“It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light.”
— Aristotle
My 52-week photography and recovery project is complete. I expected to write about the pride of reaching this milestone and the transition to a new photography project—topics I will return to shortly. But life had other plans, and recent events demanded attention first.
A projected winter storm arrived last Saturday morning. I shrugged off the warnings, thinking a couple of “snow days” might be relaxing—an excuse to slow down. The snow came, and at 11:49 a.m., the power went out. At first, it felt almost playful. I pulled out my flashlight and headlamp, bundled up, and let the child-like excitement settle in.
But the outage didn’t last a few hours—it lasted nearly five full days.
In the early days, I managed with humor: making coffee and meals on my camp stove, layering up, doubling blankets, and keeping my phone alive with a battery bank. I checked outage updates, stayed connected with friends, and tried to make the best of it.
By day three, the novelty wore off. The cold felt deeper. The isolation heavier. Thankfully, I could visit my local gym to shower and charge my devices. But the dark and silence began affecting my mood. My sleep was poor, and I couldn’t use my CPAP. Early on day four, I felt depression settling in—not just sadness, but that familiar heavy pull that once led me toward escape.
On the fourth morning, sitting with a hot coffee inside my local grocery store, I watched people buying essentials—along with plenty of beer and wine. And I heard the old voice, faint but persistent:
“You could drink if you wanted to.”
Not this time.
I remembered a winter storm in February 2021, when I roamed icy streets and returned home with a box of wine each time—grateful no one was around to see. I drank to numb. I drank to disappear. It’s a wonder I didn’t freeze.
This time, I reminded myself why I started recovery: the harm, the pain, the self-destruction. And then I reminded myself of everything I’ve achieved since. Drawing on both negative motivation and positive momentum, I came home and endured another cold, dark night—but with pride and strength.
Power returned just short of the five-day mark. Relief washed over me. Then came the cleanup: dishes, laundry, sorting out spoiled food. And just as things stabilized, frozen pipes thawed, flooding several apartments. Mine stayed dry, but the water was shut off for another seven days for repair.
Nearly two weeks without basic comforts—and I stayed sober and steady through all of it.
Now, circling back to where I hoped to begin: I’m considering a shift in my photographic efforts to a new 52-week project centered on creativity and seeing creatively. I want to expand my identity beyond recovery and reconnect more fully with the creative community. I want to enjoy life with purpose, goals, and connection outside the context of addiction.
But I will remain active with friends and groups in recovery. I’ll keep the Recovery52 blog alive and post whenever inspiration arises. And I will stay humble—aware that the old voice may return, and committed to answering it with clarity, strength, and truth.
If my reflections have supported anyone else along the way, I’m grateful. My recovery continues forward—steady, mindful, and intentional, moving with purpose into whatever comes next.