When it comes to measuring success in recovery from addiction, it seems as though only those with consecutive days free from substances proclaim the tally with the same passionate aplomb as they count them.

"It was 90 days ago today I woke up in a jail cell not sure how I'd gotten there, and that was my last drink," wrote one of my "friends" I've never met on Facebook.

"By the grace of my God and the fellowship of my program, I haven't found the need to take a drink or a drug for 10 years now," a woman proclaimed in front of an appreciative audience of fellow travelers at a 12-step meeting. "Those days sure add up."

Even when simply describing their "sobriety," it is always done in the context of how long it has been since they last got drunk or stoned.

Rarely is it counted this way: "My days not drinking have now surpassed my days drinking." And this woman in her 70s is proud of her accomplishment, though she sometimes still drinks.

Don't get me wrong. Not for a moment do I suggest that moderate use of alcohol or other drugs is a healthy alternative to people diagnosed as dependent on these substances. We all know what happens to repeat drunken drivers and their victims. I have yet to meet a crack addict who can control his use. Be it for chronic old alcoholics under a bridge or teenagers in the burbs who snort heroin after their parents pay for their treatment, death is a real possibility.

But a chronic illness is just that; it isn't curable, which means it might go away for months or years and then morph from remission to a recurrence that lasts a day or two, a month or much longer. Don't stop counting and don't start over, I say. Keep counting, because the cumulative effect of those clean and sober days always adds up to a better life, even if the streak is peppered by flare-ups of substances from time to time.

What I admire about the woman in her 70s is that she's willing to talk about her recovery in the realistic context of her chronic illness. A long time ago, she stopped counting her success by her continuous abstinence because every time she slipped, people criticized her, made her feel as if she were to blame or, worse, shammed her into staying away from trying to get better again. As if her effort and all the days she did stay clean were for naught. Then one day, she told me, she realized that for her, the effort counts just as much as the result — especially because what she's accomplished is a life with more clean time than drunk time. "I never give up, and that's what counts."

I remember my foray into life without substances, starting in 1989, when I was 30 years old. I was inspired by the success of others, to the point I couldn't wait until I could stand up in a crowd of people like me and say, "I've got a year." Only I always slipped back into substances and always was told to start over. Once I was even told to get my head out of my ass by a mentor with decades clean and sober — a man who during his recovery tenure was physically abusive to one of his children, smoked like a fiend and ate too much, a good man who has stayed in remission from addiction even as he struggles still with his humanness.

Then one day 20 years ago, on Oct. 12, 1994, I emerged from a crack house. Except this time, I didn't start over. I started again, counting days into months into years, until now I have more time clean than time under the influence. I won't stop counting that clean time, either, even though I had a twisted run-in this past year with pain medication, the Trojan horse of addiction. Today I know there's more to progress than just perfection and as much to learn from my flaws as my strengths. I'm counting everything because the sum of the parts is equal to the whole of my life. Anything less or more and I would not be where and who I am right now.

William Moyers is the vice president of public affairs and community relations for the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation and the author of "Broken," his best-selling memoirs. His book "Now What? An Insider's Guide to Addiction and Recovery" was published last year. Please send your questions to William Moyers at wmoyers@hazelden.org. To find out more about William Moyers and read his past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.