About Steve L.
I'm still learning to ride the waves, - one wave at a time!
A father. A grandfather. A guy who loves cars, music, life & people - including myself! Not in any one order. Clean and sober ODAAT since 1983.
...And still learning what it means to let go.
This started with family
It wasn't supposed to be a book.
Ride the Waves wasn't originally supposed to be a book. And it definitely wasn't supposed to be a website. A walk on the beach with my older son Josh changed all that!
In 2024, my partner Gail and I traveled to Portugal to visit my older son Josh, a digital nomad, while his wife Kehau home schools their 4 kids. Josh encouraged me to start writing down my story— memories of growing up, my family, the experiences that shaped me, and the journey that followed.
The idea was simple: write it down for my grandkids.
So, I started to write my story. As I kept writing, memories began connecting to Something larger. My family history and my life before 1983 was intertwined with my recovery; my recovery was intertwined with the 12 Steps. Something had carried me along my entire life! And, somehow, there always seemed to be a song that played in my mind with the daily readings that inspired me. I felt it could be a bonus to help carry the message of hope to others in recovery.
What started as something to pass down to my family became something I wanted to pass along to others. Life is not easy. I've seen many lose hope along their journey. Since I've been encouraged along my path by many sponsors and friedns to overcome what one man called "my issue d'jour," I sensed the need to pass it on in the hopes it may inspire you. (with special thanks to Josh & Aaron for their inspiration & love)
Surprise & Good News! Some waves come back around!
London, 2026
On a family trip to London in the '90s, I bought Josh a hat at the Hard Rock Cafe. He wore it until he didn't; then it sat in my garage for about thirty-five years — one of those things you never quite get around to throwing out.
In August, 2026, I washed it, packed it, and brought it back to London for a visit with Josh, Kehau and their kids. Kavika took one look and wanted to wear it. Watching my grandson put on the same hat my son wore — and planning a trip to visit that same Hard Rock Cafe where it started — is the kind of full circle that keeps happening over my years clean and sober. Today, I don't take these God-incidences for granted - they just keep inspiring me to trust a little bit more!
That first London trip was in 1993 with my parents — Josh and Aaron's grandparents — who brought the whole family over. We saw the play Starlight Express together at The Apollo Victoria: one of those big, sparkling nights that stays with you. Coming back in 2026, we went to see the play Wicked, and it was being held at the same theatre! On the wall was a gold plaque listing the shows that had played there before. Right there it was listed: Starlight Express - March 1984 - January 2002!
Same theatre. Same hat. Same family. A different generation taking the story forward.
Before the waves
1950 — Cincinnati
Born into a loving, moving family.
I was born into a close & loving family and spent parts of my childhood moving as my dad's career with General Motors took us from city to city. But Cincinnati always felt like home — grandparents, cousins, cookies and cake in the kitchen, Reds games, and the feeling of being surrounded by people who really loved me.
Cars were everywhere
My dad was an engineer at Chevrolet.
As a kid, I studied car manuals, memorized models and options, and loved visiting the plants where my dad worked. Those years first taught me what security and belonging felt like.
1968 — Ohio State
Then life got complicated.
I arrived at The Ohio State in Columbus, OH., a naïve, preppy kid from Cincinnati. OSU, fraternity life and the culture around me opened a very different world. What began as weekend drinking gradually became something else.
I tell it because it happened
Successes, and everything else.
There were broken relationships, fear, ego, anger, addiction and plenty of attempts to control things that weren't mine to control. I tell that part of my life as a cautionary tale from someone who thought he had figured everything out.
A '67 Corvette. And my Dad.
It wasn't just another car.
At sixteen, I helped my dad push a pre-production 1967 Corvette 427 Convertible into the garage at home in Southfield, Michigan. It represented the world my dad had built around us — his work, his engineering, and the excitment of the Chevrolet plants, from 1957 Bel Airs in Flint, MI. to 1967 Camaros at Norwood, Ohio.
My relationship with my father became one of the most important threads of my life. There were years of competition, wanting his approval, years of resentment, feeling less than, and then, eventually something much better began to happen: acceptance, love & understanding.
Through recovery, I came to see my father differently. I began to speak openly about my life, my struggles and my drinking. My father started sharing deeper feelings and experiences with me. He told me I was nothing like him; that I was more like my Uncle Mel and that it was OK! He had was proud of me — and said that I had nothing left to prove! Writing my story filled my heart with many great memories and Love, where before, the 12 Steps, there was darkness. I hope it helps bring New Light to your own life.
In 2023, I found an identical '67 Corvette.
I bought it and had it shipped to Phoenix!
Not just to own it. To honor the efforts of my dad, my Higher Power and eventually, to pass it on!
April 25, 1983
The date I got sober.
Josh was four.
Aaron was two.
Recovery didn't erase my past. The 12 Steps didn't magically remove the parts of myself that got me into trouble. But they did give me a different way to live with them.
I began working with sponsors, making amends, rebuilding relationships, being there more for my 2 sons, while very slowly developing a relationship with a Higher Power personal to me.
It became less about controlling what happened next and more about learning how to meet each challenge. Like Bill W. stated in his story, I eventually came to think of it: how to "Ride the Waves" helping others & to enjoy what's most important in life - LOVE!
“My story begins with shouting ‘why me?’ to a God I didn't understand, to ‘why me?’ in deep thanks and appreciation for the wonderful journey and life sobriety has given me.”
I've met a few Steves along the way.
Not all of them were particularly helpful.
Steve the Rebellion Dog. Steve the Victim. Steve the Big Shot. Steve the Director. Steve the Chief Critic. My names, not anyone else's.
More than four decades of sobriety haven't made those guys disappear. Recovery helped me recognize them when they show up — and gave me tools for deciding whether they should be running the show.
Nothing left to prove.
A conversation I'll never forget.
For years, I tried to measure up — to be successful, avoid mistakes, prove myself. Eventually I told my father that.
My dad's answer stayed with me: he was proud of me. There was nothing left to prove. When I still fall into what I call the “not enough syndrome,” I return to that conversation, the internal messages from meditation and in relationship with others. And then to gratitude.
Family looks different now.
More people around the table.
Recovery gave me the opportunity to repair relationships instead of walking away from them. That included my sons. It included my parents. It even included my former wife — today we all share family dinners and events with our two sons and four grandchildren, something I describe as “beyond my wildest dreams.”
And then there's Gail: “the best relationship, companion and partner ever.” She became part of my family story. There are a lot more people around my table now. That's kind of the point.
There is almost always a song playing.
Music helped open the door.
The Beatles. The Who. David Bowie. Elton John. Leon Russell.
For me, music isn't decoration around the story — it's part of the story. Songs mark periods of my life, bring memories back, say things I can't quite say myself. Over the years, they have become intertwined with my recovery, prayer, meditation and especially in developing relationship with a Higher Power.
That's why the book has a soundtrack. It's why these reflections have a soundtrack. And it's why this website does, too.
Sometimes the song says the rest.
Why keep writing?
Because the 12 Steps weren't meant to end with me.
Recovery, at least as I was taught, was never supposed to end with me. The 12 Steps taught me that the things I'd been given were meant to be shared. What I once thought was a curse eventually began to look more like a calling.
The daily reflections grew out of that same idea:
Read something. Think about it. Notice what it stirs up. Write it down. Share it. And maybe put in a song.
This wasn't supposed to be a website.
It started with me writing down some stories for my grandchildren.
It became a book. Then the writing kept coming.
544 reflections and counting.
Still sober. Still grateful. Still listening. Still learning to Ride the Waves.
