to keep it simple.

For whatever reason, those simple actions continue to produce extraordinary results.

Today, I have friendships I never imagined, opportunities I never expected, and a life that—while certainly not perfect—is far better than the one I left behind 17 years ago.

To everyone who has walked beside me during this journey, whether for a day or for years, thank you.

Your encouragement, friendship, honesty, patience, and example have helped carry me through some incredibly difficult times.

I appreciate every one of you.

And if you're new and wondering if recovery is possible, I'm holding this chip for you.

It can be done.