If we may find one universal truth that binds us, it is this question: Are we capable of change? Do human beings really possess the power to alter mind, body and soul if suitably inspired? I’ve heard individuals ask this of their lovers, parents and friends. We’ve asked this of ourselves. And if we can shape our realities to suite our tastes; how? What does it take for our needs and wants to manifest into actions and results? I’ve heard great tales of people stepping outside of themselves to adopt a foreign land and life as their own. Stories have been passed down to me of a select few, living in squalor or under dangerous conditions, rising up to fight against the injustice they face.  But that’s just it, isn’t it. Transmitting accounts of life-altering feats is no more than spreading culturally uplifting pieces of urban legend – unanchored in time and space by hear-say and exaggeration. I need first-person proof to believe that a person can truly change. At the moment I have none.
                I’m tempted to compare our ability to change our lives to drug-addiction treatment. While I’m no expert on the subject of substance abuse, I’ve read many accounts of recovering addicts replacing their drug of choice with another habit to make the step-down process more manageable. The famed memoirist, Augusten Burroughs, details his alcohol addiction and road to recovery in Dry (2003). Burroughs describes how alcohol filled a void in his life from an unsatisfying career and personal life. Once he entered rehab, sex, cigarettes, and other drugs filled the void left by a lack of alcohol. Heroin was first prescribed in the nineteenth century as a treatment for morphine addiction – methadone is widely used today to treat detoxing heroin users. One drug replaces the undesired substance, while the original state of addiction continues to thrive.
                An old and recently reacquainted friend of mine has been struggling to come to terms with breaking up with a long-time boyfriend. And while the most casual split can leave a stinging sensation, this break up was epic. Multiple casualties are involved: a child by the convicted “Dickhead,” inlaws, outlaws, and innocent passer-bys. The rotting pile of associated bodies is topped with a gleaming restraining order that transmits SOS signals of impending doom straight up to the gods. Needless to say, my friend’s cup of bitterness runneth over (and rightly so).
                7 weeks later, and my friend’s inspiring sense of resoluteness is faltering. I doubt she knows it, though. It’s the little things she says, and the way she says them, that worries me. The other night she wrote me complaining that “Dickhead” hasn’t asked to see their daughter – that he is sure to use the excuse that the restraining order she slapped on him is keeping him from his paternal obligations. You think? Luckily I was successful in biting my tongue so not to point out the merits in his argument. The taste of blood was a worthy side affect. Besides, if he did visit, he’d only reaffirm the need for the restraining order in the first place. I fear that my friend is bound to undermine her commendable efforts to better her child’s and her life.
                When we proclaim with chins held high that: “This time will be different!” “I will stop doing A, B, and C, and start doing D!” are we simply falling into a grandiose New Year Resolution trap? Are we setting ourselves up for failure with unrealistic expectations? Or are we simply lying to ourselves because we know in our hearts our addiction will never die? I’d like to think that while our best laid plans are only those: plans; we are actually successfully living out changes all the time. My friend may be lying to herself out loud, but perhaps things are shifting just beneath the surface. She might not even be aware of the changes forming in her psyche. And that’s perfect because I’d like to think they’re aligning like chess pieces to checkmate his sorry ass… Just a little dream to help me sleep better at night.