Confessions of an Addict

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

For thirty years I almost single-handedly kept Mountain Dew in business. At the beginning of this year, however, I took a long look in the mirror and faced the truth: I am a caffeine addict. Or at least I was. In January I went “cold turkey” and decided to give up my dependence on the world’s most celebrated stimulant. It wasn’t easy. After a stretch of days with some Grade A headaches – my body’s way of begging for that old familiar jolt – I finally experienced freedom from caffeine. If only I could leave behind as easily the numerous other addictions that have become part of my life.

Addict is a rather alarming word to apply to oneself. But as Gerald May points out in his classic book Addiction and Grace, “the psychological, neurological, and spiritual dynamics of full-fledged addiction are actively at work within every human being. The same processes that are responsible for addiction to alcohol and narcotics are also responsible for addictions to ideas, work, relationships, power, moods, fantasies, and an endless variety of other things.”

What do we mean by addiction? It is a “state of compulsion, obsession, or preoccupation that enslaves a person’s will or desires.” In other words, I feel a strong, ongoing urge to give time and energy to things that aren’t my true desires. The power of addiction is easier to grasp if we look at some real-life examples. So here’s a sampling of my long-term compulsive behaviors – the ones that I feel free to admit publicly – in ascending order of the dangers I believe they exert on my emotional, physical, and spiritual health.

I am addicted to counting license plates. I’m not kidding. I don’t even know when this habit began. Years ago I started paying attention to license plates whenever I hit the road. Recently, when I picked up my son at college for the beginning of his spring break, I proudly reported, “Hey, I just saw an Idaho.” He sighed deeply and said, “That’s great, Dad.” It’s mildly annoying to be the family member of a license plate addict.

I am addicted to adrenaline. No, I’m not (as author John Ortberg would put it), a hang-gliding, day-trading, tornado-chasing Pinto driver. Once every week, when my alarm goes off at approximately 4:00 a.m. Sunday, I welcome the rush of adrenaline that always accompanies my need to finish my sermon for that morning. There’s something about the prospect of looking foolish in front of a large group of people that provides an undeniable sense of creative focus.

Could I write my sermons on Thursday, like other garden variety, responsible pastors? This is actually a question that my wife has asked many times. I’ve tried doing that (but probably not very hard). There’s something intoxicating about that last-minute surge of adrenaline that I find hard to kick. I admit that this is not a particularly healthy habit – especially if I ever get that emergency phone call at, say, 5:00 a.m. on Sunday.

I am addicted to making lists. I’m not talking merely about grocery lists and your standard need-to-get-this-done-someday lists. I make lists for every day, every week, every month, every quarter, and every year. I even make lists to keep track of my lists. Usually my first entry is “make this list.” That way I can always begin with the victory of crossing something off.

From one standpoint, my existence is well organized. That’s the optimistic perspective. But it can just as easily be said that my existence is over-regimented and even fossilized. Usually I come to the end of a day with a few items still on my list – which leaves me with the vague sensation of having failed somehow. Then there are those days when surprises come: unexpected opportunities, dramatic crises, and wonderful opportunities simply to sit and enjoy the presence of another human being. I may respond very well to such happenings. But I sometimes find myself thinking: Uh-oh, this wasn’t on my list. And that is a clear sign of danger. I am in danger of missing my own life, even as my life is happening right before my eyes, all because I have allowed a list to define the meaning of success and happiness. List-making addicts know exactly what I am talking about.

I am addicted to approval. I yearn to be liked. I want someone to say that what I just did, or the presentation I just made, or the words that I just wrote (hint, hint) made a difference for somebody else. Why do I care about this? Because I want my life to mean something. So I anxiously wait for another person’s atta-boy to assure me that I’m not making a total mess of my one shot at being alive. But just like someone addicted to chocolate, or crack, or pornography, enough is never enough. Yesterday’s words of approval quickly fade away. How am I doing right now?

This is an exceedingly dangerous addiction. The craving for approval puts me at odds with God, who has made it patently clear that he has already given to me, for free, life’s two greatest treasures: security (I am unconditionally loved, and God will never change his mind about that) and significance (my life is unique and important because God has given me a unique and important role to play in his ongoing drama called history).

In truth, addiction is always about finding substitutes for what God gives for free. Do I really need to control things when God says that he is in control of the universe? Do I really need to pleasure myself with food when God says that knowing him is the key to a sustained experience of joy? Do I really need to stand on the scale compulsively, or perpetually adjust my hair, or worry about the shape of my nose, when God says that he is completely nuts about me, just as I am?

I’m not saying that beating an addiction of any kind is easy. We have to acknowledge our dependence. We must welcome accountability to other strugglers. We must depend on the power of God’s indwelling Spirit. Gerald May indicates, in his work with hardcore drug addicts and alcoholics, that the only men and women whom he has seen truly break free to a new life are not those who try really, really hard, but those who helplessly open their hands and hearts to receive God’s grace.

I don’t know if there’s a Twelve Step group for caffeine addicts, but I’ll make this affirmation nonetheless: My name is Glenn. I still crave the taste of a real, live Mountain Dew first thing in the morning. But I have come to appreciate my caffeine-free existence even more. And by God’s grace, I hope to make progress in my other addictions as well.