Screwing Your Kids in the Divorce

When people you know go through a divorce, much is made over who gets what and who loses what. The ex-wife gets the house. The ex-husband gets full custody of the kids. But here’s a constant that’s most upsetting: The kids almost always get the shaft.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/gvkvJo2VRJc

Parents don’t usually mean for this to happen. They start out determined to shower the children with love and shield them from the ugly stuff as much as possible.

Then, as the proceedings drag on, the parents look for ways to hurt each other. What better way to do that than by using the children as pawns?

When my parents divorced 30 years ago, they did their best to shield us. They sent us to summer camp, though I really hated that. I just wanted to go play on Revere Beach.

They got joint custody. We stayed with Dad during the week and Mom on weekends. In the summers that arrangement was reversed. Dad got the house.

As the years went on, my mother grew increasingly bitter toward my father. This is understandable to a point. Her oldest son died. How can a parent be expected to think clearly when that happens? But she blamed my father. Actually, she blamed my stepmother: some baseless bullshit about my step-mother not inserting the adrenaline needle properly during my brother’s final and fatal asthma attack.

After that, if my father stared at her the wrong way, she threatened to get full custody from him. She did this on a weekly basis. I don’t think it hurt my father as intended. He held all the legal cards. But it sure as hell hurt me. I would constantly worry about never seeing my father again.

Looking in the rear-view mirror as an adult, I hold no bitterness about it. Not anymore, anyway. I realized I would never move on until I forgave them. We all fail. I have too many times to count. I also realize she was just venting most of the time.

But when I see kids caught in the middle of a marriage in trouble today, I always return to the scars of childhood, real and imagined (when you’re a kid you imagine things, and if you grow up to be a head case like me, you REALLY imagine things).

I bring all this up because I know of a couple troubled marriages right now where children are involved.

In one case the parents are working hard to be honest with the kids and make sure they know they are loved. I don’t know what will happen to that marriage in the end, but I give the parents  credit for trying to keep the emotional scars off their kids. If the marriage fails scarring will be inevitable. But the parents can do a lot to soften the blow.

Then there’s the other case. One parents tries to hurt the other by deciding not to babysit when scheduled. Of course, in this case it’s not babysitting. It’s parenting.

Then one parent has the child for the weekend and lies to the other about where they’ve been.

It’s not for me to get into who is right or wrong. I’m biased because I’m only getting one side of the story.

All I know is that it makes me sad. I can only pray that this child escapes with as little damage as possible.

Nobody likes it when someone’s marriage hits the wall. And when lawyers are brought in, you can expect ugliness to ensue because the lawyer’s job is to make sure his or her client wins.

Of course, in these situations, nobody wins. Some marriages need to end because it happened for the wrong reasons to start with or there was abuse. And sometimes people just change and what happens happens.

I just hope the kids make out OK at the other end of these dramas.

The Christmas Dispirit

Yesterday was a day for vicious mood swings. It started on a high note at work. I got a lot done and I’m loving this new newsy focus we’re transitioning to. But by the drive home, my mood grew as dark as the sky.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WIaXYIEQivk&fs=1&hl=en_US]

Things got progressively worse at home. Sean and Duncan were high maintenance and I let it get to me much more than I usually do. I started thinking in absolutes, which is especially bad when it’s focused on all the negatives.

I was looking around at all the Christmas decorations with a scowl. I wrote the other day that Christmas doesn’t suck like it used to. But there are still days where I hate the holidays.

I love what it stands for.

I despise the capitalistic shit fest American culture has turned it into. And yesterday was a lot about all the things we HAVE to buy. I also get pissed off at all the Christmas shows that suggest this time of year be perfect, that we all be nicer to each other and be generous with our time and money so the less fortunate can have hope. The translation when I think in absolutes goes something like this: Be nice this month and we can all go back to being fucktards next month.

Public school systems do nothing to help matters and make the next generation kinder and gentler. Unless you’re in a parochial school Christmas is a secular affair. Keeping the Christ in Christmas might offend someone. So we focus on the decorations and the holiday spending. Hell, some schools don’t even allow the decorations anymore.

If you’re reading this and rolling your eyes because I’m suggesting the holidays should be more about Faith and that we should be nice to each other year-round instead of each December — and if you’re looking down at me because you think only the weak believe in God, I got two words for you, and it’s not “Merry Christmas.”

To be fair, those of my Faith can be assholes of a different sort this time of year. My favorite example is “Happy Holidays” vs. “Merry Christmas.” We Catholics get all pissy when someone says Happy Holidays, because there’s no Christ in there. So what if the saying is based on the fact that there are several holidays this time of year, covering multiple beliefs. “Happy Holiday” covers all the bases —Hanukkah, Thanksgiving, etc.

I still say “Merry Christmas” to people though.

Sounds hypocritical of me, doesn’t it? Getting on my high horse a few paragraphs above and lamenting at the lack of Christ in Christmas? But like I’ve said before, I can be a self-absorbed hypocrite with the best of ’em.

And that’s what I’ve been for the last 24 hours: Self absorbed. 

And there was no good reason for it, because in the final analysis my life is going fine. I’m blessed beyond anything I deserve.

I had a slip of the OCD. I let the dark weather and the holiday runaround get the better of me. That led to me obsessing about everything that’s wrong with the holidays instead of everything that’s right with it.

Classic OCD behavior. I guess you could call it a day in my life on the OC-D List.

Thank God I have a wife who knows the signs and moves in to help. Last night her and the kids did a bunch of my chores while I was at an OA meeting. She instinctively knew my load needed to be lightened.

It amazes me that she catches on the way she does, because I really suck at talking about it. I can write about it and the world sees in. But when it’s just the two of us, I have trouble opening up. I start channeling my father without meaning to. My Dad is a great man and I love him wholeheartedly. But he’s always had trouble opening up emotionally, and that characteristic seeped into my pores while I was swimming in the gene pool.

But I’m trying to be better. I’ll keep trying.

And now I’ll stop bitching, because I hate it when other people go on Facebook and bitch about the hard day they’re having.

Did I mention that I can be a hypocrite?

Christmas Doesn’t Suck Like It Used To

The Christmas season remains an uncomfortable time of year for me. I’m used to going into a deep depression the second December starts. But something’s different this year. For the first time in a long time, I’m not dreading it.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-GNtipSggWY&fs=1&hl=en_US]

Life isn’t perfect. It never will be. Not supposed to be. But I’m finally starting to move past the idea that Christmas is supposed to always be perfect, sparkling and free of pain and strife. Given my tendency to think in absolutes, it used to be that if I had an argument with someone or work was stressful that it was all the fault of the season.

Not helping was the chemical imbalance that set in when the days got shorter. A dark sky for me is usually a dark mood.

What’s different is that I’m looking at a lot of painful, hard work in the rear-view mirror. Years of intense therapy, the decision to bring my addictions to heel, letting God in and going on medication. In the last couple of years, all that toil has been starting to pay off and I’ve felt joys I could never feel before.

In the last year, I’ve also fought back hard against the daylight problem. I went up 20 MG on the Prozac last winter, dropped back to the old dosage for summer and moved back up Aug. 1, when the days become noticeably shorter. I also started using a special lamp — sunshine in a box, as I call it — and that has diminished the extreme moods.

They still come and go, but they’re not nearly as intense as they used to be.

I think the biggest reason I’m not dreading Christmas this time is that my perspective has changed. I’m not craving a “Pleasantville” atmosphere where everyone kicks back and smiles all jolly. I’m not expecting things to be idyllic. I guess you can say I’ve lowered my expectations.

People are still going to fight. Cars will still break down. Loved ones will still die. That no longer means Christmas is destroyed.

A lot of this is based on my deepening Faith.  

This time of year is about celebrating the birth of Christ. I love the glow of a lit Christmas tree as much as the next person. But I don’t care so much about all the gifting back and forth. It feels good to give, but I’ve realized the best thing I can give is my time for a friend in need or a family that’s always there for me.

If not for the sacrifice Jesus made for us sinners, I’d be in a world of shit. For all I know I still am. Purging evil behavior is a complicated task and I very much doubt I’ve mastered it.

Celebrating His birthday is wholly appropriate, regardless of the twists and turns life will inevitably take. Because that birth was our second chance — my second chance.

If you’re a skeptic and think I’m getting into crazy talk, I don’t care. I know I’m no better or worse than you, though in my delusional moments I like to think I am.

This is where my road has taken me, and I’m grateful for it.

And so, I think I can get up the courage to say these two words:

Merry Christmas.

Friends in Crisis

I have a few friends who are in crisis these days, making my own struggles seem trivial. Talking to them is a lot like living in the Twilight Zone. I’m used to being self absorbed.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:7bv9wNXN3FHKMRTMdi48fL]

I have to admit something: I’m not that good at being there for others. Lord knows I try, but I get so stuck in my own head sometimes that it’s hard to see what’s happening around me.

My failure on this front is most evident on the family side. Even before the relationship with my mother imploded, I always sucked at visiting my grandparents and calling siblings. I was always too busy with other things.

Actually, I was always obsessed with other things, some real, some imagined.

When my great-grandmother was dying, I kept meaning to go visit her. The week I finally planned to was the week she died.

I was terrible at visiting my Nana. Instead of loving her unconditionally, I was fixated on her quirks. Here’s the thing with a head case like me: It’s much easier to stew about someone else’s faults than your own. That may sound like a contradiction, since I talk a lot about being stuck inside my own head. But that’s part of the problem. People like me will come outside my own head for a few minutes just to spit on someone else’s quirks.

I’ve paid the price along the way.

I’ve had a lot of friends come and go in my life. Two of the closest friends died on me. It took a long, long time before I was willing to even consider getting close to anyone ever again outside my family.

And, as I mentioned earlier, family relationships suffered.

So here I am, a few years into recovery from OCD and addiction, and people are coming to me for a shoulder to lean on.

God has a way of giving you payback and blessing you with His grace at the same time.

I’m fortunate to have the friends I have, after all the fucking up I’ve done in life.

I hope I don’t let them down.

Readings From The Book Of Crap

I’ve noticed a sad phenomena in the halls of recovery. And I’ve had just about enough of it.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=60J6HlvfePM&fs=1&hl=en_US]

A lot of my 12-Step brothers and sisters have a saying: “I’m taking inventory.” It’s supposed to be about reflecting on your own growth and behavior. But it’s really about trash talking other people. One person is doing too much of it lately.

Everyone who walks into an OA, AA or NA meeting is a little crazy. If we weren’t a little bit off, we wouldn’t have to be there in the first place. We’re entitled to our faults. But when someone corners you all the time, pushing the AA big book in your face and quoting from its pages like you’re desperately in need of hearing them recite it, there’s a problem. Especially when it’s clear they’re not coming from a healthy place.

Anonymity is an important tool of recovery, so I’ll keep the person’s name out. The person cornered me after Saturday’s OA meeting after I shared about needing to tweak my program. Me seeing my needs as they are turned into a tirade about me being in denial. He tells me to read page whatever in the 24-hour book and page something-or-other in the Big Book. After awhile, it’s like David Koresh pushing a Bible in your face and telling you what it means, just before the compound bursts into flames.

As I looked at the clock and saw a half hour going by, I felt something I haven’t felt in a long time: I wanted to punch the guy. Hard. That IS NOT OK.

This fella is having a lot of trouble relating to people lately. He walks around asking people for money and then spends it on cigarettes. He tells you we have to bomb the Chinese and the Iranians because Israel is going to be nuked and it’s in God’s plan. He goes on about how this person demoralized him or that one betrayed him simply because they called him to the carpet when he decided to interrupt or speak out of turn.

Most disturbing, God is becoming his excuse for every bad decision he decides to make. It’s an old story, people using God to justify their bad choices.

I bring it up not to flame anyone, but to point out something vitally important for anyone trying to hang onto their sobriety and abstinence. When someone needs help, you try to help. But when someone needs SO MUCH HELP that they latch on and suck the life out of you, calling several times a day and making a crisis out of every little thing, it’s time to back away.

A person like this is not evil. They need to be loved, and we should love them and try to guide them. That’s what God wants.

But in any program of recovery, limits are everything. Limits are meant to protect you from relapse. 

And when you let someone bring you down with crazy talk all the time, you’re putting your own recovery in jeopardy.

Relapse and you hurt your family, your friends, your livelihood, and your faith. And once that happens, you’re no longer in a position to help anyone else.

You can’t help yourself, for goodness sake.

To be of service to the most people, you have to cut ties with a few. It may not make sense, but it’s true. That’s what I have to do.

So when someone tells you we have to start bombing China in between reciting direct passages from the AA Big Book, it’s time to look them in the eye and tell them, as politely as possible, that it’s time to grow up.

Feeling anxious

No, it’s not an anxiety attack. It’s not fear. But it’s a feeling of anxiousness I haven’t felt in a long while. The trigger is an old friend.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZvxHFmKl_Qo&fs=1&hl=en_US]

I used to live in a constant state of panic over work. The constant fear of not measuring up or being liked. A couple years ago I largely lost those fears. I just decided to do the best I could for me and let the chips fall where they may. That’s worked beautifully so far. I actually enjoy the work instead of wanting to puke over the tasks on my list.

As to how I’m feeling right now, it’s not the fear and anxiety of old. But it could be called a work-related stress. And not something the powers that be are making me feel. This is all me — all about the things in my head. 

I’m excited because we’re starting up a new news-driven blog on CSOonline that I’ve been itching to do for over a year. Some other tweaks are going on to the homepage as part of this. Meanwhile, we’re amping up a new CSO page on Facebook. I’m banging my head against the desk because I can’t seem to get all the news and Twitter feeds posting directly to the wall of the new Facebook page. So the blinders go on and I let the world around me melt as I stare intensely at my screens, groping for the solution. Being a control freak doesn’t help.

I just want to do this stuff and do it well. Better than well.

It’ll happen, but I gotta work on my patience and try to push back on the urge to have it all.

Bullied Minds, Bad Choices

I’m quite taken with this Boston Globe article about the long-term impact of bullying. There’s some truth to the conclusions, but also a lot of bullshit.

Mood music:

[spotify:track:0xwK8KzT8gFa7f4MsYYpQu]

Of the new research, the Globe article says the following:

A new wave of research into bullying’s effects … is now suggesting … that in fact, bullying can leave an indelible imprint on a teen’s brain at a time when it is still growing and developing. Being ostracized by one’s peers, it seems, can throw adolescent hormones even further out of whack, lead to reduced connectivity in the brain, and even sabotage the growth of new neurons.

These neurological scars, it turns out, closely resemble those borne by children who are physically and sexually abused in early childhood. Neuroscientists now know that the human brain continues to grow and change long after the first few years of life. By revealing the internal physiological damage that bullying can do, researchers are recasting it not as merely an unfortunate rite of passage but as a serious form of childhood trauma. This change in perspective could have all sorts of ripple effects for parents, kids, and schools; it offers a new way to think about the pain suffered by ostracized kids, and could spur new antibullying policies.

My compliments to Emily Anthes for a well-written, thoughtful article. The opinions I’m about to express are not a dig against her or the article itself. There’s a lot of value in what she reported and wrote. My issue is more about the mindset that seems to be taking hold where being a bullied kid somehow becomes an excuse for doing something terrible later in life.

My view can’t be taken as the final word. I’m no expert in the field. I only have my own experiences and how they’ve applied to my actions.

I was bullied a lot as a kid. But I did my share of bullying as well. Kids do stupid things. I was a stupid kid, and I had run-ins with other equally-stupid kids. Truth be told, the bullying I experienced led to plenty of depression and addictive behavior. I’m sure it had an impact on the troubles I would have as an adult.

But I think I’ve been equally scarred — with the same results — by the cruelty I let loose on others. A lot of guilt over how I treated others led me to the kind of self-destructive behavior some people don’t recover from.

The article makes comparisons between the verbal and physical abuse kids suffer at the hands of their parents and what they suffer at the hands of their peers.

Another snippet from the Globe article:

Martin Teicher, a neuroscientist at McLean Hospital in Belmont, has been examining just these kinds of scenarios. He began by studying the effects of being verbally abused by a parent. In his study of more than 1,000 young adults, Teicher found that verbal abuse could be as damaging to psychological functioning as the physical kind — that words were as hurtful as the famous sticks and stones. The finding sparked a new idea: “We decided to look at peer victimization,” he said.

So Teicher and his colleagues went back to their young adult subjects, focusing on those they had assumed were healthy in this respect — who’d had no history of abuse from their parents. The subjects, however, varied in how much verbal harassment — such as teasing, ridicule, criticism, screaming, and swearing — they had received from their peers. What the scientists found was that kids who had been bullied reported more symptoms of depression, anxiety, and other psychiatric disorders than the kids who hadn’t. In fact, emotional abuse from peers turned out to be as damaging to mental health as emotional abuse from parents. “It’s a substantial early stressor,” Teicher said.

Here’s the thing: Though I experienced trauma at home and school, I’ve ALWAYS had the choice of whether to lash out or take the high road. I did a lot of lashing out. But I didn’t grow up and decide my lot in life was a reason to kill someone or rob a bank.

I think of this bullying article and can’t help but recall the recent story of the mother who killed her baby because the child was disturbing her game of Farmville. That story hit me where I live because it’s a story of addiction. My impression is that this woman has an online gaming addiction, which can be just as insidious a disease as alcoholism, drug dependency and, in my case, binge eating.

That’s where my sympathy ends. In fact, I can’t say I have any sympathy. My friend Lori MacVittie sounded off on this case in language I wholeheartedly agree with. On her Facebook page she said:

“There’s an excuse for everything, even killing a 3-month old child over a stupid game. I’m addicted, I’m depressed, I was deprived as a child, wha, wha, wha. Grow up. It’s called choice. Everyone has them. She made the wrong one.”

And there it is. We all go through traumatic experiences, and in the end we all have a choice.

At any point along the way I could have used my troubles as an excuse to go into a life of crime and maybe kill a few people along the way. I certainly had my moments where, if you interrupted my binge or gave me shit about my OCD quirks, I would fill with rage.

I’ve thought about punching people many times. But I never did.

Because I had a choice. I chose not to step over the line.

Now, to say we all have choices and we all have the power to do right or wrong is to oversimplify things. When a person suffers from an addiction or a mental struggle, they are not always in their right mind. When that happens, you’re capable of all kinds of evil, no matter how hard you try to hold back.

I strongly believe there are suicide cases where the person is so far gone into the world of depression and despair that they no longer have the capacity to make sane decisions.

My childhood friend, Mark Hedgecock, became a thrice-convicted pedophilebecause of his baggage. The baggage was only part of it. He had a choice and made the wrong one three times.

He acknowledged as much over the phone a few months ago. He knows he’s a monster and that he probably shouldn’t be on the street. Bottom line: He did what he did and has to pay for it for the rest of his life. It’s sad, though. It’s a waste. But he was trolling for teenage girls on Facebook over the summer, showing he can’t help but repeat his mistakes.

He had a choice. He made the wrong one.

This FarmVille-addicted mom had a choice. She made the wrong one. Now she’s gotta pay.

That doesn’t mean we have to like it. She killed her kid in a moment of insanity. It’s a tragedy. period.

Unfortunately, getting bullied by your peers can knock loose the wiring in the brain that makes you hold back from bad choices later in life.

This stuff is hopelessly complicated.

The study on peer bullying is just another thread in the larger, gruesome tapestry of human nature.

I’m still waiting for the day when we’re able to take what we learn from these studies and concoct the perfect bad choice prevention program. It won’t be in my lifetime.

I’m just glad that when I faced those moments of choice and made the bad calls, nobody got killed. Good friends and family pulled me through.

May it be the same for you.

Me and My Wall

When I get tired and angry, I have this wall I put up. Erin is usually the one who crashes into it.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PpAbUvl3eTk&fs=1&hl=en_US]

She’s been building a freelance editing business for the past year, and the hours she puts in would kill a lesser person. I’ve taken on a lot of extra things around the house to help, and for the last week or so the fatigue and frustration has set in.

Not frustration with Erin. Frustration over the situation.

This is a much better situation than what we faced several months ago, when all the freelance work dried up and we couldn’t figure out how we were going to get all the bills paid. Now there’s a ton of work, and at the end of the day we’re both wiped out.

The problem is that I don’t immediately catch on that I’m frustrated. I figure it’s just me going into OCD mode. I’m just tired, I figure.

That’s when I become a prick.

Erin will try to engage me in conversation and I’ll shut down. I put the wall up. I don’t realize I’m doing it, and that’s a problem.

For all the sharing I do in this blog, sometimes it’s still ridiculously hard to open up to those closest to me. I’ve worked hard on fixing that in recent years, but I’m far from there.

One reason is that I’m still a selfish bastard sometimes. I get so wrapped up in my work and feelings that it becomes almost impossible to see someone else’s side of things. That eventually blows up in my face.

I also don’t like to be in a situation where there’s yelling. There was plenty of that growing up, and I tend to avoid the argument at all costs.

I’ve gotten better at this stuff, but I know I still put that wall up at times. Putting up a wall can be a bitch for any relationship, because sooner or later bad feelings will race at that wall like a drunk behind the wheel of a Porsche and slam right into it. Some bricks in the wall crack and come loose, but by then it can be too late. The relationship is totaled. 

I’ve come to realize this will always be a danger we have to watch for. It’s a danger in any marriage. Carol and Mike Brady never really existed. If they did, they could have used a few good fights. They wouldn’t have wasted so much time sitting up in bed reading boring books.

Now that I’ve gotten that out of my system, it’s time to put the big-boy pants on and get back to work on that wall.

Maybe one of these days I’ll tear it down once and for all.

Passing Insanity to Your Kids

This weekend a friend asked if I worry about passing the “crazies” on to my children. The answer: Every day. But here’s why I don’t despair about it like I used to.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZeybYbTblM&fs=1&hl=en_US]

First, a few facts: Some of my quirks were definitely passed down to me from my parents. The OCD comes straight from my mother, and the emotional wall I sometimes put up to deal with it comes from my father. That binge eating would become the root of my addictive behavior should surprise no one. It runs deep in the roots of the Brenner family tree.

I see signs of my defects in Sean and Duncan every day.

Sean has more than a few OCD characteristics. When the boy gets into something, be it a computer game or Legos — especially Legos — he goes in deep and lets the activity consume him. In other words, he approaches these things compulsively.

Duncan, like me, gets a bit crazy when the daylight recedes. His mood will swing all over the place and he has the most trouble in school during winter time. To help remedy this, Erin recently bought me and Duncan happy lamps — essentially sunshine in a box. Despite the skepticism Duncan and I shared over it, the things actually seem to be working.

I don’t curse the fact that the kids inherited some of my oddities. As far as I’m concerned, those quirks are part of what makes them the beautiful, precious children they are.

Here’s the thing: I don’t want to purge this stuff from them. I just want them to know how to control it in ways I never could at their age.

To that end, they have a lot going in their favor: First of all, the traits they’ve inherited from their mom will be priceless weapons in whatever fights are before them. She has given them — and me — a spiritual foundation that can’t be broken.

The other big win in their favor is that I’ve gone through a lot of the pain and hard work so that they hopefully won’t have to.

I’ve developed a lot of coping tools to manage the OCD, and I can pass those skills on to them.

There’s also not as much stigma around this stuff as there used to be. There IS some, to be sure. But my kids won’t be written off as behavioral problems and tossed into a “C group” like I was. I won’t permit it.

There are no certainties in life except that we all die eventually. I can’t say Sean and Duncan will never know depression or addiction. A parent can put everything they have into raising their children right. 

But sometimes, despite that, fate can get in the way of all your hard work.

It’s not worth worrying about those unknowns, though, because you can’t do anything about it. All I can do is my best to give them the tools I didn’t have at their age and pray for the best.

One reason I don’t worry as much as I used to about these things: Sean and Duncan are much smarter than their old man was at their age.

That has to count for something.

Facing Down a Fear

One thing I’ve become somewhat obsessed with in my recovery is facing down specific fears. Public speaking is one example. Now I do that often and with ease. Today I scratched something else off the list.

Mood music:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1Sypr3mF44&fs=1&hl=en_US]

I’m in Toronto for the SecTor security conference, and before buckling down to work I took a couple hours to walk around and clear my head. Looking up, I saw the tip of the CN Tower, which looks a bit like Seattle’s Space Needle. It looked like a short walk, so off I went.

Now, I wouldn’t say one of my biggest fears was height. I remember going to the top of the World Trade Center in NYC 17 years before terrorists tore it down. That was before my fears came to the service as an adult.

But being up high was something that gave me pause. It used to be that the thought of having to go on an airplane would send me into an anxiety attack.

I’ve also been to the top of the Empire State Building, but that’s a wide enough structure that I could handle it.

But the CN Tower would have scared me away a few years ago. Something about its needle-like structure shooting straight up to the heavens would scare me. Given the thinness of it, I wouldn’t feel as secure as I’d be atop a wider building.

True story: In 2007 during one of the Black Hat conferences in Las Vegas, I was walking around with friend and former colleague Rob Westervelt when we saw the much smaller replica of the Space Needle. Rob wanted to go up. I didn’t, but I kept it to myself.

As we got closer, my anxiety level rose. I managed to talk Rob into doing something else. When Rob reads this, it’ll be his first inkling that I was having an anxiety attack. He shouldn’t worry about it, but he will anyway.

So this morning I decided to vanquish this fear and up I went. It’s truly beautiful up there. It’s stupid to think I used to fear such stunning vistas.

It’s funny when I look back at the last year and all the old fears I’ve smashed into rubble.

Fear of public speaking? I do it all the time now, for work, for my 12-Step meetings, at church and on the recent Cursillo I was on team for.

Flying? I do that all the time now, too. And I love looking out the window and seeing the vast world below me, with sun, clouds and sky mixing into colors that are downright heavenly.

I also used to have fear grip me at the thought of work or family gatherings.

Long road trips used to paralyze me with anxiety. I always had a fear of getting lost and never finding my way back.

This year I’ve taken the whole family on the  five-state drive down to Washington DC — twice. The first time, we got a private tour of the White House West Wing for our efforts. That’s a rare experience that fear will deny you.

I still have my fears. They just don’t control me anymore.

And every time I do something small like climbing a tall structure, the fear loses a little more of that grip.

Life doesn’t suck. Seize it.