Dec '24 • General discussion
A Basement. A Bottle of Rum. A Friend
A couple of days ago, I was clearing out my basement. You know, the kind of place where memories collect alongside the clutter. I was crawling through the space with a friend, pulling out boxes, deciding what to sell, and generally trying to reclaim some order. It’s a space I’ve been in countless times, but this time, something hit differently.
Amidst the clutter, on top of a beam I pass by every time I walk in and out, there it was—a bottle of rum. This wasn’t just any bottle. It had been sitting there since my 40th birthday, a gift I once would’ve considered perfect.
Back then, it would’ve been polished off in no time. I wasn’t much of a rum drinker—it gave me headaches from hell—but I always had my methods. Beer was my thing, and I had it down to a science. A six-pack of IPAs? That was my sweet spot. Two or three beers, and I’d hit that buzz I was chasing.
Looking back now, it’s easy to see that I was an alcoholic. But at the time, I didn’t think of myself that way. I wasn’t drinking in the morning. I wasn’t out of control. At least, that’s what I told myself. But the truth was in the patterns I didn’t want to admit.
When I went to the store, I’d only buy a six-pack because I thought maybe one day I’d quit. I told myself that stocking up would mean admitting I had a problem. Yet, every other day, I was back at the store, buying another six-pack. I could’ve saved a fortune buying in bulk at Costco, but there was something about keeping the illusion alive—that I was in control.
And it wasn’t just any beer. Light beer wouldn’t do the trick because my addiction wasn’t just to drinking—it was to the buzz. IPAs were my go-to. They were trendy on the West Coast, where I live, and they delivered the buzz quickly without the next-day hangover. I had it all figured out—or so I thought.
But here’s the thing about addiction: it’s not just about what you’re drinking or how much. It’s about how it starts to shape your life. I found myself hoping my kids didn’t have any extracurricular activities in the evening so I could start drinking earlier. I didn’t want to be the dad with alcohol in his system driving kids around. But let’s be honest—I walked a fine line.
At restaurants, I set my “rules.” Three drinks max. Except sometimes it was four. Or five. And then I’d still drive home. It’s hard to even write this, but it’s the truth. I’m blessed I didn’t hurt anyone. That thought alone is a heavy one, and it’s a grace I don’t take for granted.
It wasn’t until much later that I started to see the truth about myself. I was doing the same dance with alcohol that I’d seen destroy lives in my family. I had two uncles, Tio Gelito and Tio Pepin, who were beautiful souls but lost their lives far too young to addiction. Their kidneys and livers failed before they reached their 50s. I loved them dearly, but for years I used them as a comparison point: Well, I’m not that bad. I’m in control.
But comparison is a trap. I had to set my own standard. I had to stop looking at others and start looking at myself.
So there I was in my basement with my friend, and we came across that bottle of rum. I told them, “You want this? I’m not planning on drinking it.”
They laughed and asked, “Really? Like, ever?”
At first, I started to respond with something I’d heard before: Just one more day. It’s a mindset I read about in Ed Mylett’s The Power of One More. His father used that approach to get through the tough moments in his sobriety. It’s an incredible tool. But then I stopped myself.
“That’s not really how I see it,” I said.
I shared with them my approach: I don’t make decisions based on just one more day. I think from the end—from my 96-year-old self.
That version of me has lived the life I want. He’s made it with a healthy body, a sharp mind, and deep connections with his family. When I’m faced with decisions like whether or not to drink, I ask him what he thinks. And he always makes it clear: That bottle of rum doesn’t serve us. It doesn’t help us get here.
Thinking from the end changed everything for me. It’s not about deprivation; it’s about alignment. Every decision I make today is about supporting that version of myself.
When I explained this to my friend, we had an incredible conversation. They’re on a different path than I am, and that’s okay. I wasn’t there to judge, only to share my perspective. That bottle of rum wasn’t just clutter—it was a symbol of how far I’ve come.
Letting it go felt like closing a chapter. It was a chance to honor the commitment I’ve made to myself and to my family. And I realized, in that moment, how grateful I am for this journey.
This mindset didn’t develop overnight. It started with tools like “one more day” to get through the hard times. Then it evolved, inspired by mentors like Neville Goddard, who taught me to think from the end, and Bob Proctor, who says, “Change your paradigm, change your life.”
Every decision I make today is about building the life I want for my future self. And it’s not just about sobriety. This principle applies to anything: health, relationships, business.
So here’s what I want to leave you with: Start thinking from the end. Picture the version of yourself who has everything you want—the wisdom, the love, the health. Let that version guide your decisions today.
Every choice is a deposit into the life you’re creating.
Thank you for allowing me to share this journey with you. Let’s keep growing, learning, and supporting each other as we become the best versions of ourselves.
Much Love,
Rey
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A Basement. A Bottle of Rum. A Friend
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