YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO FACE IT, YOU’RE ADDICTED TO… SOMETHING.
Smugly tucking into my steak, I looked across the table at my dinner guest and uttered a stunningly stupid question, “What made you an addict?” My friend sublimely staved off any urge to punch me in the face and simply responded, “You first. What made you an addict?” My enforced silence no doubt accompanied a puzzlement that gripped my face. I was then handed an incredible opportunity to learn from my dispassionate companion. We had known each other for a few years, and unbeknown to me he had factored in my observable behaviors and often indiscrete confessions before reaching the verdict that I was addicted to risk. As he commenced the litany of charges against me covering different terrains – business, relationships, sex, and openness – he made a very persuasive pitch.
My knowledge of his addictive behaviors was framed around the usual suspects – illicit drugs and alcohol – and up to this point I had nonchalantly and inaccurately formed the opinion that addiction was a narrow consequence for those of a weaker, more destitute disposition than I. What an arrogant wanker I was, although this rude awakening lay dormant for several years as, to be perfectly honest, the term ‘addiction’ was a label that I wasn’t yet prepared to explore openly, let alone admit to. I filed this enigma away, believing that my behavior was in some way excusable, didn’t really cause any harm, and was inconsistent with the general notion of dependence. Yet the one thing at which I was consistent was being a colossal and egotistical asshole.
My own unconscious bias had provided a safe
