Zvone – Inner Dialogue

Teaching my Crocodile to Work Already early in the morning, clouds had started gathering above the hills. The air felt heavy and damp, the kind of weather that quietly sticks itself to your skin before you even notice you are sweating. It looked as if rain might arrive at any moment, although it never fully committed itself to the idea. Summer often behaves like that. Threatening effort without actual results. I wandered around the house for a while pretending to do useful things. I moved tools from one place to another, inspected objects that did not require inspection, opened drawers for no particular reason, and occasionally stared thoughtfully at things as if deep concentration alone might somehow organize them. Nothing helped. The truth slowly became obvious. I did not feel like doing anything. My legs felt heavy. My head even heavier. Some invisible force seemed to be pulling me gently but persistently toward the floor. After half an hour of this highly unproductive wandering...

Why Would I Need Forgiveness If I Do Not Hold Grudges? A few days ago, while wandering through the internet the way people wander through supermarkets when they only need bread but somehow end up examining electric drills and exotic sauces, I stumbled across another discussion about forgiveness. The topic appears regularly online, usually accompanied by soft background music, photographs of sunsets, and sentences written in decorative fonts by people who apparently spend their afternoons healing humanity between yoga sessions. "You must forgive. Forgiveness sets you free. Holding grudges only poisons yourself. Release the past."  And so on. The strange thing was that while reading all this wisdom, I suddenly realized something uncomfortable.  I could not think of a single person I needed to forgive. At first that sounded almost noble. Mature, even. Then I became suspicious of myself. Surely there must be somebody. Over the years I have met enough difficult people to ...

The Value of a Good Question The Thought That Wouldn't Leave   A while ago, during one of those long conversations that somehow wander from one topic to another without any clear direction, somebody told me something interesting. "People who ask good questions are often far more useful than people who already have answers for everything." The sentence stayed somewhere in the back of my mind for days afterward. Not because it sounded particularly profound at first. In fact, when I heard it, I almost dismissed it as one of those clever internet phrases people like to repeat while drinking coffee and pretending they have solved life. But the more I thought about it, the more uncomfortable it became. Mostly because I realized it described me rather well. Sometimes I sit down with a tiny idea, barely worth noticing. A strange thought appears for half a second while washing dishes, smoking outside, walking somewhere, or reading something completely unrelated. Most people probab...

The Wrong Measure of Suffering Many years ago, I knew a woman who had a simple explanation for almost every human problem. Whenever somebody was hurt, disappointed, anxious, depressed, heartbroken, exhausted, or simply struggling with life, she would shrug her shoulders and say something along the lines of: "Life is hard. Nature is cruel. If you can't handle it, that's your problem." Sometimes she expressed it even more bluntly. I remember sitting there listening to her and wondering whether she actually believed what she was saying or whether it was simply a habit she had developed over the years. At the time I didn't argue with her. There was little point. People rarely abandon opinions that have accompanied them for decades. Still, her words stayed with me long after the conversation ended. Not because I agreed with them. Because I wasn't entirely sure why they bothered me so much. Years later I think I understand. The problem wasn't that she believed l...

Why Advice Rarely Helps an Addict Most mornings, while drinking coffee, I spend a few minutes scrolling through social media. Not because I find it particularly useful. Mostly out of habit. Somewhere between photographs of people's lunches, political arguments, sleeping cats, and advertisements for things nobody really needs, there is always an endless supply of advice. The internet is overflowing with advice. If you drink too much, somebody has a solution. If you are anxious, somebody has a solution. If you are depressed, lonely, overworked, unhappy, exhausted, unmotivated, emotionally unavailable, emotionally available, too optimistic, or insufficiently optimistic, somebody has a solution. The advertisements are everywhere. "Do you struggle with alcohol?" "Are you suffering from anxiety?" "Do you feel stuck in life?" "Join our program and transform your future." "Take control of your life today." "Become the best version of y...

Where Did My Laughter Go? The Smile That Stayed Behind  A few weeks ago I found myself sitting at a table with a group of people I have known for years. It was one of those completely ordinary gatherings that seem so unimportant at the time that nobody would think of remembering them later. Someone had made coffee. Someone else had brought a cake. The conversation wandered wherever conversations among familiar people usually wander. A little about work, a little about children and grandchildren, a little about politics, and a little about how things used to be better, although nobody seemed entirely sure in what way. Then somebody made a remark. Today I have no idea what was actually said. The joke itself has long since disappeared from memory. What remained was the reaction. Around the table people burst out laughing. One man almost spilled his coffee. A woman beside him bent forward and wiped tears from her eyes. Even the person who made the joke started laughing at his own co...

The Strange Discomfort of Being the Sober One A few days ago, I was unexpectedly invited to a family celebration. Well, perhaps not completely unexpectedly. I could have guessed it was coming, but part of me had still been quietly avoiding the whole thing. Large family gatherings become slightly complicated once a person stops drinking. Especially if the family still drinks normally. Or what society calls “normally.” I have now been sober for a year and a half. My relatives know I am an alcoholic. At least technically. But I am not entirely sure they truly understand what that means. To them it often seems less like an illness and more like some unfortunate habit I should eventually learn to control. Something between bad discipline and bad luck. They are my closest relatives, and I know they care about me. But at the same time I sometimes notice a certain discomfort around the subject. As if my sobriety quietly disturbs the atmosphere. As if I became slightly f...