Suffice it to say, some things you just can’t unread…

A new person followed my blog the other day, whether to actually read mine or get me to read hers, I don’t know.  

I clicked over to read some of her work, same as I do for everybody who follows me.  If I like what they have to say, I’ll follow theirs.  If not, I simply move on.  No sense in wasting either of our time.

This blog was different than any I’ve seen in the five years I’ve been blogging.  Pornographic, from a woman’s perspective.  Just the three line teasers were too much – but I felt compelled to click on just one post to see if this woman was the real deal or if she was faking it.  

I read a touch more than one paragraph and exited.  I’ll never go back.  The post centered on her penchant for being polyamorous – multiple guys.  The post went downhill, and fast.

I didn’t stick around.  I made it a whole paragraph and a half – long enough to see where it was going, but not long enough for the post to get there, before retreating to the relative safety of my much simpler life.

This is how I choose to roll, because some crap can’t be unread.

Whether about recovery, my marriage, work, or life in general, I live by a simple principle:  Spend enough time in a barbershop, eventually I’m getting my hair cut.

The greatest requirement in this simple principle is honesty.  I know I am particularly susceptible to things that will provide instant gratification but come with catastrophic long-term consequences.

Consuming alcohol will provide an immediate escape but comes with the ultimate escape – first through giving up everything that is good in my life to stay drunk, followed by an early demise when my body shuts down from the abuse.

That blog is a twist on the same theme, only the casualties wouldn’t be quite so drastic – only my marriage and the love of my daughters.  Better, I wouldn’t even be granted the gift of death, just loneliness and despair.

The ugly part is that end result wouldn’t be set in stone, would it?  Certainly I could dabble around the edges without singing my hair, no?  Therein lies the rub.  Certainly, considering my addiction recovery success, considering the success of my marriage, I should be grown up enough to endure a guilty pleasure or two, no?

Nope.  Not this guy.

I can’t dabble around the edge of the pool without getting wet.  I can’t play in the ankle-deep water, I have to get in so the waves crash over my head so I can ride them.  To thine own self be true – and the truth is, a cheap thrill isn’t worth the risk – my happiness, and ultimately that of my wife and kids.  I love them too much – and me too.