One Day at a Time

Treatment. Day One.

My first day in treatment we went around the room introducing ourselves, and a nineteen-year-old cocaine addict said he was celebrating sixty days clean. At the time, I had just seven (and five of those had been in detox). Two months seemed impossible. My first thought was that he had to be making it up. But of course, my thinking was flawed. I didn’t need to stay sober for two months. I only needed to stay sober today.

That’s really the essence of recovery. We can’t undo yesterday and we can’t act on tomorrow. The only choice we ever actually have is the one in front of us. That’s why “one day at a time” is more than a slogan—it’s survival. Thinking about forever is overwhelming, but deciding to go to bed sober tonight is manageable.

When I first heard the phrase, my reaction was half agreement, half eye-roll. On one hand, I understood the logic. On the other, it felt like nonsense. Before I stopped, I couldn’t imagine what life was going to look like without my daily trips to the bar. That thought alone nearly broke me. My addicted brain was already looking for ways to convince me I couldn’t do it. Over time, I came to see why this simple phrase sticks around. It works.

Building Strength in the Everyday

Our minds are rarely in the present. We’re either trapped in regret about the past or lost in anxiety about the future. For me, anxiety was always the bigger problem. Alcohol seemed like the perfect solution to calm the storm. But the truth is, there’s very little I can do about tomorrow. For me, staying in the present moment is the opposite of anxiety, and the more I practiced “staying here and now”, the more manageable sobriety became.

Recovery, I’ve learned, is a lot like solving a puzzle. You don’t have to finish it all at once. You build it piece by piece. Staying sober forever is impossible. Only staying sober right now is doable. When the urge hits, the question isn’t “how will I survive forever without a drink?” Rather, it’s “what’s the next right thing I can do in this moment?” Sometimes it’s taking a breath. Sometimes it’s calling a friend. Sometimes it’s saying out loud, “I want to drink, but I won’t right now.” Each time you do that, you’re adding another piece to the puzzle, and it’s a puzzle that you never have to be finished putting together.

I take a lot of comfort in that.

Every day in treatment we would read the daily reflections from a book called 24 Hours a Day. One entry (from July 31, if you’re interested) has stayed with me: “Anyone can fight the battles of just one day. It is only when you and I add the burden of those two awful eternities—yesterday and tomorrow—that we break down.” That truth hit me hard. I didn’t have to stay sober for sixty days, or even sixty hours. I only had to do today.

Addiction has a way of whispering lies. It tells us we’ll never make it. It convinces us we’ll fail eventually, so why not fail now? That’s the disease talking. The way to silence it is to commit to just today. I can even tell myself, “Maybe I’ll drink tomorrow. But today I won’t.” It sounds like a trick, but it works, and it builds strength one day at a time.

More than just sobriety. A way of living.

Living this way isn’t just a phrase. It’s a practice. In the beginning, my practice was simple: journaling, reading reflections, talking to other alcoholics. As I grew, it expanded into meditation, exercise, focusing on nutrition and sleep, and staying connected with my community. The details have evolved, but the principle hasn’t. Do what works today, and tomorrow will take care of itself.

Of course, life doesn’t stop throwing curveballs. Cravings come, anxiety creeps in, unexpected problems hit hard. That’s why having a daily practice matters. We don’t build these habits for the easy days. We build them so that when life gets messy, the routine is already there. Living one day at a time becomes automatic, something you fall back on without thinking.

And here’s the thing. This principle isn’t just for sobriety. Philosophers, spiritual teachers, and mystics have been saying the same thing for centuries. Life only happens one moment at a time. We addicts may have to master it to survive, but the payoff is universal. What begins as a survival tactic becomes a way of living more fully.

So when I think back to that nineteen-year-old with sixty days, I realize he wasn’t full of it. He was just doing the same thing I needed to learn how to do. He was stringing together one day at a time. When you do that long enough, those days add up into something incredible. They add up to a life.