i don't write book reviews. i came close in my last post, but i was really highlighting was the value of interdependence, not Sean Covey's execution in his analysis of what makes us "highly effective," an incredibly complex term that he sums up in 7 pithy habits.
i don't hide the fact that music is my heartbeat--the pulsing force that has changed my life, and changed it again. i connect. i feel. i love. i cry. i move. i even pray all through this outlet.
this is (in short) the purpose of art. a good book--no--a great book can do the same. it just usually doesn't do so in three minutes and i can't get 12 books on one CD. but when a good book rattles your cage, you better be prepared to tame the beast within. Craig Ferguson's American on Purpose had me reaching for my seatbelt. this is probably a good idea--having him behind the wheel would have been bad news.
a lot of people know Craig Ferguson as "that boss guy from the Drew Carey show" or "the guy on after Letterman who I watch when i'm brushing my teeth because NBC ruined their late night line up." i've been an avid Ferg Fan for a while now. he's smart, funny, and silly, and what i like best of all is that the informal milieu of his show makes me feel like i'm in his living room. and he has puppets and a robot skeleton sidekick. if you don't think that's awesome, you more emotional and heartless than Geoffrey the robot skeleton.
his perspective is fresh.
i read his book.
now i know why.
he slapped me in the face with his honesty in this book. there are few things that outweigh the importance of self awareness, which is why i discuss it SO much in my blog. rarely do i stumble upon a book, a biography nonetheless, that is written with such raw self perspective it strips your own bones. recovering alcoholics are the best at this. that's why i think so many of them are artists.
alcoholics are my favorite. some of the most important people in my life and many of my favorite artists are recovering alcoholics, or more heartbreakingly so, active ones. when we journey back into Ferguson's Scottish childhood, where he shatters no stereotypes and shatters the notion that stereotypes aren't true. we learn of the strong Scottish women who embrace with an iron love, but embrace you love nonetheless and with the best intention. we learn of Gunka James, who exceeds the definition of "that cool uncle" you have and dives into life changing impact. but most of all, Ferguson defines alcoholism through his own experience. it is a disease that i have grown to understand, but even i fumble for the words to explain what it really is.
Ferguson notes one of the most amazing, contradictory blessings that i find to be true of every alcoholic, being they've all wanted to drink so much that they don't wake up the next day, or in some way, want to kill themselves, but also at some point that alcohol save their lives. he recounts his "bottoming out," which consisted of him waking up in a room above the bar where he was drinking, soaked in urine (he is unclear as to whether it's his or someone else's, assuming it's his) instead in the company of his family. realizing he is chained to the demons of alcoholism, he makes the decision to jump off a bridge and end his life. as he is about to make his final exit, the bartender, stops him for a glass on Christmas morning wine. the book indicates that this is a goblet/bucket size wine glass. Ferguson gets drunk and forgets to kill himself. this story, though shocking in it's own right to the masses, is not shocking to many alcoholics. alcoholics cling to the notion of their pain being unique to them which means they deserve to drink. recovery alcoholics aren't phase. they've heard it before in the comfort of a folding chair and a cup of coffee.
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