My Sober Adventure

From my childhood and early adolescence, a foundation had been laid for outdoor adventuring. Backpacking, rock climbing, paddling and mountain biking were staples of my summers spent in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. However, as did most other aspects of my life, these hobbies took a back seat to the pursuit and use of drugs and alcohol. In the deserts of Utah in a wilderness therapy program, I rediscovered the rewards that could be gained from stepping out of my comfort zone into nature.

When I first got clean from drugs and alcohol, my mind’s picture of a substance free life was bleak. For so many years, my main source of leisure and entertainment had been derived from drugs and alcohol. When I wanted to relax, I would get high. When I wanted a thrill, I would get high on something else. What was I supposed to do for fun now that I had accepted the fact that I could not put any mind-altering substances in my body without serious consequences? Was I going to have to choose between the pain and misery of substance use and the blandness of sobriety?

Fortunately, my wilderness program helped me understand that this was not to be. Soon after getting sober, I came to realize that life itself provided a limitless menu of exciting options to choose from. An important theme of my wilderness experience was the dichotomy of comfort and happiness. When I was getting high, I was often very comfortable. I was in a warm house, laying on a soft couch, eating junk food, high as a kite. And I was utterly miserable! My life changed when I experienced how the challenge of adventure held the key to a greater satisfaction.

A few weeks into wilderness treatment, my group was on an expedition to summit temple mountain in the San Rafael Swell in South Central Utah, a massive sandstone tower, jutting straight out of the desert floor. As we approached the top of the cliff, the path became narrower and steeper until we were scrambling on all fours. Each misstep sent chunks of loose sandstone flying into the abyss. Gradually, members of my group began to bail on the expedition to return to the bottom. Eventually, the group had dwindled down to a guide named Russell, and me. It was getting dark; the temperature was dropping, and the path was becoming more perilous with each step forward. At this point, Russell gently hinted at turning back. I was still feeling the residual effects of opiate withdrawal. I had dropped out of school, lost all my friends, and had sold all my possessions for drugs. I looked him in the eye, and I said, “I really need to get to the top of this thing.” He thought for a moment and nodded. We pressed on. We pushed forward through some very sketchy ‘class 4’ scrambling and reached the summit as the sun was setting on the desert horizon. For possibly the first time in my life, I felt ‘high’ without consuming any mind-altering substance. That was one of the moments where it clicked for me that this sobriety deal might not be so bad after all.

Since then, I have backpacked, hiked and rock climbed all over the world. I went rock climbing in Spain, biking in the Swiss Alps, and hiking in Mexico. And I don’t even have to travel anywhere for an adventure. I live in North Carolina and all these activities are available in my proverbial backyard. It helps me stay in shape, is an excuse to stay in the sun for a day and has helped me a build a community of people in recovery. Who would have thought that there are other former drug users who are still seeking an adrenaline fix? Today, I can confidently say that my worse day as an outdoor adventure is far better than my best day getting high.