Ryan Has A Blog??

This is the first (of hopefully many) blog entries that I am assuming will interest at least one single person somewhere on the World Wide Web.

I may be young, and there is a plethora of things that I can hardly wrap my developing brain around, but I have also had a rather unique experience regarding life, death, and everything that goes along with it. You see, I am an addict and an alcoholic. I am in recovery, and work a 12 step program that has made my life worth living (which is a rather drastic change from how I felt BEFORE my introduction to the program). This was my first change in perspective; a spiritual experience, if you please.

Not to be too bitter, but I don't care if you disagree with the things I have to say nor do I care whether you believe I am going to hell or not. I realized not too long ago that I am not here to be judged by you, or anyone for that matter. I am here to go throughout my days striving to do the next right thing, and to help my fellows. I am here by the grace of God (or Allah, Adonai, Jehovah, Buddha, Mother Nature, etc.), and do not want to waste one more day trying to play the role of director for a production that would otherwise be filled with beauty and joy.

As the week begins, we bury my grandfather, Maximilian Sporer Jr., who was one of the men I respect most in this world. He was born in 1924 to Belgian immigrants and named Roy De Buck. His father was a bootlegger who, later, ended up getting caught and sent to jail. My grandfather's mother was unable to care for the children on her own during the Great Depression, and sent them to an orphanage in Owatonna. He was later adopted by Maximilian Sporer Sr. and his wife; it was from that moment that his life took a turn for the better. He went on to serve in World War II shooting down Nazi planes, and was on the beaches of Normandy, France on D-Day. When he returned home he married Mary Springer (my grandmother), and went to St. Thomas Academy, getting a degree in English, and physical education. Max and Mary had five children, the youngest being my father Jon.

Throughout his life he had many great accomplishments, and he had an actual impact on many people's lives. Not only was he my hero, but he was a hero for his country. It makes me so sad to know that when he died I had not spoken to him for almost five months. He had lived in Pensacola, Florida with his companion Geraldine Conniff, who I am eternally grateful to have in my life. Geri made the final years of my grandfather FUN, he was always laughing and telling (semi)offensive jokes, just like he always had. He was always happy to see his children, or grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. He will be missed greatly.

Now, I could spend weeks wallowing and grieving over his death, OR I could accept life exactly how it is: short, sweet, and unpredictable. I can enjoy the time I have here, right now.

Acceptance is the answer to all my problems.

I used to be an ornery, depressed, drunken druggie. I cared about no one but myself and my next fix/hit/drink. Since getting sober, I have a new outlook on life, a new appreciation for family and friends, and a disposition that some say is infectious. It is no thanks to me, but to my fellowship and my family/friends that have not given up on me.

This was all my first large change in perspective.