What happens to men who suddenly step away from the ledge? When they survive the whirlpool? When they quit the corruption of their existence, stopping the greed, the drinking, the relentless chasing of hedonism? The chaos of it.
What happens to them when they embrace God, when they walk a completely different path, in this new light, seeking not only their own truth but the truth of their existence? Like my very good friend whom I met at Oyster Bay recently. What happens to a man like that?
“I’m at great peace.” He was once very skinny. “When I was drinking, I was barely eating.” He leaned over the counter and stirred his tea. Tea.
A man who two years ago would have been slapping the derriere of a whisky bottle in ritual before cracking it open. I was moved by this new him, because I know how much he struggled with alcohol and how desperately he wanted to quit.
He also ordered samosas. I ordered my double whisky—it was a Saturday evening after all. Oyster Bay was buzzing with life; women in long weaves and men in fitting polo shirts, laughing, drinking, talking. A great Saturday night.
We talked about how life has changed for him. “Well, I’m making much less money because I lost a lot of business associates,” he shrugged. “My business was caught up in the deals from my drinking.” Change is very difficult, he added.
“Otherwise, everybody would change their lives.” He stirred his tea again. The music was great, just loud enough not to lean into the person you are speaking to and ask, “What?”
You feel an energy at Oyster Bay, this unsettling sense that at some point in the night it plunges into chaos. As he looked around the bar, I asked him if he missed this life. “Oh God no. It was a season for a different man.”
