photo by JoAnne Wilcox Photography
You mentioned before we started that you are a man of faith. How does your faith influence how you show up in the world in general, or your work specifically?
That’s a great question. As a man of faith, the word “calling” comes to mind. I have a meaning, and I have a purpose.
Solitude and silence has become a practice of mine; I think to retreat is to listen. I start my day for an hour or an hour and a half, allowing things to just settle, before I move forward. I get in touch with a deep sense of gratitude, not only for how far He’s taken me, but having the opportunity today for making a difference. I get clarity.
I look at three things. I look at the influence that culture can have on me, my own will, and the will of my creator. When I’m operating at the will of God, knowing that I’m operating in my calling? There’s peace that comes with that.
I’m not talking about growth like if you’re at the gym and you work out, your muscles shred and have to regenerate themselves. I get that. This is a peace; and it changes my presence, showing up with my full self in the spaces that I’m going in.
Receiving the love of God is really the source of my life. For a long time, I struggled with receiving love. I was a giver, giver, giver. What is it like to rest in being loved myself; man, I’ll tell ‘ya, just to breathe, deep down?
One of the biggest things is it gets me in touch with my need for recognition and approval. I’ve discovered that sometimes I’m looking for agreement. When we’re a part of a movement that’s breaking systems of oppression, sometimes others are not in agreement with how we get there — so the work is continuing to move forward long enough until people see the vision that you have, that God has given.
There’s a saying: if you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything. I’m not confused; it’s a passion. Showing up for a 9 to 5, you’re always going to have the ‘worker,’ and there’s nothing wrong with that. But that’s not who I am.
People talk about burnout. A dear friend of mine, Erik Clemons, we talk about how we don’t relate to the idea of burnout. It’s a part of how we’re wired — we discover something, and in that discovery, it brings life instead of taking life. I’m reading this book by Paulo Cuehlo, Warrior of the Light. Bright light.
I think we’re wired to encourage, to love, to support one another. Compassion is the word that comes to mind. I look at my job as joy. There’s a tremendous amount of joy in compassion. Truly caring enough that I actually do something about it. I can say whatever I want, but where am I spending my time and my money? Look at my checkbook and my time, that determines who I am.
You leave the results up to our creator and my Lord and Savior, Jesus — to him be the glory, help me. I know religion has hurt a lot of people. I am not a religious person, so my relationship is with a truly loving God. ‘Cause you know what? I become, sometimes, my biggest enemy. I need to lose myself. If I’m truly a person of community, losing yourself is a good thing: losing myself to find myself, in the care of a loving God.
What I hear in that is losing your ego?
Exactly. Think about it. Presence, trust, where there’s something different about those people we sit around. That’s why I love CLP — how comfortable we became, how safe we became. In these spaces, everybody might’ve had a title with what they did for a living, but they came to the space as who they were, their whole person.
I was like, wow, this isn’t just happening in Narcotics Anonymous or in church. This is real life, this is building community. And that’s where a new fire got lit.
How did education emerge for you as a career path?
I’ve been clean and sober for 37 years. Before that, I was easily influenced. I’m from New Haven; and I wound up going to Willimantic for long-term treatment for a year. I got out of treatment when I was 22.
For work, I had been doing vinyl replacement windows and doors. When I was coming back to community after the year of treatment, I had to do two weeks, 80 hours of community service, so I ask this guy at Willimantic Window & Door if I can help him with my community service. He says yeah, and I wound up working for him for nine years. His name was Tom Campo; he was at U.Conn. getting his Ph.D. to be a school psychologist.
I went from the window company to graduating with my four-year degree into business, wholesale heating and plumbing. When I got laid off, Tom says, “you know, I have something that you might like.”
He knew me, because his brother was the director of the treatment program that I was in for a year. He told me the youth I’d be around would be similar to how I used to live. I landed at Windham High School as a teacher’s assistant.
I wound up working alongside teachers, making connections with our youth. I had never experienced that before; it was based on stories, and it became contagious. You share your experience, strength and hope. You don’t have to lecture to nobody. You’ve learned this sense of genuineness, and you see how your story can help other people’s story. That was it. It was — wow.
I got my master’s in education, and became a teacher.
I’m in the Willimantic area, and I plan on staying up there, because I became a part of the community. And I never saw myself coming back to New Haven. Well, I met my girlfriend who now is my wife, and she had two children, so I wound up coming back to this area.
I moved to an alternative high school in New Haven, and I recreated the community to a way bigger degree compared to Willimantic. A principal comes in, and what does he have? A shared leadership model. He started to say what he saw in me was different from the leaders that were coming down the pike. Did I ever consider being an administrator?
I went back to school, earned my certification for administration, and became a principal.
It’s moving to hear about the forks in the road and support along the way.
Yeah, it’s powerful. And it’s crazy, ‘cause I grew up in New Haven, and half of my friends are no longer with us. I lived a real high-risk lifestyle. There was a lot of violence, drugs and alcohol, money, neighborhoods — just a lot.
I counted 12 people from my immediate neighborhood coming through Willimantic, whether sober houses or treatment centers. We had never even heard of it. Just because of the power of our stories, other friends saw something was changing. They were thinking, what’s up in Willimantic?
People weren’t so threatened by me anymore, they saw something changing. It was the inside-out journey that we were learning, the transformative lifestyle that others were witnessing.
Recovery is recovering. We’re all recovering from something. And you know what? It’s ok. We heal and we actually transform. Building on stories, going to CLP then Seeding Conscious Co-Creation — not only did they embrace community and storytelling, but I learned another language beyond my faith and recovery walks.
Did you consider yourself a man of faith before your time in Willimantic, or did your faith come from the recovery journey?
I think I was more of a religious person, ‘cause I was brought up a certain way, until I really got in touch with a loving God. Again, relationships. I realized the personal connection, based on the grace that was bestowed upon me. Second chance — I shouldn’t be here, to be honest with you, that was the type of lifestyle I lived.
A lot of youth in my neighborhood were great people. They just — well, we all — went down the wrong roads together. Even though I saw it in my father, he passed away at 52 years old from cirrhosis of the liver. He held himself well, his friends loved him, but alcoholism robbed him of being present for a wife, first of all, and then children. That’s how powerful the disease is.
Because of how my dad was, my bride Denise is number one in my life. If she doesn’t feel that way, then I want to know the barriers that are getting in the way. Part of the legacy I want to leave is my children and grandchildren seeing an example of what it’s like to put their mother or grandmother first. In fact, to also witness what best friends in a marriage looks like.
Do you want to say more about your day-to-day restorative practices?
I’m fasting right now. I think that deniance sometimes makes more space for a loving God in my life. To stop and unplug, I think it really allows me to get focused on what’s important in my journey. I’m in a good space.
Silence, listening, prayer, journaling, being thankful. I need to embrace all that, that’s exciting to me. If I just look at the things that are not so good going on? It’s not the energy I want to feel.
I look at hope, being a beacon of hope. I say, “God, whatever is dimming your light in me, please help me, ‘cause I want to be a light.” So, it’s less religion, more relationship.
And when quiet and listening long enough, sometimes I get a message that I don’t always like to hear. Forgiveness is a big part of my story. To the degree that I forgive, is really to the degree that I love. Even some of the biggest things that might even seem unforgivable. My heart is open. The capacity to love is great, and becomes even greater.
I’m reading this book right now, A Year to Live by Steven Levine. He’s been around death and dying for over 25 years. He talks about this soft belly meditation. I’ve lived in my head for so long, and now I’ve been in touch with my body. Inside our tension — when I breathe, sometimes it’s just, wow.
I don’t have to walk around this earth anymore from my neck up; I don’t want to be a person who pretends I have all the answers. One of the things in CLP that really touched me, is learning and experiencing the three forms of communicating. You’re either talking, you’re active listening, or you’re a space holder.
Everybody struggles with something different, I really struggle with the space holder. My lifetime journey is learning when to leave room for others and help them build on their story — it’s not about me. I’m always learning to just listen objectively, without forming any opinion.
I’ve watched people have 20-plus years of sobriety, and somehow get away from it. Matter of fact, my own sponsor in NA wound up relapsing. I would have bet a million dollars that he would’ve never been one of those people. So I think gratitude has to stay in the forefront of my mind.
I think a big part of being authentic is connecting our heads with our hearts. My calling is to create and discover what it’s like to have deeper connections — whether with families, our youth, my own family, my bride, or God. So I work on listening, and trying to stay humble and grateful.
That gratitude? I think it’s grace.
Interview with The Circle creative director & editor Lara Herscovitch. To reach Lara directly: thecircle@clpnewhaven.org or Lara@LaraHerscovitch.com
Get in touch with Steve directly: slmikolike@sbcglobal.net
You are incredible. Your walk with God and your faith is amazing. I look how God brought us around a full circle after 20+ years and look. We back where we started. Working with one another all over again. Continue to be a blessing to many and start with me. ❤️