04/01/2026
I grew up surrounded by drug addicts and alcoholics.
All throughout my childhood, my father worked for a drug rehabilitation program in Colfax, Iowa. The program purchased a building in the northeast corner of the city, and it was/is a little kingdom set apart. I still recall all those summers spent wading in the creek, and all those winters skating atop it.
Whenever I come across people in the throes of addiction, I think back to my childhood because I interacted with recovery addicts on a daily basis. I still remember many of their names, and wonder where they live and what sort of life they’ve built.
Sarasota has a large population of homeless individuals, and I see them wandering around from my office window. Once my boss joined me at the window and as we watched a large group walk away from the bus stop, she sighed and said, “There but for the grace of God.”
There’s such a thin line running between the outcomes of our lives: some weathered storms and came out the other side better and kinder, but others were unable to pass through it all unscathed. I was given a front-row seat to the ramifications of peoples’ choices, and I paid attention to what I saw.
There but for the grace of God, indeed.
