When I first got sober, I wasn’t looking to become anything. I wasn’t chasing healing or insight or a new identity. I was just trying to stay alive long enough to outlive my liver.

Doctors told me to stop drinking or start saying goodbye. And they weren’t being dramatic. After 37 years of selling wine—and drinking more than I ever sold—my body was cashing in the tab.

But here’s the twist: that moment of reckoning turned out to be the beginning of something bigger than survival. What came next wasn’t just sobriety. It was a complete shift in purpose, direction, and identity.

After nearly four decades in the wine business, it’s hard to explain the shift. One day, I was chasing sales numbers and wine placements. Next, I was sitting across from someone in early recovery, listening with my full heart and no agenda.

I joined A.A. as many do, with little expectations and a lot of skepticism. I got a sponsor and became a sponsee because that’s what they said works. As a sponsee, every time I thanked my sponsor for working with me, he always said, “It’s an honor—and you’re doing much more for me than I am for you.” It made no sense at the time, but the line stuck with me. Now it makes all the sense in the world.

The first time I was asked to be a sponsor, I was flattered and proud. I have come to understand through my practice of the 12-steps that pride was the wrong emotion. It should have been happiness, gratitude, and joy.  I said yes, mostly because I was told it would help my sobriety. My sponsor said it would give back what had been given to me. I didn’t fully understand that until it happened.

Being a sponsor has brought meaning I had never found in all those years chasing recognition, bonuses, or bragging rights. I wasn’t climbing the ladder anymore—I was showing up for someone else’s next step. And in that, I found the kind of pride I could finally live with. It’s not the pride that puffs your chest out. It’s the pride that softens you. That makes you want to show up with more humility, not less.

For me, I can’t let self-pride slip in. There is no room for my ego to awaken in seeing someone I’ve helped take a hard, honest step toward a better life. There’s just gratitude.

I don’t feel pride in myself when a sponsee makes a breakthrough. I feel something deeper—shared joy. The kind that humbles you. The kind that keeps you coming back, not because you have to, but because you get to.

That’s the reward. Not being right, not being wise. Just being there when someone takes a step they didn’t think they could take.

My sponsor reminded me of that often, usually with a gentle push and a reference to the Big Book. He held my feet to the fire in the most loving way. He reminded me that There Is a Solution, and that it’s not hidden—it’s written, for us, and for anyone willing to read it with an open heart.

He gave me structure. But more than that, he gave me clarity. When things get hard, I know where to turn. The 12 steps. The Big Book. My sponsor’s voice. That’s my grounding.

May I suggest that if you’re not currently sponsoring someone, have a good program with sustained sobriety, and want a deeper understanding of the steps, make it known that you are open to be a sponsor. Let your group or your sponsor know you’re available and have a desire to be of service. If you’re unsure how to start, shoot me an email—I’ll recommend the same book my sponsor gave me, the same one his sponsor gave him, and so on. Every one of my sponsees has a copy as well.

Sponsorship may not light the same kind of fire in you that it did in me. Hell, I sure didn’t expect what followed. But I believe there is a plan, and believing in my Creator’s plan works for this alcoholic.

Coaching Helped Me Align My Life with My Values

Sponsorship gave me purpose. However, coaching taught me how to live in alignment.

When I started working with my coach, I was focused on losing weight. What I gained instead was perspective.

She helped me see how misaligned I’d become—how far my actions had drifted from my core values. I didn’t even realize they weren’t connected anymore. I was chasing progress, but not purpose. The process—the reflective, structured work of coaching—helped me name my values. And once I could name them, I could act on them.

Living my values wasn’t, and isn’t easy. It’s not a straight road. It’s more like climbing a hill you never meant to climb—only to realize there’s a beautiful valley on the other side, and you finally know how to get there.

My climb? That’s the daily work. The angry conversations I don’t want to have. The mirror I don’t want to look into. The humility it takes to listen when I’d rather speak. Keeping my temper in check. Getting to the gym. Realizing it isn’t worth it to get a laugh at someone else’s expense. My task list – prayer, book reading, contacting people, and other tools that keep my sobriety in check and help me achieve my goals.

Coaching taught me to make sure every goal I have is measurable, so I know when it is achieved. I learned that if I think I’ll go to church “Twice a week,” I don’t make it to church, but if I put 8:30 Mass on my calendar every Tuesday and Thursday, I make it to Mass every Tuesday and Thursday.

Another example – my wonderful wife, yes, the one that stood shoulder to shoulder with me through liver failure, liver transplant, addiction, and sobriety, works really hard, long days. She also plans and prepares every meal for us. Watching her work that hard and stress out on some days about dinner was going against my Core Value of being a good, loving, and respectful husband. To hold true to my core values, my coach helped me realize that if I could make two dinners a week, it would align with my core values. So, now on Tuesday and Thursday I go to mass and make dinner.

Working with a coach, I came to understand something simple but life-changing:

My actions have to reflect my values, and my values have to shape my actions.

Peer Support Sealed It All Together

Recently, I became a Certified Peer Support Specialist because I wanted to help people like myself, without waiting years to obtain a clinical degree or title. I already had the most important credential: lived experience. I wanted to do the work I was already doing—ethically, skillfully, and with accountability.

Most people don’t know what that title, bestowed by the State of California, and earned through extensive training, means. In simple terms, Peer Support Specialists support people with mental health issues from a place of lived experience, not clinical authority. We don’t diagnose. We don’t treat. We don’t fix.

What we do is walk beside. Listen deeply. Share carefully. And many times that’s exactly what’s needed.

I received my training at WISE U, which gave me the structure. But it was the mentors who gave me the heart. They showed me what it means to simply be present. To walk beside. To listen. 

All of the instructors at WISE U are Peer Support Specialists themselves and share their personal experiences. For me, the examples they share, along with the stories of success in recovery and life, are truly amazing. I plan to continue my education in the field of Peer Specialist. The training It is a minimum of eighty hours. A small price to pay if you share a core value of service with the people who make up this very special group of caregivers.

If you’re someone who’s walked through fire and wants to turn that into purpose, peer support might be the path. It doesn’t require a degree. But it does require lived experience, commitment, boundaries, and humility. You also have to be sober for 6 months and have a high school diploma. Yes, the actual diploma or transcript. After 45 years, mine was not easy to track down. But I was able to get it, and with the help of a nice person at LAUSD, I was able to take the 120-question exam. I thank my Creator and instructors for helping me pass the test.

If you’re curious about joining me in Peer Support, I’m always happy to point you in the right direction.

“Because this Journal has a core value of helping others by sharing what has helped us.”

I have my own work to do. And I do it, every day—through prayer, reflection, service, and sometimes just sheer stubbornness. My Higher Power guides me, but the effort still has to come from me.

I’m not here to fix anyone. I’m here to show up. Fully. Consistently. With respect, compassion, and just enough perspective to remind someone that the hill isn’t forever—and the valley is closer than they think.

This is one of the most brutal and most freeing truths I’ve learned—whether I’m coaching, sponsoring, or simply showing up:

I can’t do YOUR work.
Not as a sponsor. Not as a coach. Not as a Peer.

Your growth belongs to you. Whatever it is, may your Higher Power guide you, just as mine guides me.

I’m not the hero of any story.
 I’m a witness.
 A steady presence.
 A companion on the path.

And when someone makes a change that matters—one that truly aligns with who they are—
 I don’t feel pride in myself.

I feel joy for them.