From across a crowded Zoom

June, 2020.

I was six months into grieving the breakup of my eight-year relationship. During that period, I had moved to Crown Heights from Washington Heights, the police murdered George Floyd, and Black Lives Matter became a universal movement. Trump World was in full effect. The Covid-19 pandemic hit, and I got very sick with food poisoning symptoms while I was moving out of my exes - the day after Valentine’s Day, which was also the anniversary of my mother’s death and her birthday. I couldn’t work for three weeks because I was so sick - just before the lockdown.

Not long after the lockdown, my brother’s childhood best friend, who had Diabetes, went outside without a mask and died within two weeks from the virus.

My brother, also got COVID and not only has Diabetes but Hepatitis C, ( an ex-heroin addict) a paraplegic, but he looks better than ever and is still kicking a year later.

Locked up for weeks and not stepping outside, I woke up one morning after two months of complete rest because my four work locations were shut down, and decided that after 25 years in the business, I was done with shoe shining . I was shocked at my own thoughts. I truly believed I would shine shoes until I died. I loved working with my hands, turning shoes into art, working and having fun with my friends, and putting smiles on customers' faces. The business grew, but i was working non-stop and not enjoying life. My ADHD made it nearly impossible to focus on all the things I had to do to run the business without falling behind, and I was a lousy manager, and the staff I had to hire outside my circle of friends was stealing from us wholesale. To top it off, my sex addiction had me pursuing women whenever I saw one, which was another insane distraction. New York City had successfully kicked my ass.

The only things I was interested in now were food, Tinder, and Netflix. I had no attention span to read or write except to text or talk to a friend or a date. My two roommates moved out, and I was alone in a three-bedroom apartment, officially a homebody. Not leaving the house for weeks at a time was something I wasn’t accustomed to after working 12 to 14-hour days, seven days a week, for years. 52 and single, broke and out of business, I was still texting my ex “Good morning,” “I love you,” and “Good night” every day, not wanting to cut the cord completely yet, as pitiful as I felt writing it.

I was so depressed at times about my failed relationship, my failed business, failed finances, few friends, and so few accomplishments in my life- I was 31 years sober, but so what?! They say the longer you stay sober, the closer you are to a drink. Closer to death, too, I might add.

Practicing my daily 12-step self-examination inventory, prayer, and meditation helped a little. Still, I was just going through the motions and staying sober, even though I felt like I was barely surviving, like a vampire living on rats and pigeons. I was seriously considering suicide.

I did have one happy thought. If I don’t kill myself, I’m moving to Europe! I’d always wanted to live there sober. I spent three drunken years stationed in Germany in the U.S. Army, but I was too blacked out to travel anywhere. I still had an Irish passport and dual citizenship, thanks to my parents,to get the fuck out of here.

Then Zoom appeared.
At the end of March, my friend from our local sober group suggested we turn the meeting into a Zoom one, and I was resistant at first. I didn’t like it when meetings were over the phone, and I didn’t like this idea either; it sounded weird! Luckily, she didn’t listen to me and got a Zoom account. Then something amazing happened.

Our tiny, eight-person Monday / Thursday meeting from Noho, NYC, turned into a 60 person international meeting overnight! People from everywhere wanted a chance to check out an NY 12-step meeting. Along with our friend helping, It felt like a sober talk show at times, with me hosting and my friend as the wise-cracking co-host, joking and having fun, as well as helping alcoholics all over the world get sober and stay sober through practicing the 12 steps. Those meetings literally gave me a reason to live and were lifesavers. I also attended Sex & Love Addicts Anonymous (SLAA ) Zoom meetings, and I began to recover, albeit slowly.

A few months later, our group invited someone to speak as a guest at a UK Zoom meeting. That’s when I first saw her. It seemed that she was shining like the sun, with blond hair and her eyes closed, waiting for the grace of God. When she shared, I heard an angel sing; her sober experience and her English accent were beautiful.

I was now single and flirting here and there occasionally with women in meetings, which is a no-no in 12-step meetings, but she seemed different. She asked one of the women in my group to sponsor her through the 12 steps. The next time I saw her was at our NY Daily Reprieve meeting, which had become very popular, sometimes hosting up to 100 people.

Zoom is so different, looking into people’s rooms, jobs, and surroundings and seeing how they’re all holding up mentally and physically. A lot of people weren’t doing well. They looked out of shape, unkept, zoned out in their beds and couches, unshaven and without makeup, listening and watching people.

I felt like I was indulging my voyeuristic tendencies as secretary and co-host. My co host and I tried to make the meeting fun, injecting all the humor, irreverence, and gregariousness we could muster, like a sober Howard Stern and Robin Givens, if you will, with a positive, encouraging light for all the sober newcomers, visitors and those returning from a relapse. The next thing I knew was that I was a secretary, and I had five Zoom meetings a week, two in NY, two in the UK, and one in a men’s meeting! I loved it; it gave me purpose and a sense of belonging I hadn’t had in a long time. It was a blast!

A lot of sober people drank after long periods of sobriety during the lockdown. They couldn’t take the isolation and depression or the constant fighting that happens when spouses and their kids are cooped up in an apartment for months without regular live meetings and the support that comes from them. They may have seen the long lines of people outside the liquor stores since the bars were closed and decided to join them, which I totally understood.

Zoom meetings blew up all over the world and even inspired Zoom “bombers,” mostly bored kids who sabotaged meetings, often with racist and sexual profanity and offensive pictures and videos. They were like bed bugs, very hard to get rid of, always returning. That cast a pall on the meetings.

While all this was happening in the meetings, I saw her sitting serenely, listening to everyone and sharing such lovely spiritual experience, strength, and hope. We would see each other in NY and at her UK meeting. I finally sent her a text in the Zoom chat, only thanking her for her share, and that it was always great to see her in the meetings. She sent me one right back, saying the same.That started our correspondence.

They were innocent, non-flirty texts, which was a lot of progress for me, especially being a recovering sex addict. A lot of alcoholics get obsessed with sex once they stop drinking, as well as food, work, exercise, religion, and hobbies. I had also stopped dating married women or anyone with a boyfriend, which was a big deal. Then, during a meeting we were on together, she declared, “I’m celebrating my 10th wedding anniversary!”

Just my luck. I’m not messing with her. I had made a commitment to myself at the start of lockdown not to fool around with women who were married or had a boyfriend. I was trying to be something different now that I was also attending Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous Zoom meetings. In the past, I didn’t care; I would sleep with anyone regardless of their relationship status.

I finally had to tell her that her shares sounded like poetry and how powerfully they affected me. She responded, “Thank you. Would you like to read some of my poetry?”

She sent me a moving poem she wrote during her drinking career, and I asked her if she would like to read one of the stories from the memoir I’m writing. She said yes, and over the following weeks, we read everything the other had ever written. Between the shared stories, we told each other about our horrible childhoods, a common bonding ritual that sober people do. The beatings, molestations, betrayal, rape, incest, fighting, rage, insanity, suicides, and pervading it all, pain, alcohol, and drugs.

Then she sent me a song. It was Christian music, but still, it was nice. She said she believed in Jesus, but I didn’t care; I still liked her. Growing up in my Irish-Catholic family, I was also beaten, whipped, and crucified, but Jesus was lucky. It only happened to him once. I’m a recovering Catholic like many Irish have become, but I’ve always believed in God. Sometimes a good God, sometimes a bad God.

I said, “I would love to hear you sing.” The next day, I received a voicemail from her singing Hillsong's” Oceans” Christian worship music. I usually prefer Satanic worship music, also known as heavy metal. That night, I spent hours doing something I’d never done. I made a music video of me singing Depeche Mode’s “Waiting For The Night.” She loved it and said she watched it repeatedly, crying joyfully. She sent me a PINK song, “I’ve Seen The Rain,” that made me cry about the Vietnam War.

Ironically, I really fell for her when she sang “One Day At A Time, Sweet Jesus.” The only time I’d ever heard that song was when my mother sang it to me as a child. I was so shocked and amazed that she knew it! Then she asked me to tell her some memories of my mother, who’d passed away eight years prior. I said, “My mother was a servant of God, like you. She was always thinking about and helping others. Mom was an insomniac, always cleaning and cooking and taking cat naps whenever she sat down. I would sit at the kitchen table drawing all night with her in silence while she puttered around, endlessly feeding me tea and cookies until dawn. I wish I’d spent more time with her.” Tears ran down my face, and I started to cry...I had never cried about or really grieved my mother’s death until that moment.

I had to be honest with myself and her; I couldn’t say it, so I read her an inventory that I was falling in Love. She read me one that said she felt the same way. WOW. We agreed to continue being friends and see what happens.

After doing our morning writing and meditation, we started karaoke and sang to each other from morning to night every day. You name it- Oldies, Christian, metal, 70s rock, 80s new wave, 90s grunge, pop, and Motown. I had never done karaoke before, but I loved singing to her.

One evening, she admitted she was being dishonest with herself about why she was still in her marriage. She was drinking when she got married and didn’t have a connection anymore to her husband since she got sober five years ago. They were only together for financial security and her eight-year-old daughter. Days later, at midnight UK time, she told her husband that she wanted to separate, and he replied that he knew their marriage would be temporary and that she would move on one day.

While we sang, we cried and laughed; it was cathartic. This change in me was a long time coming; I needed a safe, open space to let go and shed the years of pain, guilt, and shame for the mistakes I’d made in other relationships. All the lying, cheating, gaslighting, and hiding led to a double life of monogamy and infidelity. We started to call our sessions LSC- laughing, singing, crying. It felt like a release of everything I’d been through the last eight years and a connection with her I couldn’t refute. I was experiencing a renewal of my belief systems about myself. For the first time in my life, I could see myself in a monogamous relationship with someone; I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. I didn’t want to be with anyone but her.

Then she wrote me a poem.


A week later, I wrote her one while she watched online:

JULY 20, 2020

Short story for Eternity

I fell in love with the light.
I don’t want to write anymore, for it would pale in comparison to the experience I am having.
I have been hypnotized by power and animated by its reflection.
I cannot pull myself away from the gravity of our connection.
The presence I share these moments with has awakened the vulnerability I’d thought long lost.
The being who is so giving of their energy with me has redirected my creative abilities to uncharted realms.
The tears we cry with one another melt any fears about continuing to express ourselves.
The singing we perform unleash a raw bonding of emotion.
The laughter acknowledges our comfort and trust together.
We feel the same nervous tension that comes up when we reveal ourselves totally.
It’s exciting and only fuels more sensitivity between us.
We exist only in the present and remaining there is where we live for eternity.



What happened between us was insane, but we were in love, which looked and felt insane. It was like I’d never been in love because it felt so different and advanced. I had never gotten to know someone so well before meeting or sleeping with them. It was wonderful.

Late august, I turned 53. I had decided to move to the UK, where she lived. First, I had to move out of my apartment in September and say goodbye to my friends and family on the West Coast. I drove cross-country for seven days in a cargo van, staying in touch with her and my Zoom meetings every day, almost all day, the whole way.

I finally flew across the pond in December.
It was so exciting to finally meet in person at Heathrow Airport. After much anticipation, we hugged for a long time after meeting in the car park, our hearts bursting with love and intensity. We were on fire from passion. We smiled from ear to ear, kissing and holding hands as we drove to the Airbnb. We kept looking at each other; it was so surreal to be together. We spent the first two weeks quarantined, feeling comfortable after months of getting to know one another. Talking, laughing, kissing, squeezing, and lovemaking, which felt so natural, passionate, and effortless, then eye gazing forever. We couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves, not wanting to separate for one minute; we were so crazy about each other.

It worked out that we could take the time to get to know each other in person; otherwise, I would have married her immediately. Fortunately, she was still married. I landed in England with four bags to my name, no place to live, and no job. I stayed at an Airbnb for a couple of months.

Three months later, I lived with six strangers in a five-bedroom house; I was a vegan, making chicken and pork kebabs and flipping lamb chops part-time in a Greek catering company. I’ve never had less material or more freedom and love for someone. Now on the other side of all the pain, heartbreak, loneliness, and resentment about the society I lived in and watching the world itself going into the shitter, I was happy and excited about the new consciousness and circumstances I was in. Even as I am now educating myself about white privilege, anti-racism, social democracies, and the failure of capitalism, I feel optimistic about life.

She and I hadn’t spent a day apart since the pandemic started and are still on two or more Zoom meetings a day and physical meetings around her area. We laugh and sing more than ever but cry less, except for the occasional tears of joy. The pandemic was a wake-up call to shake off the old life and embrace the new.

Not that issues didn’t come up. The honeymoon phase unfortunately ended, and reality reared its ugly head. My friendly, flirtatious old behavior infuriated her. It aroused her long-dormant jealousy and PTSD from old abusive relationships, which in turn upset me, and I would be dishonest and lie out of fear. We seemed to break up every week like teenagers. Also, we had to keep our relationship a secret from almost everyone in her town, so it was a drag sneaking around, unable to kiss or hold hands in public.

After a two-week breakup, I moved to London for six months with two old friends from California. We got back together eventually, and I think that saying is true- Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Fast-forward a year and a half since my arrival, my brother l passed away from Pneumonia, and I’m back living 10 minutes from where she still lives with her ex until he moves out. Everybody knows about me, and there are no more secrets.

Ive finally met her daughter, and I enjoy drawing pictures of her. I teach Health & Safety at a prison for men seeking construction jobs once released. It’s complicated. At the same time, life is much simpler for me. I work three to four days a week; we go to the gym together, drive all over England, speak at meetings, and help people. I write, read, and visit London every Friday to see my other friends. My other brother is moving to England in July! It’s definitely not boring here; a lot is going on.

My experience since Covid has been unbelievable. I feel like I’ve gotten a second chance to have love and contentment with T, my family, friends, and everyone I contact. It’s amazing how much better my quality of life is because I’m living an honest life, not lying and trying to cheat on my girlfriend constantly. Also, Talking to people I care about without them wondering if I’m being honest about what’s happening is much easier. My ADHD has become manageable for the first time in years now that I’m not overwhelmed with work, and I have very little in the way of material things.

I’m still working on better communication skills without dishonesty or abuse. I’m still crazy about T, and we still drive each other crazy with our fucked-up issues!

There will always be stuff to work out in life and with the person you’re with. The key, to me, is to be with someone who also wants to make progress within themselves and can apologize and accept an apology, and for myself, to be kind to everyone. All that being said, I’ve never been happier.

January 2025: We just celebrated four years together. T’s ex married her neighbor and best friend, and we were at the wedding! I’m still working at the prison, writing, and fighting (only occasionally, with her)! We got engaged over Christmas, and we’re working hard on ourselves to stay together!