The Gambler

From Gambling on Darkness, to Gambling to Transform Life and Contribute to a Better World.

Cover Art Combination of Middle Eastern Pattern Work and Roulette Table Colors

Scenes from Active Imagination - The Con and the Drunkard

Dreaming of descent into alcoholism and return through liminal space, rescued

The Semiotics of Risk - Greimas square populated by signs around a binary pair

Opening

Welcome back to the third installment in my series of posts about the overlap between addiction recovery and creativity.

The Gambler in the Addict

This post is entirely devoted to "Chapter 3: The Gambler,

Fyodor Dostoevsky's first major novel was, The Gambler. (Stellovsky, 1866) 
In a letter describing his protagonist, "Alexei", the author says "...his need to risk something ennobles him in his own eyes."

For years I would tell people I had been kicked out on the streets as a teen, when I knew it wasn't true.
I couldn't wait for permission to get out from under the family rule.
Throughout my twenties, often in search of drugs, I would repeatedly wind up in far away or dangerous places, on my own.
Even now, at forty-one, when I feel frustrated that I have to do things I don't want to do, I sense that old urge to self-sabotage.
"Fine, I'll just give up ever trying to write or make art again!" I'll think.

The Gambler within me craves the high drama and excitement of me vs. Fate.

Before Alexei ever plays roulette, he reveals that he felt "...like something was about to happen which would radically and irrevocably change my life." (39)

I've always looked for shortcuts.
The long road of subtle improvements in character can be daunting, 
It is much easier to convince myself that I'm smart enough to find a faster way.
I kept getting high and trying to channel the perfect piece of art, never looking at my shortcomings, just repeating the same inchoate techniques.
"A good song will have legs." I'd tell people.

Alexei's obsession intensifies. 
He wins some, but never enough to stop, at one point he complains about the fact that in everything he "drives [him]self to the ultimate limit."
 
I would tell myself that I just needed one more high, after which I'd stop for good.  
Never was I satisfied.
Serious hospitalizations, loss of money, opportunity, relationships were all just bad luck in my eyes.
I discharged from the ICU after a hemmhoragic stroke in October of 2020, and by Halloween I was using again and trafficking to support my habit.

Essential to the Gambler are the elements of risk taking, fear, danger. The Gambler has a remarkable ability to cope with dangers while lacking the ability to control the impulses that precipitate these dangers. So he creates dangers to keep himself stuck and to give the illusion of his own power (when he, once again, faces this danger). (43)

The "ability to cope with dangers" I wore like a badge of honor.  
I was blind to the pattern that continued to "precipitate" those dangers.
At the core of addiction the incapacity to be honest with oneself.
I made a simulation, a game inside my life, that would deliver the results I needed.
This highly dramatized narrative of excuses seemed real.
The truth was much less impressive.
Unwilling to seek treatment, he selfishly obscured the problem by turning to crime, then blamed society, the pandemic, his wife, and pretty much everything and everybody else.

The study of these archetypes has taught me something new and helped reframe what happened.  
This new perspective stings a little.
The effect is humbling, embarrassing, sobering.

This same archetype of The Gambler, has a role to play in recovery and creativity.

The Gambler in Recovery

"The addict's risk is foolhardy and uneducated. He risks at random and is messing with someone's life. Before I was gambling for the wrong stakes--the stakes of darkness. Now I'm gambling to transform my life and contribute to a better world."(47)

Today and most days, I wake up with a degree of anxiety.
Sometimes it is full blown fear.
My thoughts swarm, trying to concoct a plan that will guarantee my continued comfort.
If I don't intervene, I can count on a high stress day focused entirely on problems.
So I've learned to gamble instead.
Someone suggested I take a few minutes to try and let go.
Acknowledge that I don't have much success at directing the show.
Make a pact with myself that I'm just going to do the next right thing and trust that the rest will work out the way it's supposed to.

The Gambler in Creativity 

In my art, I take the risk to be responsible for the good and the bad in my work. This is how one becomes well.  It's a one-day-at-a-time extistence. In the recovery process every day is a gamble. As in a painting, you can always cover the paint and start again. (47)

 If I expect too much from my art, I will prevent myself from finishing it.
This translates into an obsession.
I spent almost ten years, starting projects and never finishing them because I was afraid to face the truth.
By refusing to be done, refusing to share it, I keep myself in the realm of possibility.
In that space, I can be whatever I imagine myself to be.
There are no limitations.
If I get stuck there, I forget about other people and become a narcissist.
It also leaves me delusional about my skill and talent.

I've learned that there is plenty of excitement in surrendering to a process.
Simply by joining Substack, I gained a platform.
Now I can make the viewing audience part of my process.
A piece isn't done until it's posted.
It's its own brand of letting go.
I bet on the fact that if the work isn't great there will be plenty to learn from.
But nothing if I hadn't been willing to share it.
No one, besides me, ever expects me to be perfect.    

Please share this post freely.
Being a sober artist is plenty exciting.  
  
Comment or message me.  
Next month's issue is about The Underground Man.  
We are nearly through the first section of Witness to the Fire: Creativity and the Veil of Addiction by Linda Schierse Leonard (Shambala, 1989)
I forbid myself to read ahead.  
Thank you for reading--until next time.


Damon B