I started this blog almost exactly a year ago. My mom had suggested blogging as a way for me to write regularly and share that writing with other people. I told her no. Many times. I thought about every aspect of it and concluded time after time that blogging wasn’t for me. I doubted my own capability and was positive that even if I wrote a blog, no one would read it. Nevertheless, Mom persisted. Her “suggestions” became harassment. Monty stopped being a sympathetic listener to my fears and joined forces with Mom. God started pushing me, until I felt like I had to have an outlet for my writing. And Poetic Blessings was born.
Looking back on this past year, I realize how much I’ve done—mostly because I wanted to write about it. I’ve gone to concerts, been on vacations, seen an eclipse, gone to the opera, celebrated sobriety milestones, made new friends, had some struggles with sickness and pain, and learned more about myself than I’ve learned in a lifetime. And I’ve gotten to do it all with Monty, my silent partner in this blogging adventure. He didn’t know what he was doing, either, when we started the blog. I gave him a vision of what I wanted, and he made it happen. He’s the one who gives my words such beautiful settings. As I look back, I think about how I made it through the incredible journey that the year has been. I simply followed the example of Bob Wiley.
Bob Wiley is the character played by Bill Murray in the movie “What About Bob?” Bob is so riddled with fear that simply leaving his apartment and going to see his new psychiatrist almost causes him to have a nervous breakdown. When he finally meets the new psychiatrist, he sits down and, by way of introduction, says, “The simplest way to put it? I have problems.” He begins to list his fears—everything from germs to a sudden episode of Tourette’s syndrome which would cause him to yell profanities, to not having access to a bathroom, which he believes would cause his bladder to explode. The psychiatrist tells Bob he has an answer for him and hands him a copy of the book he’s just written—“Baby Steps.” He explains the very basic concept of the book: setting small goals and achieving them by taking tiny steps. Bob’s face lights up with hope, and he says “Baby steps!” in wonder. He immediately latches on to the concept. He starts walking around the office and eventually out to the hallway and elevator, narrating his progress the whole way: “Baby steps through the office, baby steps out the door. . . baby steps onto the elevator, baby steps into the elevator, I’m IN the elevator!”
I have so much sympathy for Bob. In many ways, I am Bob. I could introduce myself in exactly the same way he did—“The simplest way to put it? I have problems.” I, too, have problems, and much like Bob’s, they’re almost all based in fear and have been as far back as I can remember. As a child, I was afraid of nearly everything. Dogs. Spiders. Nuclear war. Other children. When I was diagnosed with asthma, I was so afraid of dying in my sleep that I forced myself to stay awake. I saw a news story about killer bees migrating north from Mexico, and I was so afraid of being caught in a cloud of killer bees that I was almost unable to go outside. When my dad went on business trips, I spent the whole time he was gone in complete panic, convinced that he wasn’t coming back; every time I closed my eyes, I had visions of fiery plane crashes. And for all of third grade, I was terrified of the Rapture: our teacher told us that if we hadn’t asked God to save us in the “right” way, we wouldn’t get to go to heaven with those who were really saved. I had this very clear mental picture of my family going to Denver in our van, when POOF! All of them would disappear, and I’d be left alone in the backseat of the driverless van, careening down the interstate with all the other sinners.
As I grew up, my fears became more rational and rooted in reality but still almost as numerous. The only way I was able to cope with the enormous world I was discovering was by taking baby steps through it. I baby stepped my way through college and into marriage, then lost my footing during my ten year struggle with substance abuse. Fear played a huge role in my addiction: I was terrified of living without those substances and starting the journey of recovery. I didn’t know what recovery entailed, but I knew it would be the hardest thing I’d ever done. So I did it the only way I knew how—in baby steps. I baby stepped my way into my first recovery meeting—literally. There are twelve steps down into the basement where we meet, and I remember the narrative in my head the first night I went down them: “Baby steps down the first flight of stairs. Baby steps down the second flight. Baby steps into the meeting room.” And all of a sudden, there I was, in recovery—where I discovered the concept of living one day at a time, one step at a time—all guided by twelve steps that showed me the way out of the hell of addiction. I also discovered a group of people who, though on the surface might have seemed very different from me, understood exactly what I said almost before I said it. They’d stared fear in the face and overcome it—and had learned how to live without using drugs or alcohol. 
Since that first meeting, I’ve gone down those twelve steps to that basement countless times, always one baby step at a time. Those baby steps saved my life and continue to save my life. They also taught me a few lessons:
Baby steps will take you where you need to go. Your progress might be slower than everyone else’s, but you’ll still make progress, one baby step at a time. Baby steps are small, but they’re still steps: they’re forward movement on your life journey. And that’s what matters—not what other people are doing or how fast they’re getting there.
Baby steps make the impossible possible. So often, I look ahead and see an activity or a problem looming, casting a huge shadow over my one-day-at-a-time life. I’ll feel the old familiar panic begin to rise, so I tell myself to stop, take a deep breath, then decide how I’m going to baby step my way to it and through it. There’s a song called “One Day” with a lyric that says, “Don’t try to swallow the ocean; keep doing one day.” And that’s what I remind myself: You don’t have to do this huge thing today, all at once. You only have to take one tiny little step. Again. And again. Just one step.
With each baby step you take, you gain confidence for the next steps. In “What About Bob?” Bob follows his psychiatrist on his family vacation. He interjects himself into the psychiatrist’s family life, befriending his wife and children. In one scene, the psychiatrist’s daughter asks Bob if he’d like to go sailing with her and her friends. Out of fear, he says no, listing the reasons he can’t sail. But he does it anyway, and shocks himself when he enjoys it. He yells exuberantly from the boat, “I sail! I sail now!” I felt like Bob when Monty and I went to the Bon Jovi concert a few months ago. I’d always wanted to go to a concert like that, but I was too afraid of all the unknowns. 
When Monty said he wanted to buy tickets, I said we should. And silently, to myself, panicked. Then I reminded myself that I didn’t have to do it right then, and I baby stepped my way to that concert: “Baby steps to the car. Baby steps out of the car. Baby steps through the metal detectors. Baby steps through this huge crowd of people I don’t know who seem intent on knocking me down. Baby steps to my seat.” When the lights went out, and the band came onstage, I suddenly forgot that I’d ever been afraid. I was like Bob sailing—I was enjoying it. I wanted to yell to Monty, “I go to concerts now!” And I can; going to one built my confidence for the next.
Don’t take your steps alone. I’ve reminded myself countless times over this past year that I don’t have to take any steps by myself—and I don’t. I cling to God’s hand. I’m absolutely certain that I wouldn’t be capable of any steps, even baby steps, if I attempted them by myself. The steps I tried to take alone that completely derailed me are still very fresh in my memory. So I walk with God, and He guides me through every single step I take. I also have many people praying with me from step to step, and that support is critical to my journey.
One year—130 blog posts. 142,188 words. Millions of baby steps. Thousands of moments filled with beauty and wonder. Hundreds of times when I was sure I couldn’t and God showed me I could. I have no idea what the next year holds for me or what the journey will be like. But I know how I’ll make that journey—one day at a time and one baby step at a time. I can’t wait.
“All I have to do is take one step at a time, and I can do anything.”Bob Wiley, “What About Bob?”
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Comments 12
Thank you for the great post now that I really think about it seems like baby steps is the way I have several bad things in my life, dinking, smoking, over eating and anger. If pray give your problem to God and lean on Him the baby steps make it easier to over come the problems we all have. I need to thank your folks and Monty for helping getting you started writing, they must have see the same talent in you we all have seen.
Grover–thank YOU–for your comment and insight and for your loyal support since I first started this blog. I have so enjoyed getting to know you. And your comments always bless me so much. I’ll pass on your thanks to Monty–he’s feeling quite smug today. . .
Congratulations on completing your first year of writing the best blog on the internet! Your weekly dedication to writing multiple blog posts and the the quality and content of the posts are inspiring to me. I’m SO proud of you and all you have done this past year!
Really the best blog? I know you mean that, so thank you. It’s a cliche, but I mean it with all my heart–you are the wind beneath my wings and I couldn’t have done one little bit of this without you.
Congratulations on the first anniversary of Poetic Blessings, which has been an inspiration for myself and so many others. Although I’ve been your aunt by marriage for over 20 years, it wasn’t until I started reading your blogs that I really got to know the truly special person you are. I rejoice, along with your family and friends at how many obstacles you’ve overcome to get to where you are now, mainly sober, happy and full of hope. I salute your mother and Monty for their persistence in not accepting no for an answer. All those baby steps you started taking more than five years ago has led to one giant leap as you back at all you’ve accomplished. I am so proud of you!
Thank you so much, Aunt Phyllis. I’m so humbled that my words would be an inspiration to someone as wise as you! One of my favorite parts of this journey has been getting to know you for the first time. And I’ve been so grateful to find out that you are a big-hearted, no nonsense woman with lots of love for me and Monty. Thank you for saying that all those baby steps starting over five years ago led to “one giant step.” I didn’t think about that–thank you. And thank you for saying you’re proud of me. Those words go straight to my heart. Love to you.
Good morning Sparrow. I awakened today, earlier than my norm , anticipating your Blog, praying you had regained your physical, and mental strength to have written another Blog. Thank you, I was not disappointed. Another beautifully written, from your Soul, Sparrow. You are giving your all, from the Gut, so to speak. You bare your heart, your sou” to us, your faithful readers.I may have said about you, You are Fearless. Quite often I like to write about My Mom. She always t9 me, ‘to pray”. When I am faced with a difficult decision, be it in school, playing little le@gue+Baseball, taking my first swimming test at camp, getting ready to climb 40 foot telephone poles, in the Army, I take a de3o breath, a short pray, I would say. Things would always work out, maybe not instant gratification, but would work out. “One Day at a Time”, Words I remembe4 today,now, as Debbie and I deal with a “major family issue involving one of our chimdren, which hangs heavily with me Everday, I pray, Little by Little things are. Getting, “ more normal”, not there yet, but marching forward. He@kth,
Ersonal issues, will get better, I just need toremember, “Take it to the Lord in prayer”. Your Blogs, are “my personal therapy”, the therapy I need, can never thank you enough for your Blogs. I still think of “The Tortoise and the Hare”, “slow and steady”, I will finish each race, each challenge. Could go on and on, your words, Sparrow, just get my “self examination”, My “testifying juices flow. Small steps, like a baby’s first steps, turn in to consistent steps. overcoming our fears, Your words give me, your readers strength, and above all, “optimism”, for each day of our lives, to put one foot ahead of the other, I, we , will be victorious. God Bless You,Sparrow, thank you for making our live#. Richer, brighter. See ya.TexGen,
Harold–I love learning more about your life every time you comment. My mom always told me to pray, too–and she reminds me still that prayer is the only thing you can’t fail at. I’m glad to hear that you’re marching forward with your family issue. You know you always have my prayers, especially in that area. If my blog has meant something to you, I’m so grateful. Thank you for the reminder of the tortoise and the hare–the point is to finish the race, not how fast you run it! Thank you for every kind word you wrote; I’ll treasure them.
If I could give you only ” one thought”, it would be to re-iterate the words of the song you posted alongside your post.
Baby steps–one day, one step, one friend, one prayer, one hope, one thing at the time. Not only does it take a few battles to win this war ( or so very many), you can only keep moving by the grace of God!
It is His grace, His blanket of love that can and will cover you when you feel too cold, the blanket that will keep you from shivering, and the one that will cover you and keep you safe and warm despite the storm that rages all around you and or within you. You may cuddle yourself within it, feel its warmth radiating back towards you and help you feel totally protected and comforted against the cold that tries to invade you.
I used to be in the market of selling down duvets and I often felt God smiling down on me as I tried to explain the variety of down duvets that we had available. Some were more expensive than others and all had a variety of names. My favorite was called the “Summit”—not quite the top of the line but one I had myself and loved. It was a grey goose down, but not white, which was the most expensive one! I used to explain that because it was a grey goose it was discriminated against–it was as warm and good as the best white goose down. It always made my clients smile and buy them. That plus a Summit was a good place to see the horizon?
We do not have to have the top product, not be on the top to have a vision– just a place where we may envision what can happen, where the vision takes place, hold it’s hand, take cover and discover where trust can lead you.
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Klara–thank you for the beautiful analogy of the comforter of God’s love. Just reading your words made me feel protected and comforted. Only you would take up the cause of a grey goose! And the name–“Summit”–how perfect. Brilliant marketing strategy, too! Thank you for once more adding your words to mine. And for all of your support and encouragement over this past year. Love to you.
In many ways we have journeyed together this year on many levels and my dreams have soared with yours.
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