Mark Lundholm

Words are the tools I use to explain

The transitions we make to joy from pain.

To get to the healing after the hurt

To cleanse emotional wounds of the world’s hurt.

The progress is always difficult, but hey,

It’s effort and growth that make pain go away.

I guess I could focus on just the dark side

And allow negativity to act as a guide.

But I choose the balance of humor and mirth

To boost my own levels of courage and worth.

I find most audiences seem to feel the same

That without opposing sides, there’d be no game.

How many kinds of love are there? How many have you experienced? How many lately?

I hear people say, “I love that song” or “I loved being there” or “I used to love when…”

Romantic love, physical love, conceptual love, parental love, puppy love, instinctive love, fading love, long-lost love, only love. Hard to keep track of the numerous styles and degrees of how, when, and whom people love.

Like every other wonderful emotion humans display, we’ve complicated loving. Once again we are either in love, or through with love, or minimizing love, or being consumed by it.

Lets keep it really simple. I believe there can be only one kind of love….unselfish. That’s it. The only kind that counts. It works better that way. Love is purest when it is like the love a child has for its mother. It loves always “just because.” I’d like to be that innocent, selfless, devoted, when it comes to love. I would love to be…Ooops! Here we go again.

Recently, I spoke to a guy I know very well, a friend. He was moving to a new place… renting a room from another guy he worked with. My friend is a practicing alcoholic, so his decision-making process isn’t sound. But it is familiar and easy for me to identify with as a recovering drinker.

He decided not to make the move for this reason: The bedroom in the co-worker’s house used to belong to that man’s daughter. It was painted pink! This was a huge problem for my friend, “I would never move into a pink room. Couldn’t do it!” Called it a “chicks place”.

Here is the funny part. My friend mentions to me at the end of the phone conversation that his co-worker is a crack smoker…..crack! That’s why his daughter no longer lives with him, why he needs a renter, and why he would accept a practicing alcoholic as a tenant. I laughed like hell!

My friend would move all of his belongings, his security and well-being into this other guy’s house except for the fact that there is pink paint on the bedroom walls. I understand—but not as well as I used to –that reasoning.

Makes sense to me but not for long…

My first thought is always wrong. That primary impulse or reaction to any given incident or event is bad for everyone involved. When I react quickly to words or actions of others, I hurt people. My gift for quick-thinking is like a loaded gun with a hair-trigger in the hands of a schoolboy. POW!

I have to wait sometimes four or five thoughts into the process before a healthy choice or positive path appears. I don’t really like this piece of my mentality but I deal with it…sometimes poorly, sometimes slowly, but it becomes less of a burden if I pause, breathe, and wait for that semi-decent thought to present itself. Quite the challenge some days.

I can’t count the times I have hurt someone I loved or put myself at risk in public as a younger man, when I honestly didn’t know there were any good, kind thoughts in my head. I was sure that “hurt or be hurt” were the yin and yang of youth..my youth. Not until the last few years of my life have I been so determined to follow the right thought. Still a struggle! Especially if you hurt me. What? You didn’t like the show?! My first thought is……not fit to print.

Love is a muscle. I was born with it. And like all my other muscles, it needs care, nourishment and exercise to develop. As a child, my love was small, but strong. As I grew older, so did my love. But I had to keep vigilant about tending to it. Sometimes atrophy would set in because of non-usage or inconsistent exercise. I had lazy spells. Time would pass and I found that when I needed to use my love, it was difficult to find strength. I was poorly conditioned at times, and romantically flabby. My love for friends and family was toned, but that’s a different muscle, isn’t it?

At 44 years old, my love needs daily challenge, testing and many reps, many sets. It doesn’t rejuvenate as quickly as it did when I was 18 or 25. The older I get, the more aware I am of my limits when it comes to over-doing it. So, I tend to it one day at a time. Exercise regularly and I don’t strain myself, injure anything.

A  weight lifter told me once that the most important goal in doing any exercise is to be able to do it again…Don’t get hurt! But pain happens anyway, even to the best-trained athlete and the one who is physically fit. Ouch!

I used to think that God was like a set of training wheels or a high chair. As you grew up, you no longer needed him. Self-reliance signified strength.

There’s a maturity that comes with powerlessness, I feel stronger when I rely on the natural order of things. I feel more mature when I am in the flow of what is loving and powerful, and unseen.

My discontent is directly related to the amount of energy I spend toward controlling a situation, or worse yet, some individual. I cannot count the times I have come up short when trying to change someone else instead of my perception of them, or reaction to them.

As an adult, I have one tough job trying to be an adult. Thank God for training wheels.

Peddling proudly,

Mark

In 1996, I weighed 225 pounds. It was the biggest I had ever been. Two-twenty-five is not a lot for some people. For me, it’s huge. I tend to gain weight in my face and waistline. I am genetically thin, as a Lundholm. When I graduated from high school, I was 6 feet, 135 pounds.

In August of ‘96, I was working in Florida and felt so badly about the way I looked, I wouldn’t go to the beach. I was horribly intimidated by mirrors, food, or working on stage in front of hundreds of people. I knew this! I don’t think the audience could tell, but one never knows.

I decided to make a change. Well, several changes, actually. Here are a few:

1) No “fast food”. Never. Never.

2) Skim milk only. “Yuk” at first, but worth it.

3) 30 minutes of exercise daily. Do something!

4) No meals after 10:00 PM. Non-fat snacks only.

5) At least one glass of water per meal.

6) Big breakfast, smaller meals as day goes on.

7) Eat more often (4 or 5 meals daily), less volume.

Lots of chicken (circumsized), shredded wheat.

9) When eating out, I don’t eat everything on my plate. The cook doesn’t decide how big my portions are . . . I do.

10) Slow down! Take time, enjoy, relax, dine!

Right here, I will distance myself from any liability as to anyone following these suggestions. They are suggestions only. This process has worked for me. I am not educated in the areas of nutrition, health, diet or exercise. Just the opposite, really. I am an expert when it comes to abuse, over-doing it, or gluttony of any nature. I have pork potential you would not believe. Need facts? Ask a doctor. I am a comic. Fat isn’t funny when it’s mine.

Today, I weigh 175 pounds. I am still 6 feet tall. I am forty years old and have never felt better. I have more energy than I did when I was twenty, sixteen, or on crank! I still follow this program, except I exercise at least an hour each day. Good for the brain. Endorphin thing, creative juices, solid white hot thought. Clear-mindedness comes with the rush, when it’s healthy.

Are you worth making changes for? I don’t know all of you, but I believe all of you are . . . worth it, I mean. After all, how many bodies do you get?

“So…how long have you been clean?”

“When did you get sober?”

………..who gives a shank?

I gave up wondering how much recovery someone has a long time ago. It’s easier for me to listen to someone speak if I don’t care about time. Just for today. I’ve heard someone with 34 years sober talk like an angry idiot newcomer. There is also the occasional “youngster” who will knock me sideways with a message.

However, I don’t believe “we all just have today” either. I guarantee you that I would not trade my today with someone who has been sober for for only three. I remember. Thank you.

I giggle (on the inside) when I see an N.A. person with colored key tags all strung together down their pant leg. Rainbow of insecurity. If you have to advertise that hard, how good could it be? There really is humility in the eleventh Tradition regarding anonymity and no promotion. I’ve heard recovery called an “inside job”. What color are you in there? Do you care?

There is huge difference between a walk in the sun and a walk on the sun. One feels good, the other….bye, bye. I have worked for many organizations, facilities and foundations. I have never worked at one. I don’t think I could. I speak at a place with out speaking for that place. The show is too controversial to please everyone. The subject matter is disturbing at times, hilarious at others….sometimes both in the same sentence. Come out and you’ll see.

I make a living writing comedy about a disease that kills people every day, How is that funny? Sometimes it isn’t. That is called balance. I get mail from all over the world every week. Most is powerfully positive and complimentary toward the process. These are people who realize I am talking to a group, and not for them. Opinionated as we all are, we don’t need to agree on everything. That excites me. Every night.

Even the criticism I receive is honest, helpful and necessary. I love it all. It means someone has allowed themselves to be affected by my work. Affected implies change, and change determines growth..and, well, growth is life! Simple isn’t it?

If you believe in God, then you know God works through people, not for them. Big difference there. If people don’t think so much about themselves and think more for themselves, God’s job gets easier…and I must say with all humility…so does mine.

Have some fun for a change…take that any way you like,,,,,

“As a child I was a thinker. I remember wondering how a mother would breast feed triplets.”

“The Old Days: When I only used the word God during orgasm.”

“I love my nine year old daughter more than anything on earth…I’ve already started saving for her Rehab.”

“Time means a lot. “Age” allows “Mess” to become “Message”. That’s why the 12th step is last!”

“My first grade teacher said “Okay, Mark, tell us everything you know about the letter H. I said, “That’s Jesus’ middle initial!”

“Children are computers. An infant is a laptop.”

“The day I can’t learn from a newcomer is the day I become one.”

“My wife said, “You never drank like this before we were married!” I said, “Oh, so you admit it’s your fault!”

“God has huge plans for your future, but today they are none of your business.”

“The longer you live, the more alive you become.”

“The squeaky wheel……….gets replaced!”