Flavors of Confidence: A Reflection for Those in Need

By Massimo Rigotti

A story of every imaginable addiction from alcohol, cocaine, sex, work, and failure that helps addicts, especially bi-polar ones, create their own unique path to sobriety - their Flavor of Confidence.

 

A wild ride from childhood to cele

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rigotti Press
• Release date: Mar 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987553305

Massimo Rigotti

Massimo originated in Nebraska, though life took him to both coasts and many places between, in cities large and small. He has had several distinct career paths, yet most want to talk to him about his work in entertainment. Struggling nearly two decades before finding sobriety on his own terms. Today, Massimo strives to help those with addictions of all types find the confidence to build a fulfilling, productive, and sober life. His first book, Flavors of Confidence, takes you on a journey through his lifelong struggle with bipolar disorder that spiraled into uncontrollable addictions that led to his death. Given a second chance at life, Massimo took a methodical look at his past and developed Flavors of Confidence - a ten step repeating method for continuous personal improvement to ensure long-term recovery, relapse prevention, and strong personal confidence. When he isn't writing, on the road motivational speaking, coaching private clients, or otherwise exploring the world, Massimo works as business consultant. Massimo enjoys windshield time traveling down any backroad, competitive figure skating, researching the obscure, and spending time disconnected from the modern world with those his heart cherishes most. He aspires to ranch in the Nebraska Sandhills.

Book preview

Flavors of Confidence

Flavors of Confidence

a reflection for those in need

Massimo Rigotti

Rigotti Press

Lincoln, Nebraska

United States of America

This book is a self-help memoir. It reflects the author’s recollections of experiences over time. Some names and characteristics have been changed, some events have been compressed, many things deemed irrelevant left out, and some dialog has been recreated.

Methods are not an endorsement and may not work for the reader. For more information about Flavors of Confidence™, please visit flavorsofconfidence.org.

Published by Rigotti Press

Lincoln, Nebraska, United States

www.rigottipress.com

Flavors of Confidence Copyright ©2023 by Massimo Rigotti

All rights reserved. First Edition

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without express written permission from the copyright holder except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, please contact via email at [e-mail] or Rigotti Press, P.O. Box 6745, Lincoln, NE 68506-0745, United States of America.

Distributed by Rigotti Press.

For ordering information or special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact via email at [e-mail] or Rigotti Press, P.O. Box 6745, Lincoln, NE 68506-0745, United States of America.

Cover design by Jeff McDonald. [e-mail]

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023905279

Paperback ISBN-13: 979-8-9875533-1-2

Hardback ISBN-13: 979-8-9875533-3-6

eBook ISBN-13: 979-8-9875533-0-5

dedicated to

Samantha Alison Thomas

1995 - 2020

Contents

Preface i

Beginnings 1

Formative Years 11

No Confidence 25

Raw Confidence 43

Fake Confidence 67

Samantha 93

Lost in Time 99

Rebirth 117

Sobriety 137

Personal Relationships 177

Tomorrow is Friday 183

Flavors of Confidence™ Method 185

Resources 207

Preface

Start now! Don’t waste time. Waiting until tomorrow to begin is a tremendous misuse of life. As I contemplated when to start writing, these words my dad often said to me growing up rang true. So, I began.

We all need a bit of motivation to accomplish our goals yet so many of us feel that we are lacking in some fundamental area; we never start. This book is the culmination of what I’ve learned through my own journey. To overcome my addictions, I took a very different path. The generally accepted one was not for me. I felt it tended to wallow in continued self-pity and too often glamorized the good ole days when I was drinking, doing drugs, having reckless sex, along with whatever else achieved my fleeting highs. It did not work for me. At group meetings, I found that I wasn’t alone yet there is currently only one widely accepted method to overcome addiction. May this book lead to greater acceptance of other ways to break addition.

That said, I strongly support Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, and all other group support that is available. Use it! As I shared my own method in groups, I was often encouraged to document it so others could benefit. After the tragic loss of Samantha, murdered by a drunk driver, I resolved to write this book. She was the single greatest factor in my drive to become sober and it is so sad to see this light in our world taken, needlessly, so young.

To fully understand how and why Flavors of Confidence works, I encourage you to read my story. Is it interesting? Every person’s life story is interesting. I enjoy learning at least one new thing from everyone I meet. It’s a personal goal. When we meet, you will see me dive right into your background determined to learn a new perspective. However, if you are just interested in the method, skip to the end yet know that you may not fully grasp how to use the tools to best fit your needs without the rest of the story.

If you are named in this book, know that I care about you and your well-being. I wrote from a very raw place to ensure I conveyed my feelings at the time events occurred. I hurt a lot of people. I purposely and permanently destroyed many relationships, even with several of those named. Some people are mentioned, yet not by name. That is intentional. A vast collection of stories, entire years, and people that were there with me were left out. I remember you and our exploits, I merely deemed our times irrelevant to the broader tale. If you have ever shared a moment with me, I am thankful for it and you. To remain true, I included moments I wished the people helping me ill will. It is important to me that you know how deeply positive I feel for each person who had a hand shaping my life, especially the few who have done so selflessly for the better. Those very few who stayed with me all the way to sobriety know this as truth.

May this book and the method to overcome addictions I describe be helpful to at least one person. If all my energy to share my story with the world saves just one life, then it was worth every second of my time.

If you picked up this book and are struggling with addiction, you’ve already accomplished step one. Congratulations, you have admitted you have a problem. If you are reading because you know someone struggling, you will notice my mother’s unique treatment towards me when I was at my worst. Tough love, in its own way, may have helped. I remain undecided.

I believe that everyone may benefit from the book. Recently, I shared dinner with a friend. The server was fantastic. One of the best either of us could recall. When she brought the check, she seemed nervous and told us that we were the very first table she’d ever served alone. She had overwhelming anxiety that she’d done a poor job. I could literally see her shaking. As she walked away, I recognized that she lacked inner confidence and it might be possible to help people without addictions. That really was motivating for me! I want everyone to find their true self and the confidence to be that person.

Writing this book was the most difficult thing I have ever achieved. It took me down several exceptionally dark paths requiring me to face truths about myself that I had yet to tackle in my sobriety. In the end it was immensely cathartic. At first, choosing to share this intimate portrait of myself created enormous fear. I hope my story makes it more relatable to you and proves helpful in your own struggle. I want you thinking, I do that sometimes. I pray this book allows you to find a path and a voice for your own strength.

Do the work; you will be confidently free. – Massimo Rigotti

Beginnings

My friends call me Massimo. I began life as Brian Joseph Lintel on the last day of August in the middle of the 70s. What has become of me since? It has been a life filled with amazing experiences. I have been truly blessed. It has also been absolute hell at times. What separates this today is the fact that I recognize that life is a series of highs and lows that average out. Not every day will be the best day of your life. At some point, when I was very young, I got the notion that I could always be happy. Shouldn’t it be possible to be that way? No, we must have sorrow to appreciate our joy.

One thing is certain in life – it is what you are determined to make it for yourself. Only you have the power to change yourself. If you do not like what you see in the mirror, it is up to you, alone, to make something new appear.

I found myself living on the streets with a bottle of hard liquor always in my grasp in January 2015. Then I wrestled with demons until March 23, 2016. That was my first day of sobriety.

What was I missing? Confidence. I mean the kind of confidence that you are so comfortable in your own skin that you can ignore the petty noise of every hater you have ever known type of confidence. Do you want to achieve that? Sure, you do!

Back to the beginning. My mom, Theresa, is a very strong woman. Everyone thinks their mom has strength, yet I admire her choosing for me to exist. It was 1975 and she walked away from a bad relationship while pregnant. A girl from a devout Catholic upbringing faced many challenges in that era. She drove halfway back across the country to Lincoln, Nebraska to ensure my safety. I have tremendous respect for all single mothers and the strength they provide their children.

I do not recall much before I was three. The stories I have heard from all sides confirm for me, without a doubt, that mom made the right choice. I do remember chocolate ice cream and I dislike it to this day. I just recently learned that my father would always take me for chocolate ice cream before I was three. There is a hidden story there that I may never unravel.

The first three years of my life I spent most of my time with my maternal grandparents while mom was working long hours at the local telephone company. She was a long-distance operator. A profession lost to the ages. My grandma, Rose Marie, a housewife and grandpa, Jay, was a tinkerer, as he would say when you asked him. He worked for Cengas and later Minnegasco. Next time you see one of those trucks rolling down the street sniffing for gas leaks, thank him. I also had a couple of then teenage uncles, Barry and Shawn, and aunt JoAnn who looked after me. I admired Jay a great deal most of my youth, too much perhaps. We’ll get to that later.

Now, we must take a small rewind back to the summer of 1971. Enter the man that would become my dad, Doug Behrens. He was from Topeka and had relatives that lived in Lincoln. While visiting for a few days that summer, my mom waited on him at a drive-in. He promptly asked out his car hop, mom told a few fibs, they went out, and spent the next couple days together. They were a smart match, yet distance and timing are forever the enemy of so many amazing relationships. They exchanged letters. It’s sometimes hard to believe that long-distance phone calls were about $4 per minute in today’s dollars at the time. Letters truly were the original text messages. The wonderful thing about letters is that you had something we have little of today, reflection. Emotions build, strengthen over time and with each passing letter.

Christmas of ’71 found Doug back in Lincoln for a couple days. They went to the Cooper Theatre for a movie. There are so few old decadent grand theatres left. Even the Cooper eventually met the wrecking ball. Sometime in the spring of 1972, the letters stopped.

Though a year apart, they were in the same grade. The second half of senior year brought a relationship for each of them. For mom, she began dating my father, Michael. They married about a year after high school. Dad had about the same path. Neither forgot about the other. Six years passed.

For clarity, in my daily life I purposely always refer to Michael as my father and Doug as my dad. I feel very strongly that it takes ten seconds to be a father and a lifetime to be a dad. I rarely let it slide in my daily life either. If anyone refers to Michael as my dad, they get corrected.

In July 1978, dad was working for Fleming Foods and had been transferred to Lincoln. He wasted no time. I love his driven sense of purpose in everything. I have heard three variations of the coming weeks. I like my blended version as all eyewitness accounts change with time. Eventually you must accept what you believe happened.

Doug made his way to the house on 31st Street and Rose answered the door. She would not give him mom’s phone number without permission. Grandma told him that she would let my mom know and to feel free to stop by some other time. Now, here comes that trademark Behrens persistence. Dad came back to try to get that number again. By complete chance, the same kind of chance that led them to meet, he pulled right in behind her in front of my grandparent’s house. They both got out of the car and as he says, Hi, how have you been? Here comes me, at nearly 3 years old, screaming, Mommy, mommy, mommy! Grandma told me, as she recounted her version of events, You always knew how to make an entrance. They talked for a few minutes. Mom was aloof, I just don’t have time to date. If you want to see me, you can come to his birthday party.

Doug didn’t pass up the chance and came to my birthday celebration. He gave me a globe. It may seem like an unusual gift to give a 3 year old yet it is literally the only luxury item I saved when I lost everything else. It was in a big plastic Tupperware in my trunk for nearly a year while I was homeless. It was my sole special possession. I had my clothes, a computer, and the car I was living in. For me, it symbolizes the dedication Doug planned to give me for the rest of his life. Five weeks later, I was standing in a church on the Kansas-Nebraska border as they got married.

My memories from about this point forward in my life are clear. Those who know me, may attest to the level of detail in my recall. Unfortunately, trauma has an impact on how our memories are permanently recorded. This can lead to long term emotional challenges that can lead us to lean on substances to numb the pain. That was my path. I know that some of the story ahead is out of sync with reality. It may be, as others in the story may recall things differently. It is how we each perceive our own reality which leads to our internal trauma. I will share my perspective along with a framing of what likely happened from interviews with those involved.

What are Flavors of Confidence? Samantha and I spent literally days of time talking as we both navigated through our own challenges. She had drawn a self portrait, which she later sent to me as a gift, titled Flavors of Confidence. Sam described this work to me as one who feigned confidence – just made of portions of a fake whole. Outwardly, few, if any, knew that we both struggled so deeply inside. Everyone had generally viewed us as strong, reliable, intelligent, and loving people. Rarely would you find either of us not presenting the world with a big smile, a hug, or a word of encouragement. We explored this thoughtfully to conclude neither of us had any real confidence to stand alone. Beyond our intellect, we had literally faked our whole lives up to that point. We were determined to figure out a solution. A flavor of confidence is whatever confidence is necessary to achieve a task. To form a fully functional person, you need many Flavors of Confidence to work in symphony. More about this later in our story when I meet Samantha Alison Thomas. Let’s get back to it.

My father, Michael, had court supervised visits with me for a few hours every Saturday. Many saw him as a negative influence on my opportunity to grow. Even Michael’s own mother, Delores, told me this late in her life. Doug was determined to bring stability to my life. I didn’t really understand what was going on at that age. We were living near 44th and Ginny Street in Lincoln at the time. Michael had just dropped me off, hours late. Today, we have Amber Alerts for these things. Back in 1979, someone was getting an ass kicking. I remember Doug yelling at mom to take me into the house. She did and as she went back outside, I climbed up on the couch to look out the window. I saw Doug punching Michael then picked him up and threw him across the hood of his car. Doug yelled, You never come near him again! Michael emerged from the ground on the driver’s side of the car with a look of defeat.

Five days before he died, Michael talked about that day with me. I had not asked, he just suddenly erupted from silence to tell me the story. I knew it came from his heart as truth. What amazed me was how that memory had burned so clearly into my mind. He apologized to me. It also gave me some closure as it confirmed that my recollection was accurate. Michael said he saw me in the window and that’s when he left. He re-enlisted in active duty in the Navy. I would not see him again until 1996 when I was 21 years old.

What is amazing is that you can put things out of your mind easier at that age. I would argue it probably isn’t healthy, yet then again it gives you grit for later. Now, I was effectively a Behrens. Not legally, yet these things mattered much less then than now. It was not that long ago that you could simply declare yourself to be someone, and you were.

Soon, I found out that I was going to have a brother or sister. In October 1979, my brother Landon joined us. I was excited. About the same time we moved to 3911 Washington Street in Lincoln. I was going to attend Randolph Elementary just like my grandpa Jay had in 1935. My kindergarten teacher was Mrs. Lancaster. I was in her last class before she retired. Though I was the youngest in that class, turning 5 after the school year began, I excelled. I enjoyed learning then, as much as I do today.

I had the study portion of school won before I ever began. What I never perfected was the social aspect of it. The subtleties of social interaction were largely lost on me. I was a well behaved kid. I knew how to share, be friendly, engage in conversation yet I could not make friends. I wasn’t hated, I was just different. Often we say, kids are brutal to each other. Sure they are yet I would argue that adults are even worse at walling off people that are not like them. Social media platforms have made it even easier to more granularly sort people into categories. This strikes at the heart of your confidence. There are many amazing people not like you whose differences could teach you a lot. Make friends with them. You will learn something new about yourself.

Here I was in kindergarten able to write, read, and directly engage with my teacher. I may have in fact been confident that first day of school. The second day I was labeled a teacher’s pet as I was called on for answers to questions and finished things first. By the second week of school, I still can feel it in my stomach, writing now, I was miserable. I couldn’t make sense of why doing everything correctly brought ridicule. I did not cry about it or even share with anyone that it bothered me. Instead, I started a long journey inward with the first brick of a wall laid between me and anyone.

What we all need at times like this a bit of a stoicism. Marcus Aurelius wrote, Get inside him. Look at what sort of person he is. You’ll find you don’t need to strain to impress him. This advice is nearly two thousand years old yet it rings true today. He was telling us to take a look at the one casting the hate. Who is this person? If you do not respect the person or admire their choices, then cast their opinions aside. Keep doing you. Remember to pause, think about what they said to you, and reflect if it is at all meaningful. If it has no value, then stop caring about what that person thinks. One day, you will often find that same person becoming your biggest fan. Stay the course. Remain focused on what matters to you.

The summer of 1980 would bring adventure and a life long love of the open road. Dad turned our summer vacations into a mix of travel and learning, with a deep appreciation of history. What does that look like? Well, each summer had a theme or specific destination. The Grand Canyon was the long outward destination from Lincoln that year. We learned about the westward migration across Nebraska along the path of the Oregon Trail. By the time I graduated high school, I would set foot in thirty-seven states on these vacations and today I only have the two outliers remaining with over two million miles driven since I got my own license. All of these road trips are where you really get to appreciate America and its great people from all walks of life. I will write about my time on the classic two lane in another book. Lots of interesting people, places, and unique experiences. I digress.

One night in late 1980, dad began talking to mom about his great-grandparents. Then realized that he did not know them all. He grabbed a black magic marker and a window sign board normally hung in the front of grocery stores at the time. This is about a three foot by five foot piece of white cardboard that once were used to advertise store specials in their front windows. On the back, he drew out these brackets in each direction as he quizzed mom on her family. He wrote down as much as they both could remember. There wasn’t much. Dad looked right at me and said, We’ve got to do some research.

Little did I know at that moment, this would be the genesis of dad’s genealogical research that is today widely credited on Ancestry after authoring more than half a dozen books on our family’s lineage. In the coming years with dad, I would spend thousands of hours in libraries, cemeteries, and doing in-person interviews with the oldest remaining relatives to stitch together interesting tales of those who proceeded us. It is a passion we share to this day as we continue to solve mysteries centuries in the past.

In early 1981, as I walked down Washington Street home from school, I vividly recall Grandma sitting on the front porch. I ran those last three houses home and learned I had a baby sister, Christina.

Brian, you awake? Dad asked on Tuesday night.

What dad? As I awoke from a dead sleep.

Get up! Want to take a trip to Topeka with me?

Sure! As I quickly threw on some clothes. I glanced at my clock and saw it was just after 9PM. I hadn’t been asleep long. Why are we going?

They messed up on the Wednesday ad slicks that are at the (Journal) Star. We have to pick up reprinted ones and get them back to stuff by 4AM, dad explained.

I really enjoyed that dad would bring me along on his adventures. Dad drove a 1974 Buick Apollo. He had bought the car new and it was a work horse. I would eventually learn to drive in that car. With the back seats down, it was like a covered pickup and that’s exactly how it was used in the coming years. As we drove down highway 75 towards Topeka, Hall and Oates I Can’t Go For That came on a few times. Music transports your body, mind, and memories. That song always takes me back to that night.

We arrived at General Printing & Paper in Topeka. This was the first time I had ever witnessed a print operation and thought, Yeah, I want to own a printing company someday. They were finishing cutting so dad grabbed a pressman to ensure that I got a full tour of the operation down to how spot ink is mixed and matched. Everything was still photo-ready art. There were no computers in printing yet.

The Apollo was loaded up and we were headed back to Lincoln. Dad was happy because we were slightly ahead of schedule. I fell asleep for a bit on the way back waking up in Tecumseh, Nebraska. We got to the dock at the Lincoln Journal Star at 9th and Q about 3:45AM. As the workers unloaded