Whispering Wyrd

The Healing Web

recent posts

  • Live Now

    Actor Eric Dane recently died at 53. I didn’t know much about him beyond the fact that he had ALS, but I saw part of a video he recorded for his family. In it he told them something simple but very powerful…

    “Live now.”

    Don’t wait. Don’t assume you’ll have time later. Live now. That message hit me hard.

    Life has a way of keeping us busy. Responsibilities, fatigue, stress, doctor appointments, bills, errands, the endless “I’ll get to it when things slow down.” We tell ourselves things like, When I have more time, when I feel better, when I’m not so tired or when things calm down. But things rarely calm down on their own that much.

    None of us are guaranteed another minute. That’s not meant to be morbid, it’s meant to be clarifying. We all know people who went to bed expecting tomorrow and didn’t wake up to see it. We know people whose health changed in a single visit to a doctor. It doesn’t even have to be death, sometimes it’s a diagnosis that rearranges everything.

    When I was diagnosed with diabetes, I was shocked. I’m not overweight. No first degree relatives have it. But there it was. I remember the fear and the anger. The “Why?”

    Then came getting clean. I knew it would be hard. But I didn’t know it would nearly break me. Benzo withdrawal changed my nervous system. Multifocal PVCs became part of my daily life. My body feels different than it used to. Some days are harder than others.

    And yet… Here I am. Alive. Breathing. Walking under New Mexico skies and watching ravens ride the wind.

    Laughing with my wife. Video chatting with my granddaughter. Writing these words.

    That’s the shift.

    Living isn’t about waiting until everything is perfect. If I waited until my body felt 25 again, I might never start. If I waited until anxiety was completely gone, I might never step outside. If I waited until life felt predictable, I might never do anything at all.

    Living is doing the thing anyway, within reason, within wisdom, but without postponing joy indefinitely.

    So whatever that thing is for you… What have you been putting off?

    Is it a trip? A conversation? A creative project? Starting over in some small way? Taking a class? Calling someone? Watching a sunrise instead of scrolling your phone?

    If you can’t do the whole thing today, can you take one small step toward it? Make the plan. Buy the ticket. Start the outline. Take the walk. Say the words.

    We don’t need a terminal diagnosis like Eric Dane to gain clarity. We don’t need a catastrophe to wake up. We can choose to live now.

    Not recklessly, not fearfully. But intentionally.

    I’m heading out now to chase one of my dreams, not because everything in my life is perfect, but because it isn’t. And that’s exactly why now matters.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • Walking Through The Noise

    It was cold and windy yesterday as I took my daily walk. Very cold. But unless the weather is utterly unbearable, I walk. I even walk in the rain here. For me, there’s just something about being in and surrounded by the mountains that heals me and clears my mind.

    After I complete my rounds of Niànzhū (Buddhist prayer beads), I use the rest of my walk to simply contemplate. I look at the beauty around me and feel how fortunate I am to be here, still alive after benzo withdrawal and everything else I’ve survived. I feel blessed to have my family. The walks also give me a chance to work through anything that might be going on in my life. I simply don’t feel as well on days I miss a walk, so I go pretty much regardless of the weather.

    Something that I’ve been thinking a lot about in recent days is how divided people seem right now. Religion, politics, culture, even families. It feels intense and it feels overwhelming. And sometimes it feels like everyone is yelling and no one is listening.

    But honestly? I don’t think division itself is anything new.

    History is full of it. Wars have been fought over beliefs. Families have been split apart over differences. Entire civilizations rose and fell while arguing over who was right and who was wrong. All throughout history.

    What is new is the way we experience it. We literally carry it around in our pockets now.

    Social media and news feeds don’t just show us what’s happening, they show us carefully selected versions of reality, tailored to confirm whatever side we already lean toward. Add anonymity to that mix, and suddenly people say things online they would never say face to face.

    Someone a little older than me recently said during a conversation, “We didn’t talk to people like that back in the day because they’d get punched in the face.”

    Crude maybe, but true.

    There used to be an immediate human consequence for cruelty. Today, there’s just a screen. And when there’s a screen between us, it becomes easier to forget there’s a real person on the other side. Someone with fears. Someone with wounds. Someone with a story we know nothing about.

    I’ll be honest, all of this gets to me sometimes. Especially on days when my heart is messing up and my nervous system feels raw. But that’s exactly when I come back to my daily walks. To my beads. To the mountains. To breathing. To remembering what actually matters.

    Out there, surrounded by wind and sky and quiet, none of the shouting exists. There’s just life. A raven calling from overhead. Clouds drifting over the mountain peaks. My own footsteps on the trail.

    And in those moments, something softens inside me. I can feel it, I can feel tension leaving my body.

    I remember that every person I might be frustrated with is also trying to survive something. I remember that everyone is carrying something heavy we don’t see. I think about how showing  kindness is not weakness, it’s courage.

    Spirituality, for me, isn’t about having the “right” beliefs or winning arguments. It’s about remembering our shared humanity. It’s about choosing compassion even when it would be easier to harden. It’s about listening more than speaking. It’s about noticing beauty even when the world gets loud. It’s about doing no harm, to others or to ourselves.

    Some days, just getting through the day is the practice. Some days, choosing not to lash out at someone is the practice. Some days, putting one foot in front of the other on a cold, windy trail is the practice.

    And sometimes, the most radical thing we can do is simply stay open-hearted in a world that keeps trying to close us down and divide us.

    If you’re reading this and feeling overwhelmed by everything going on, please know you’re not alone.

    Take a breath.
    Go outside if you can.
    Look at something alive.
    Be kind to your nervous system.
    Be kind to yourself.

    The world doesn’t need any more outrage. It needs more gentleness. More listening. More remembering that we are all human after all.

    That’s what I try to concentrate on during my walks. And today, I’m offering it to you too.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • Choosing The Good Stuff

    Today I’m getting to exercise my ability to choose the good.

    I remember a long time ago a man I had a lot of respect for told me that when things are rough is when we really get to see that we have choices in how we react to unpleasant situations. I was telling him about something that had been bothering me, and he said, “That’s the perfect opportunity to practice patience!”

    The operative word was practice.

    It really doesn’t do much good to say we’re working on patience when everything is going fine, only to fall apart or fly off the handle when things aren’t going so well. I can honestly say I’m doing much better in that area these days than I was back then. Withdrawals forced patience upon me. Now when things get annoying I tell myself, “This is nothing compared to what I’ve been through before.”

    I also draw inspiration from people I love. Two people especially come to mind. One deals with chronic abdominal pain from a medical condition, and the other deals with chronic joint pain from another condition. Chronic pain is no joke. It doesn’t just hurt physically, it takes a toll emotionally too. Yet they keep going, and their positive outlooks inspire me to keep my own outlook positive.

    I used to not believe it when people told me I had a choice in how I reacted to things. Now, I absolutely believe it. Yes, we can condition ourselves through habit to react badly. But we can also slowly rewire those patterns and learn to respond in healthier ways. That doesn’t happen overnight, it happens through repetition, through small choices, through practice.

    That’s what I’m getting the opportunity to do today.

    I didn’t sleep well again last night because of the nightmares. They’ve been happening more often lately. I suppose it’s because my brain isn’t drowning in alcohol or dulled by benzos anymore, so memories that were once buried are now finding their way to the surface. On top of that, I don’t feel well today.

    So I’m choosing to focus on the good things in my life instead of how bad I feel in this moment.

    The good things are still here, my family, quiet evenings, kind messages from readers, fresh air, hot tea, the miracle of simply being alive. It’s just harder to notice them when you’re tired and hurting. But they’re still there.

    And choosing the good doesn’t mean pretending everything is perfect. It doesn’t mean denying pain or forcing positivity. It just means deciding, again and again, to place your attention on what nourishes you instead of what drains you.

    Some days that choice seems big. Other days it’s tiny, like getting out of bed, taking a few slow breaths, being gentle with yourself, sending love to someone else who might be struggling too.

    Today, for me, it looks like appreciating what’s still beautiful even while I’m not feeling my best.

    If you’re having a rough day too, maybe this can be your invitation to choose one small good thing. Just one. And let it be enough for now.

    We’re all practicing.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • Why I Am The Way I Am

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  • The People Who Try To Silence You Are Not Your People

    I wrote recently about how much I love good conversations. Since then, I’ve had a couple of conversations that have stayed with me in a pretty deep way.

    One was with someone in recovery, and one was with someone who’s never had to navigate recovery at all, but like everyone else, has still had their share of hardship. At first glance their lives look very different. But underneath, the same theme kept coming up.

    Judgment.

    Not loud or obvious judgment, but the quiet kind. The kind that leaves you feeling small and drained. Second-guessing yourself.

    Most of us know at least one person like this. Sometimes it’s a coworker. Sometimes it’s someone in a support group. Sometimes it’s family. You know the type:

    “Well, if you hadn’t chosen drugs or alcohol.”
    “If you hadn’t gotten mixed up with that crowd.”
    “If you just believed what I believe.”
    “If you did things my way.”

    Yeah. Those people.

    For too long I let voices like that live rent free in my head. It’s only since getting clean that I’ve been able to see something more clearly… people who lead with judgment rarely, if ever, have anything helpful to offer those who are trying to heal, grow, or move forward.

    What struck me in these recent conversations is how universal this experience is. No matter what path you’re on, someone will judge it. They’ll judge how you recover. They’ll judge what you believe. They’ll judge the car you drive, the way you earn money, the way you speak, the way you use your voice.

    Here’s the part I sometimes have to remind myself of, over and over again… Their opinions don’t matter.

    It’s not your job to manage other people’s emotions. Or, as I’ve heard it said in my group, other people’s opinions of you aren’t your business. People are free to think what they want. What is your responsibility is protecting your own healing and not letting someone else’s disapproval derail your progress.

    Keep being you, keep recovering. Keep bringing your own light and voice into the world because you never know who might need it.

    Most people, sane people anyway, want to live in peace. And in my experience, the ones who are constantly trying to make others feel “less than” are usually people whose own inner world is in turmoil. I’ve never met a person who was truly at peace with themselves who felt the need to make someone feel small. Not once.

    A lot of us, especially those in recovery, are just learning how to speak our own truths. And it can feel risky. We worry about offending someone or about losing approval. We worry about being met with silence or disapproval instead of understanding. So we water down our words. We edit ourselves. We leave important pieces of our story out.

    But here’s the hard truth, the people who try to silence you are not the people you need in your life.

    Others don’t have to agree with you, but they also don’t have the right to argue you down, dismiss your lived experience, or make you feel ashamed for being honest. Disagreement is part of being human. Silencing is something else entirely.

    Healing means learning to accept ourselves as we really are, what we believe, what we’ve lived through, and who we’re becoming. If someone consistently tries to make you feel small, muted, or unsafe for being yourself, they aren’t for you.

    And if this resonates with you, if you’ve ever held your tongue to keep the peace, or edited your truth out of fear, you’re not alone. You’re not wrong. And you’re not too much.

    Your voice matters. Especially now, so keep sharing it. You never know who might need to hear it.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • Things I Miss About Texas

    Those who’ve followed this blog (and my previous one) know I moved to New Mexico from Texas six years ago. But if you’re new here, welcome, and here are some thoughts that popped into my head today.

    One of my sons and his wife are currently visiting Texas. Next month, my wife, our youngest son, and I will head there ourselves for a visit. That got me thinking about making a list of all the things I miss about Texas.

    Here’s what I have so far…

    1. Nothing.

    Okay, that was a joke. My attempt at humor.

    Seriously though, after living in New Mexico for six years now, here’s my completely honest, no-holds-barred comparison between the two. These are just my own experiences and opinions, of course. Your mileage may vary.

    Let’s start with the two biggest differences I’ve noticed… weather and culture.

    It’s hard to say which one comes first.

    The Weather

    I can say with certainty that I never liked Texas weather for more than about a week at a time. Texas gets brutally hot and humid. Winters are usually mild, until suddenly they’re not.

    New Mexico gets hot too, but where we live, it doesn’t hit those Texas triple digits. And there’s no humidity. That alone makes a lot of difference.

    Don’t get me wrong, the sun here at over 7,000 feet can be intense. The UV index is no joke. Five minutes in the direct summer sun will leave you wondering what just happened to your skin. We’ve all learned that lesson the hard way. Still, I’ll take dry heat over sticky heat any day.

    Then there’s rain.

    Where we lived in Texas, rain in the forecast meant flooding and a washed-out road. That area can get more rain in a single storm than we get here in Santa Fe in months. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true.

    We do have a “monsoon season” here. I always laugh at that name, because in six years I’ve only seen Texas-style rain twice. Most of the time it’s gentle showers. Sometimes just enough to dampen the sidewalk. It is dry here. I admit, I miss rain.

    Before we moved here, people who’d already relocated here from Texas told us the same thing, they missed water. Not Texas, just water. Turns out they were right.

    In Texas, oil is king. In New Mexico, it’s water.

    Mosquitoes (or Lack Thereof)

    I hate mosquitoes. I really hate mosquitoes. Where we lived in Texas, going outside meant being instantly devoured. Opening the door for thirty seconds invited a small airborne invasion into the house. There are bugs everywhere there, not just mosquitoes.

    Here in Santa Fe though? Maybe a few show up a day or two after a heavy rain. But since heavy rain is so rare, mosquitoes are blessedly scarce. This alone improves quality of life dramatically. There really aren’t many bugs here at all. That’s something that I always notice when we visit Texas, how many bugs there are there.

    Shade That Actually Works

    Here’s something that’s a really stark difference… standing in the shade during summer here actually cools you off. In Texas, shade just meant you weren’t actively being cooked by the sun, but it was still just as hot as not in the shade.

    And at night? New Mexico cools down! Even on the hottest days, once the sun sets, the temperature drops.

    In Texas, it stays hot all night. I vividly remember walking out to my vehicle before sunrise for work and it being in the 90s. That’s just ridiculous. I do not miss that at all.

    The Culture

    It amazes me how different neighboring states can be. Southeastern New Mexico might as well be Texas, same landscape, same vibe.

    But central and northern New Mexico? Especially Santa Fe and north? To me, it feels like an entirely different country. And I don’t just mean politics (though those really are polar opposites). I’m talking about culture. There’s so much diversity here. It just naturally changes everything.

    Santa Fe’s nickname is “The City Different,” and it absolutely lives up to that name. I love it!

    There’s art everywhere. History everywhere. Spirituality everywhere. You don’t feel like you have to fit into any single mold. You can just… be yourself. I know some will say they can be themselves in Texas, and that’s great, I’m just saying I never felt like I could there.

    What I Actually Miss

    If I’m being completely honest, there’s only one thing I truly miss about Texas…

    Family.

    My wife and I have two of our sons, a daughter-in-law, and soon a grandson here in New Mexico. But our oldest son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter are still in Texas. So are my parents and extended family. My wife’s family are in Texas and North Carolina.

    Trips back to visit are getting harder as we get older, no doubt about that. So yes, proximity to family is the only thing I really, truly miss.

    Home

    Life is finite. None of us knows how much of it we really have. So I think it’s important, crucial even, to love where you live. I have family who genuinely love Texas, and I’m glad they’re happy there.

    I never was.

    Even enduring the hell that was benzo withdrawal, I can honestly say I’ve never been happier in my life than I am here in New Mexico. I know what joy feels like now. I only wish we had come here sooner, but I don’t waste time regretting that. I’m just grateful we are here now.

    Wherever you call home, I sincerely hope you’re happy there. It’s important.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • Selective Moral Outrage

    I’ve got to be really open right now.

    I’ve been carrying something heavy since Sunday, and trying to push it down hasn’t worked. It’s started to make me feel physically unwell, which tells me I need to write about it despite risk of backlash. I’m honestly bewildered by what I’ve been seeing.

    So many people are furious about the Super Bowl halftime show, about dancing they didn’t like, songs sung in Spanish, things they call “inappropriate.” There are even officials calling for investigations.

    And at the very same time, we’re learning more and more about rich and powerful men abusing children. That breaks my heart.

    People are up in arms over a few minutes of music and movement, but strangely quiet when it comes to children being harmed. I don’t understand how that happens.

    I don’t understand how cultural discomfort or moral outrage over a performance can be louder than compassion for victims. I don’t understand how we’ve arrived at a place where twerking provokes more anger and more response than exploitation of children.

    When outrage is selective like this, it stops being about morality and starts being about comfort and/or political identity. If people reserve their loudest voices for performances but not for predators, something is deeply wrong in the priorities.

    For me, this isn’t political. It’s human.

    Children deserve protection. Victims deserve to be heard. Accountability should matter more than aesthetics or “loyalty” to any political party.

    I don’t want to write this with cruelty or hatred. I don’t think that helps anything. But I also don’t think silence helps either. Peace doesn’t mean pretending things are okay when they definitely aren’t. It means caring enough to speak.

    I’m just one person, walking my own healing path with one voice, trying to stay compassionate in a confusing world. But I know this much… If people can get loud about a halftime show, we can get louder about protecting children!

    And I hope we do.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • What Conversations Have Taught Me

    Something I’ve noticed since getting clean is how much I love good conversations. I learn so much just by listening to people.

    I don’t remember ever having conversations like this before. I think there are two reasons for that. One, when I was drinking or taking pills I wasn’t very interested in listening, I was too angry and shut down, too closed off. And two, I just didn’t have access to this kind of diversity before we moved to Santa Fe.

    Where I used to live in Texas, especially the rural area we were in, things were pretty homogeneous… backgrounds, beliefs, politics, religion. Here, where I live now in New Mexico, I’m surrounded by people from wildly different walks of life. And I find that incredibly healing and hopeful.

    I’ve talked with people who’ve gotten sober and clean. I’ve talked with people who never turned to alcohol or drugs but had to overcome deep prejudice or hardship. I’ve talked with people who walked away from what a lot of people would call “powerful” lives in places like New York City or Los Angeles so they could live quieter, more grounded lives here.

    Their stories are fascinating. A lot of them are deeply inspiring.

    One of my favorite examples is right next door to us. Our neighbors are two older gay men who’ve been together almost forty years. We absolutely love them because they’re some of the kindest, best neighbors we’ve ever had. But I can’t help but think how different their experience might have been where we used to live. Here, they feel safe. They feel welcome. And that matters more than I can put into words. I’ve listened to their stories about how they’ve been treated in other places, and it makes me happy that they are happy here.

    I’m not knocking the place I grew up or spent most of my adult life in. I’ve moved past the anger and resentment I once carried for that place. I’m just being honest about my experience. When I lived there, I assumed that’s what most of the country was like because that’s all I ever saw or heard. Living here has shown me how much I was missing.

    I don’t think we can grow beyond what we already know unless we’re exposed to people who are different from us. Getting clean opened a whole new world for me, but listening to people is what’s helping me learn how to live happily in it.

    One common theme I hear in these conversations is pain, and overcoming that pain. Addiction, prejudice, abuse, violence, loss. And then the slow, courageous work of moving forward anyway. What touches me most is how many people manage to do that without becoming hard or bitter.

    Sometimes people fight back tears while telling their stories. But almost always, the conversations end with smiles, with laughter… with hope.

    I love that!

    And I’m grateful, deeply grateful, for every person who’s willing to share their story with me, and for every conversation that reminds me how human we all really are.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • A Single Thought, A Single Memory

    A few nights ago I had one of the roughest nights and days I’ve had since acute withdrawal.

    I’ve had waves before, the sudden returns of withdrawal symptoms, but none as intense as this one. Thankfully they’re fewer and farther apart now, but this one hit really hard. I think it started with a nightmare the night before. Even now, I sometimes have vivid dreams, intense nightmares, about things from my past. The kind that wake me with a racing heart, feeling like I can’t breathe, and just feeling sick.

    This one lingered all through the next day. Then came another sleepless night. By the second day, I was a mess.

    I laid down hoping to rest, my heart still beating too fast from exhaustion and anxiety. I tried focusing on my breathing. Then a memory surfaced, something tied to that nightmare, and in response to that one single thought, my heart rate jumped dramatically. I watched it happen in real time. My body reacting instantly to one thought, to one memory.

    I got up because I knew there was no chance of sleep or even a nap with my heart racing like that. My wife suggested I meditate. Honestly, meditation hadn’t even crossed my mind. My nervous system was in survival mode, replaying old trauma. But I listened to her and sat down anyway.

    It took much longer than usual to settle because of my heart rate, but I stayed seated on the cushion.

    And it paid off.

    After a long meditation session, I was able to get back to my normal routine. That night, I slept better than I have in years. The next morning my wife said, “I’ve only seen you sleep that well a handful of times our entire marriage.” We’ve been married 38 years if that tells you how rarely I sleep that well.

    I share this because it really drove home how powerful our thoughts are. Our thinking shapes our experience in very real, physical ways. This whole episode started with a memory that led to a nightmare, followed by another memory that made everything worse and prolonged the suffering.

    Not everyone has trauma that causes these kinds of cascading spirals. But those who do probably know exactly what I’m talking about.

    A lot of us turned to alcohol or drugs to numb those thoughts, feelings, and memories. I did. First alcohol, then benzos. That cost me decades.

    But even without trauma, we can all see how thoughts affect our lives. If we constantly take in things that upset or overwhelm us, it shows up in our bodies and our moods. On the other hand, when we make an effort to engage with things that support our well-being, that matters too.

    That single memory that made my heart race even faster showed me how quickly things can spiral. The meditation session that calmed me showed me the other side of that coin, how changing where we put our attention can be healing.

    I’m not saying this is easy. And I’m definitely not saying traumatic memories or panic responses are “all in your head.” Please don’t ever listen to someone who dismisses your experiences.

    I live with PTSD. I know from experience what panic attacks, anxiety, and depression feel like. The body remembers trauma, even when we consciously know we’re safe in the present moment.

    What I am saying is that when our nervous system goes into panic, we still have tools. Sometimes it starts with something as simple, and as hard, as coming back to the breath.

    That recent wave knocked me off the rails for a couple of days. But I came back. I didn’t reach for alcohol. I didn’t try to figure out how to get some pills just to get through it. I listened to my wife. I meditated. And slowly, my system settled.

    If something like this happens to you, please talk to someone you trust. Please remember that our bodies affect our thoughts, and our thoughts affect our bodies. I don’t pretend to have universal answers, what works for me may not work for someone else. Please do whatever helps you feel grounded and safe (just not drugs or alcohol).

    If you’d like, feel free to share in the comments what helps you. You never know, it might be exactly what someone else out there needs to hear.

    That’s what this blog is about. I share my experiences in the hope that something here might help someone else.

    If you’re struggling right now, please know you’re not alone.

    Amituofo
    ~Buck

  • Miracles

    Do you believe in miracles?

    If you do, what qualifies as a miracle in your view? A lot of people think of miracles as something enormous, events so extraordinary they seem to defy all known laws of nature. That’s certainly one way to understand the word, and for a long time, that’s how I understood it too.

    But now I believe that miracles can also be small. Or maybe they only seem small until we really notice them.

    During acute withdrawal, making it through another 24 hours became a miracle for me. There were times I really didn’t know if I was going to make it. Life stopped being measured in years and narrowed down to days, sometimes hours, sometimes minutes. That experience changed my perspective in a way nothing else ever has.

    Now, more healed but still healing, I see miracles everywhere.

    A beautiful sunset feels like a miracle. The way the mountains heal me is a miracle. Stepping outside into the quiet night air, breathing deeply, seeing the moon and stars, that’s a miracle. Seeing my granddaughter smile is a miracle. Simply being here, alive, breathing, that is a miracle.

    Please don’t think I’m using the word “miracle” lightly. I’m not. I mean it with all the weight and wonder that word is meant to carry. Thich Nhat Hanh once said, “The miracle is to walk on the green Earth,” and I believe that with my whole heart now.

    My sobriety is a miracle. Every time someone finds their way out of addiction, it’s a miracle worth honoring. No one wakes up one day and decides they want to be an addict. No child dreams of growing up to struggle that way. The stories that lead people into addiction, and the things that happen while trapped there, are heartbreaking.

    And when we finally get sober or clean, we don’t get to erase those stories. We carry them. But we carry them differently now. With tools. With support. With clarity. With the ability to face life as it is, without numbing ourselves away from it.

    You don’t have to be in recovery to understand this. Anyone who has struggled, anyone who has been overwhelmed, anyone who has felt worn down by life knows how easy it is to miss the miracles happening all around us.

    They’re there, in sunrises and sunsets, in mountains and oceans, in cool night air, in moments of laughter, in simply making it through a hard day.

    There’s no need to wait for a world-shaking event that defies physics. The miracles are already here. They show up for us every day. All we have to do is slow down enough to notice them, and show up for them in return.

    Amituofo
     ~Buck