"The Eskimo's Moral Compass"

Stop me if you've heard this one. A man is sitting in his local bar, having beers with the regulars. The conversation turns to spiritual matters and the man let's out a snort of disgust. "I don't believe in God. In fact, I know for a fact that God does not exist."

The bartender looks over in surprise. "Oh really? How do you know that?"

"Well," the man begins with total certitude, "it all happened last year. Remember when I went to Alaska? I got caught out in the wilderness, in the worst blizzard they'd had in a hundred years. I had no food, no idea where I was. No clue. I knew I was doomed. I prayed to God, begged him to save my life, told him I'd devote my life to him, if he only would save me from freezing to death. He didn't. He left me there in that blizzard to die."

The bartender and the other patrons stared back at him. Finally the bartender said, "Um, if you're sitting here talking to us, you obviously didn't die. What happened?"

"About ten seconds after I stopped praying, an Eskimo came by. He gave me some food and took me to his igloo so I'd have shelter for the night."

The bartender gave this a long pause. "And... this proves to you God doesn't exist?"

"Exactly! God didn't save me, the Eskimo did!"

* * *

The Eskimo story is one that's floated around the rooms of Recovery in one form or another for a long time. Most of us know who our Eskimos are. Sometimes they're the people who twelve-step us into the program. Sometimes they're just people who talk about their own experience so that we'll know where to go when we're ready. Sometimes they are random strangers, people present in our lives for only a short time, whose presence seem to be for no other reason than as momentary vessels of God's grace.

The Eskimo in my life is of the second kind. She could see how much I needed the program and she could see there was no way in hell anyone could make me go before I was ready to. She's still in my life today. We get together for coffee, talk about the craziness of our lives. We discuss program issues, meeting issues, and sponsorship. She's got more than a decade of time on me, but when we talk, it's as equals.

These days we're both unemployed, but we still find a way to scrounge change together and hang out. Sometimes I buy, sometimes she does. Sometimes it just depends on who's doing worse, financially. I bought for her the last time we got together. As we were waiting for them to make our drinks, she realized I didn't get charged for the snacks she had. Before I could say anything, she was back at the cash register, paying for them. When we got outside, I put my arm around her and told her that's why I love her. She's broke, unemployed, and maybe facing eviction, but she still does the right thing. Even if it's a little tiny thing that she doesn't have to do, she still does it.

Sometimes, the little things are all we have control of. It’s in those moments, the times when we choose in tiny, tiny, ways to show our true selves. Some people look at others doing those little things and think them fools for it. I look at them and say, "I want to know you. I want you in my life. I want you to stay in my life." I can see, in those smallest of actions, someone’s true moral compass.

"Bits"

I do a lot of journaling. I'll write about what I'm going through in a particular moment, what I'm thinking and feeling about it. I do my steps in my journal, too. Sometimes, I'll feel the need to write and when I open the page I discover that I don't seem to have anything to say. This blog is like that for me sometimes. There are certain things I remind myself of, though. I'm not perfect; I'm not a spiritual genius, just a man trying to figure his way through the crazy world we all live in. I remind myself that I'm not the best of the best or the worst of the worst. Not every word I write has to be gold or quotable, or even meaningful. It is okay to just write.

Sometimes it feels good to just write.

* * *

Before my class Wednesday night, I talked with an old friend. She wasn't someone I was especially close to, but had affected my life strongly. Before I was in Recovery, my ex-wife and I had taken her to the hospital once when she'd passed out from too much booze and too many pills. The doctors told her she needed to stop drinking or she would die. She didn't, of course, and the anger and hurt I felt at her drinking again is what drove me to my first 12-step meeting--a men's Al-Anon group. I only went there a couple times, but it was the first tiny baby step towards my own Recovery and the place where it was suggested to me that I read 'Codependent No More'. On Wednesday, we just had chit-chat, but I asked her about my ex. She said they didn't have much contact these days. I said that, if it ever does come up, to let my ex know I hope she's doing well.

* * *

I've been doing some thinking about a couple ghosts from my past. Specifically, someone who used to be my friend who isn't anymore because he hooked up with an ex-girlfriend of mine after insisting to me he never would. I've talked about it a lot with my sponsor, done stepwork on the subject, even wrote a song about it. But there's still anger there. There's still frustration. Part of it feels like anger because she's still struggling with her Recovery. Part of it feels like jealousy because he's able to be with her and I couldn't. Part of it is anger and feeling betrayed. Some of it is pretty twisted--that I'm upset with myself because I couldn't save her. I know it's twisted, sick thinking, but that's what the feelings are. I am surprised that this has come up, actually. It was something I thought I'd dealt with, but obviously not entirely. I'm really hesitant about bringing it up with my sponsor again because I really don't want to hear him say, 'oh God, are you really still stuck on THAT?' I have been praying about it, asking for guidance. I'm hoping God will show me the way forward. Maybe I need to work on forgiving myself more. They say you have to forgive yourself before you can forgive someone else.

* * *

I'm in a dispute over my unemployment benefits and currently not receiving any. The place where I was temping told the state that I refused to work. I have a savings, but it won't last forever. I've already been on the phone with the appropriate state agency and have another phone call set up for next week. I'll tell them my side of the story and they'll make a determination. It seems pretty clear to me that I'm in the right, but that doesn't mean they'll side with me. They could just as easily say, "yes, you refused to do something illegal, but that still counts as refusal." In the meantime, I'm filling out job applications. Things are pretty bad where I live, as they are in so many areas across the country. I'm really conscious, though, of how much I hate doing the kind of work that I did, how it isn't work suited to my personality, and how miserable I was while I was doing it. I'm praying on this subject, too, asking to be shown the way and the strength to follow it. I'm really feeling at a loss over the whole work situation. Lots of worthless happening there. I really can't see the way. So I pray, too, for openness.

* * *

I'm having something of a 'pile-on-Zach' time right now. Thoughts about not being able to have long-term friendships. Feelings of not being able to have a romantic relationship that works. Frustrations about work. All the old stuff about not fitting in in the world. Last night I found myself thinking how nice it would be to get stoned. I don't think that very often, and I knew I wasn't really going to. The instant I realized that, though, my disease jumped up a notch to the next level and started feeding me the old bullshit about committing suicide. That, too, I set aside. I even had a moment of 'you're not even a real drug addict, you goddamned pothead', which I let go of as soon as I'd thought it. So, there is some good Recovery there. The old stuff comes up and I can recognize it and say, "yes, I know you; I see you there" and let it pass by. The thoughts are like the spooks on a haunted house ride: they pop out and go 'boo' and I just keep moving, passing them by.

* * *

It helps, when the disease is piling on so much shit, to look for my good qualities. I'm at a coffee shop right now and offered the extra chair at my table to someone so they wouldn't have to sit on the hard brick. I'm sharing my experience, strength, and hope at this very moment with you, my readers around the world, so that we can all remember that we're not alone in our struggles to deal with life on life's terms. I can remind myself that I'm not a failure for not being able to do something that's impossible. I can remember, too, that I am human and that what I experience in my life is part of being human, and that I'm not going through anything that countless others haven't experienced.

And as I continue to pick myself up, as I continue to move forward, past these momentary shadows of darkness, I remember that there are many who love me and that even if that weren't so, God would still love me with an infinite love so deep and vast that I could never fully understand. I am cared for. I am guided. I won't always understand. I won't always feel serene. It's part of the whole deal.

Still not getting loaded over here.

"Pushing Through"

Sometimes I wonder if the reason I haven't relapsed is because I'm so stubborn. Every once in a great while I think that it's more likely that I would commit suicide than it is for me to relapse. No, that's not meant to be funny. In the strangest way, the reason I don't get loaded, the reason I'm such a dedicated member of the 'No Matter What' club is the same reason why I used to be loaded all the time.

When life doesn't go the way I want it to; when it feels like nothing will ever make sense; when it seems as though the world is against me and that I'm doomed to be a piece of shit at the bottom of the ladder my entire life; the thing that I always latch on to is that at least I'm sober. No matter what life throws at me, I'm not going to use. Period. It's not negotiable. Sometimes I need to give myself a pep talk about it. It sounds a lot like this paragraph. Full of bitter determination. No hope. No faith. Just raw, white-knuckle "don't do it."

It reminds me of a time that I tend to think of as the time I truly became an addict. I was pissed off at life, pissed off like a little 2-yr-old because I wasn't getting my way. Full of endless frustration about how life was never ever going to go my way or the way I thought it should. And I said to myself, "well then fuck it. I'll just get loaded all the time." Those close to me know that one of the reasons I was so attached to my drug of choice was because it was the only thing I ever found that made me happy.

And there's the addict, right there. Controlling my feelings. I didn't want to be miserable, so I got doped up to make myself feel something different.

Nowadays, when things are bad, my thoughts are eerily similar. Nowadays, instead of saying I'll just go get loaded, I say I won't get loaded no matter what. I wonder if that might be a bad thing. Because it's still a big "fuck you" to the world. Instead of saying "fuck you, I'm gonna check out," I'm saying, "fuck you, you can't make me get loaded." Lil' Joshua, my inner two-year-old, is in charge. Sometimes I really want to yell at that little kid to take his goddamned hands off the steering wheel before we all crash and burn. He's a terrible driver, ya know. Every bit as bad as Uncle Steve. They have this knack for finding every pothole in the road.

I'm trying to laugh at myself, but it isn't working. It's so hard to not be mad at myself for the times those two run things. And of course, they come out at the worst times. It's when things are bad that they take over--when I take over--and try to run things again. I don't get my way, or I can't accept reality. Whether it's fear, anger, or frustration, my addict self comes out and starts throwing shit. Then I get to clean up after. Those bastards never stick around for the cleanup. They only know how to make a mess.

"Give Yourself To The Light Side"

I'm laughing at myself a little right now. I was going to title this post 'Give Yourself To The Program', then remembered Darth Vader standing over a wounded Luke Skywalker--barely hanging on to life--saying, "give yourself to the dark side!"

Those of us in the program know all about the dark side, don't we?

From a Recovery perspective, there's plenty in that scene to latch on to. So many of us come into the program beaten, battered, our asses kicked. We've got the evil shit (be it booze, benzos, or bongs) waiting there for us, begging us to take the easy way out. But instead we let go, and it is through the letting go and reaching out for help spiritually that we are saved. We say 'no' to the dark side and 'yes' to the light.

This is not a perfect metaphor, of course. Luke was a total goody-two-shoes who got in over his head with a majorly bad guy who kills kids. And hey, there are some of us whose journey looked like that, but not most. Fortunately, my point isn't that Recovery is like Star Wars; it's that for us to have success in the program, we need to truly let go and give ourselves over to it. Half measures avail us nothing.

What does it mean to give ourselves to the program? It means we need to learn faith. 12-step programs are spiritual. They’re not something that can be puzzled or reasoned out. If you spend your time looking for all the explanations, trying to intellectualize the how and why, you won't get anywhere. As we say, you didn't think your way into becoming an addict; you can't think your way out of it. Or there's my personal favorite: you can't be too dumb for the program, but you sure can be too smart for it. Spiritual learning is experiential. We do the action first, then we see the truth of it in our lives, not the other way around. That's why working the program is truly an act of faith--you don't know beforehand how things will turn out or what will happen to you or how your life will change. Instead, we see others who have success in the program and trust that it will be so for us, too.

For most of us, finding the willingness to work the program means we have to be beaten. Our asses have to have been kicked so hard by our disease that we are willing to do whatever it takes to find a different way to live. Some of us start the program from a different place. We aren't truly done yet. Maybe we want to get clean or think perhaps we should, but we don't have the full willingness needed to completely give ourselves to this simple program. We argue with other members of the fellowship, we argue with our sponsors. We come up with every possible excuse why not to do what it is suggested to us to do. We don't work the program to its fullest and then we wonder why we aren't getting the fullest benefits the program has to offer.

The change comes when we stop finding reasons to say 'no' and start looking for reasons to say 'yes'.

Some people, some sponsors, can be harsh. They don't want to waste their time with someone who isn't ready; they'd much rather spend their time helping someone who is. I've heard stories of sponsors who looked at a sponsee in disgust and said, "you're not ready yet; here's some cash--go get loaded." I get that perspective, truly I do, because I know the frustration of watching someone beat their head up against a brick wall over and over again, then turn around and bitch about how much their head hurts.

We find compassion within ourselves for those who don't 'get it' right away. We remember that they are sick--just like we are. We detach in love and trust in our higher power, knowing that it isn't up to us how anyone else works or doesn't work the program. We talk share our experiences, we do our part, and let go of the rest.

For me, the success in the program I have had is because I gave myself over to it completely. I follow suggestions. I work my own program and don't try to work anyone else's. I am one of the lucky ones. When I came into the rooms, my ass had been kicked and I was willing to go to any lengths for a spiritual Recovery. What I discovered is that the program really does work.

But only if you work it.

"We Don't Live In The Rooms"

Life outside the rooms is so different from life inside the rooms. When we're in the rooms, we're surrounded by people who are (largely) working to improve themselves and live spiritually. It's not a hard and fast rule, and there are always exceptions, but by and large, when we're in the rooms we can rest easy that we are surrounded by people who are at least trying to live honestly. It's light years away from what it's like out in the 'real' world, where people routinely lie, cheat, etc.

I spend a fair amount of time thinking about the world outside the rooms. We don't live in the rooms. We learn there how to deal with life, but the rooms are not life. Some in Recovery try to make it their lives. They spend most of their time in meetings, have a sponsor & work steps, and are of service. But they don't have lives outside of the rooms. There often comes a point when they are told, "you can't hide in here forever." A lot of us start our Recovery unemployed. Going back to work is a huge step, but it's one we all must take. Many of us follow the suggestion to change our people, places, and things and find ourselves without a social life for a while. This, too, must be rebuilt.

If we stick with our Recovery, the program becomes a basis for how we live our lives. We rejoin the world as clean and sober individuals, living the spiritual life, and have to deal with a world that isn't and that doesn't. I'd say it can be a little difficult, but that's like saying the desert is a little dry.

How do we deal with people who aren't honest? How do we conduct ourselves in a culture where the cheaters and the corner-cutters are the ones who get ahead? If we truly 'practice these principles in all our affairs', then we do our best to be rigorously honest in everything we do. This might mean we miss out on some opportunities. It might mean someone else gets ahead of us because they are taking the easier, softer way. Each of us has to decide what rigorously honest means to us in each moment of our lives.

Our higher power cares for us, though, and shows us the way. When we become consumed by self-will and take our will back, our higher power lets us know. We can hear its guidance inside us, urging us towards the better way. Some people refer to this as a conscience. For myself, my conscience comes from my higher power, and it is a gift. I know all too well that if I ignore my higher power's will and instead try to live according to my own, everything comes crashing down around my ears and I start feeling that old, familiar pain again. Sometimes I have to be in a lot of pain before I will listen to my higher power's will for me, sometimes not. The more I practice living according to that will, instead of my own, the better I get at doing so.

We really can't control other people. How they live their lives isn't up to us. All we can do is cultivate our conscious contact. When we're upset about something or someone, we have our higher power to talk to about it and to look to for guidance. That's what we get to do; we get to lean on the loving support of a power greater than ourselves and know that, while we might not get what we want, we will always get what we need.

I'm not so spiritually advanced as to never develop resentments. I'll be honest with you: sometimes people really piss me off. Sometimes life makes me want to throw up my hands in defeat. But I have tools now to deal with life, and with other people. I can give things over to my higher power; I can let go and let God. I can remember that if someone else has a problem with me, it's their problem. I can remember that ups and downs are all part of the experience of being human. And I can remember that, no matter how bad things might seem, being sober is always better than being loaded.

"Call Your Sponsor"

I was at a birthday meeting not too long ago and someone took a chip for, oh, I don't even remember how much time, but it was over 20 years. He said the things that people who are successful in the program tend to say about how he did it--he still goes to meetings, he's still finds ways to be of service, works the steps with a sponsor, etc. When he mentioned his sponsor, he made a joke that a lot of us laughed at. He said, "I have a great sponsor... I just wish he'd call me more often."

Talking to a newcomer last week, he mentioned to me that his sponsor calls him almost every day. I thought that was very strange, and very at odds with how I've always heard sponsorship is supposed to work. One of my sponses is sponsoring other men now, and he and I have had many conversations about how important it is that the sponsee call the sponsor and not the other way around.

A few weeks back, I had coffee with a friend in the program who wanted my advice on being a sponsor. She hasn't done much sponsoring and has taken one on. I talked with her a lot about just being supportive, keeping strong boundaries, and helping to guide her new sponsee in how to deal with life using the tools of the program.

I don't call my sponsor nearly as often as I could. It's true that I'm doing well, working a strong program, but even so. Our sponsors, at a most basic level, are there to guide us through the steps. They also can be valuable resources on how to work the program on a daily basis, how to integrate it into our daily lives. They're not conflict resolution specialists, they're spiritual guides on how to live the spiritual life. Calling them when things are going well is every bit as important as calling them when things are bad.

I believe strongly that it's the sponsee's responsibility to call the sponsor. When they take on someone new, a lot of sponsors suggest that they call every day. Some people think this is a test, and I guess it is to a certain extent. It's a way of finding out how willing the sponsee is. Do they follow suggestions? Are they truly willing to go to any lengths? Maybe it's not a test so much as a lesson. Not in humility, but in being humble. If we're willing to listen to someone else's advice AND follow it, then it shows we're willing to let go and not run our own lives. It's training, in a way, for that third step when we decide to let our higher power be in charge instead of continually steering the car ourselves (and driving into trees).

Every sponsor does things differently. Sometimes the variation is small, sometimes it's huge. Some just take their sponsees through the steps. Some give detailed advice on every subject. It's important to find someone who is a good fit, who you can trust, who you want what they have. If you don't have a sponsor, look for someone with time, who works a strong program, who is enjoying their life and is at peace with the world. If you have a sponsor, give them a call. Today.

In fact, I think I'll do that myself, right now.

“Fix What’s Broken”

File this one under “what it’s like now.” Yesterday, I discovered water covering my bathroom floor. At first, I’d just thought it was because I hadn’t closed the shower curtain all the way. I mopped it up, put the bathmat back down, and didn’t think much more of it. But later in the day, I discovered more water. “Great,” I thought, “the toilet’s leaking.” So I put down some towels.

When I woke up this morning, the towels were soaked through. I grumbled a bit to myself about having to have the maintenance folks come out, and went downstairs to make coffee. In the kitchen (which is below the bathroom), I discovered another puddle. Not a huge puddle, but not a small one either. I checked the ceiling. Nothing was dripping, but there was a wet spot about the size of my hand.

I’d had the toilet fixed a few months back. It had come unsealed. When the guy fixed it, he didn’t exactly do it the way it’s supposed to be done. Instead of using a new sealing ring, he just reset the commode on the old one. My plumber friends would no doubt hit the roof at that. And even I know that you need to use a new ring or else it doesn’t seal properly. You end up with water everywhere, soaked floors, moldy linoleum, and much more work to deal with than if you’d just taken a little extra trouble to do the job right in the first place.

I called the emergency number for maintenance this morning and they’ve got someone on the way.

Now, I could use this as a story about how important it is to make a larger investment early on in Recovery to save yourself some headaches later. 90-in-90 isn’t just a good idea because it gives you something else to do besides get loaded when you’re first trying to get clean & sober; it’s a great way to help you reprogram your brain when it’s the most malleable. But, for me, the bigger point is how I handled this situation.

I didn’t yell or scream. I didn’t go on a tirade about having water all over the place. I didn’t rage against the maintenance guys--either out loud or in my head--for doing a poor job the first time around. I didn’t run a huge imaginary scenario in my head, obsessing over whether I might have to move to a new place while they fix this one up. I was almost ridiculously calm when I called them today, and when I discovered the water this morning. About the only outward signs were one comment I made about feeling cranky and another about hoping to not have to move. And that matched what was going on on the inside.

The weird part isn’t that I didn’t throw a fit, it’s that it didn’t even occur to me to do so. I’m not saying I’m stoked about having to deal with this, I’m saying that I didn’t have much of a reaction at all. There was a problem and I dealt with it. Action was taken, and in a timely fashion. That’s the miracle of Recovery, right there. No need to overreact, no need to throw a fit or place blame or anything like that. I saw a problem, and I took action to deal with it. Done deal, case closed.

Before we get Recovery, so much of our lives are crises. Things that normal folks consider no big deal are huge ordeals. Every little thing is a nightmare and a headache and causes us to go off the deep end with wild, disproportionate reactions. Now, having had some Recovery, I find that things which normal people might consider genuine crises are things that I handle calmly and easily.

I can’t exactly explain it. I’ve never taken a class on stress or anger management. I don’t remember anyone ever sharing in a meeting that, “oh yeah, when your pipes burst there’s no need to be angry or pitch a fit, just call the maintenance folks blah blah blah,” ya know? It’s that working the program has given me peace, serenity. I’m centered within myself and calm in my dealings with the world.

It’s like I was telling one of my sponsees recently: the miracle of Recovery isn’t just that you get to stay sober, it’s that by working the program, working on ourselves, our lives almost magically improve in miraculous ways, seemingly unrelated ways. It might not seem connected, but it is. The work of Recovery is work on our innermost selves. That’s where our disease is--at our spiritual center. When we treat that, when we work to become spiritually healthy, the effects of it, the results, show up in every other facet of our lives.

"Apathy Doesn't Work"

From time to time, I find myself thinking deep thoughts about this American culture I live in. The idea that we're the best of best (we're not), the idea that even though we have problems we're still better than any other country out there (also not true). I think, too, about the suburban lifestyle, of repression and hiding secrets, and pretending that everything is fine when it so isn't. I have philosophical friends who I debate with, opinion internet site that I read and post on their bulletin boards. Some people argue that the mere fact that I have the freedom to object to America is the proof that it is so great. Perhaps.

Today, I'm thinking about apathy and being jaded. There's a line in a Ben Folds song--"I know it's cool to be so bored." There's a Calvin & Hobbes comic strip whose punch line is "the world bores you when you're cool." However you might approach it or comment about it, there is a heavy streak of apathy running through my culture. Why bother; why care; Having expectations only leads to disappointment so don't have expectations. Somewhere out there are statistics on how unlikely it is you will receive help if you scream for it. The psychologists have identified the phenomenon and even down to a science--the more people there are around, the less likely it is that someone will offer aid.

Some people take this sense of apathy and make it their life's motto: I don't care. No matter how much you care, no matter what you try to do, you can't really change anything. So why bother? Why bother caring, why bother even feeling. Those of us with the disease are all-too-familiar with numbing ourselves from our feelings. One of the great challenges of Recovery is learning to understand that part of ourselves, learning how to deal with it, when to take action, and when to refrain.

Our feelings are part of us. Our feelings are what makes us human. We don't really get to chose them either. We can't say to ourselves, "I'm only going to feel happiness and joy." That's not to human experience. We feel happy and sad, joy and sorrow. This is why I disagree with the apathy solution. To deny our feelings is to deny our humanity. Besides, if we don't care about anything, then that would mean we don't care about ourselves, either.

Recovery teaches honesty and acceptance. We choose to be in touch with ourselves, to discover what our true feelings are. We choose how react to them, too, even if that might be taking no action. We can get confused, to be sure, about what to do with feelings, but feelings in and of themselves are not bad or good. Anger at an injustice can lead us to take action to correct it. Fear of an abusive partner can lead us to leave a bad situation. Happiness about a newfound love can lead us to insensitive bragging. Unrestrained joy can cause us to miss important details because we're so wrapped up in what we're experiencing.

We get to feel how we feel, and we get to be conscious and present in our lives regardless of what those feelings are. To be apathetic is the real danger. If we don't feel, if we repress or pretend we aren't feeling, then we're denying our humanness.

"For Further Reading..."

Yesterday, I stepped into one of my favorite shops. It's a local Recovery shop within walking distance of my apartment. They have books for every program there, chips and medallions for clean time, and a plethora of other spiritual items. I get the chips for my homegroup there, have bought many books, and even picked up a wall scroll once with a Chinese proverb about peace that now hangs in my living room. When I wandered in this time, it was to buy myself a nice 2-year medallion. Someone once taught me the importance of rewarding yourself.

While there, I found myself glancing over the Al-Anon books. I ultimately took home a copy of 'Paths to Recovery', which is their 12-and-12. One of my sponsees lives with an alcoholic. Someone I love has alcoholic parents. My mom grew up with an alcoholic father. I figure I will meet plenty more people in my lifetime who have a loved one who suffers from the disease, the least I can do is educate myself.

I don't go to Al-Anon, but everything I hear is that it's a good program. As I've started reading this book, that opinion has been reaffirmed. They talk about the disease. They talk about how it affects the people around the person who suffers from it. Even just the section on the first step is loaded with good Recovery. It talks about the futility of trying to control drinking, or the person who drinks in order to stop them drinking or at least lessen it. But what I like best so far is the emphasis on how the disease affects others. A quote:

"Unlike diabetes, alcoholism not only exists inside the body of the alcoholic, but is a disease of relationships as well. Many of the symptoms of alcoholism are in the behavior of the alcoholic." (Pg.8) Boom. Just like that. It's something I talk about in meetings, and it's something I stress to my sponsees. The disease is about so much more than just getting loaded.

A lot of people hear words like 'control' and 'manipulation' and think about these words with a purely negative slant. They think that these things are done with bad or evil intent. But someone who tries to get a loved one to stop their drinking isn't acting malignantly; they're trying to help. Sometimes we keep things to ourselves--secrets, thoughts, opinions--because we know or are afraid of the reaction that voicing them might or will provoke. We don't want someone to be angry, so we don't say things we think will make them angry. We think we're doing good, and maybe we are, but it's still a form of control. We are trying to control someone else's reactions.

The program of Recovery is very, very clear on this: we can't. We can't control other people. We aren't responsible for other people, for their feelings, for their reactions. They are responsible for themselves, and we are responsible for ourselves. This doesn't mean we go through life saying whatever we feel like whenever we feel it. We think of others, we consider others as we go about our lives. What it does mean is that we don't cancel ourselves out in an attempt to cause others to behave in a way we think they should.

It's not up to us how others live their lives. So we learn to speak our truths with love. Some people adopt an 'I don't give a fuck what you think' attitude when it comes to other people, but I don't subscribe to this theory because it omits a very important spiritual element: compassion.

The danger in caring so much about what others think, feel, say, and do, is that we can end up neglecting our own selves in the process. Breaking through denial and accepting what is can be a terrifying prospect. It can mean we have to say things we might not want to say (because we fear others' reactions or worse). It might mean taking actions that terrify us--like moving out and away from a loved one who isn't yet ready for Recovery.

Regardless, the path of the Real, of accepting life on life's terms and not living in the world through a fog of denial, is always the better course. It might not seem like it at first. Ask any newcomer trying to get clean and sober if it feels like it's worth it and they will probably tell you 'no'. But with time, the rewards present themselves. It's true whether we are giving up our addiction to a substance or our attempts to control others. What we lose is insanity and unmanageability. What we gain is our real selves as we were created to be.

"Thoughts In A Moment"

I'm at the college campus right now, about half an hour before my regular Monday night class starts. I'm working towards a drug & alcohol counseling certification and have two classes this semester. I don't actually have any substance-related classes this time, just the Human Services intro and an Ethics class. I like them both, though, because of the over-arching theme that we're all here to help others. What with being unemployed, I find that I really am glad to have these classes. Aside from whatever other good I might get out of them, being here helps me to feel like I'm not stagnating.

The first pass on mixing my album is finished. All twelve tracks sound pretty damn good. I'm going to do my best to just listen for a couple weeks. There might not need to be any changes. I'm really pleased with how it's come out and feel like this is easily some of my best work. I'm really wanting to do what I can to promote it. For a moment, I stop and remind myself how it used to be: my inability to finish a project, let alone something worthwhile. For us musicians, getting loaded is all too often part and parcel of the creative process. It still boggles my mind a little than I make much better music now that I'm sober and in Recovery than I ever did with all the 'inspiration' I received while fucked up.

Someone dear to me is having a hard time dealing with her alcoholic parents right now. I do what I can do; be there for her, listen to her, let her know that I understand. I'm wondering what Al-Anon's main book is. I've got one sponsee right now with an alcoholic parent; it would be good for me to educate myself more on what it's like and ways others have found to deal with it.

It's really nice outside right now, and I find myself feeling privileged and grateful to be able to sit here, think my thoughts, and enjoy the evening. I'm sitting by a waterfall/fountain on campus. The sky is almost completely blue; a light breeze blows. I wonder how many of the other students walking around are noticing that, or taking the time to appreciate it. I think its the Buddhists who believe every moment is a whole universe in itself. There is a lot of joy and peace to be found in being happy for a quiet moment, that's for sure.

It isn't always like this. 'This, too, shall pass' works both ways. There are good times and bad times. And it just might be that my acceptance of that helps me to enjoy moments like this all the more. Continued practice in acceptance and letting go helps to create more moments like this, too.

Class tonight is supposed to include a discussion on the politics of Human Services. I can't wait :)

"Meeting Needs & Newbies"

No, I'm not making a play on words about meetings. It's something I'm thinking about because of the book I'm re-reading. Here, a quote:

"Many of us have falsely believed our needs aren't important and we shouldn't mention them. Some of us even began to believe our needs are bad or wrong, so we learned to repress them and push them out of our awareness. We haven't learned to identify what we need, or listen to what we need because it didn't matter anyway--our needs weren't going to get met. Some of us haven't learned how to get our needs met appropriately." --Melody Beattie, 'Codependent No More'

When I read this passage, I was taken back to what it was like before I got into Recovery, before even I had thought about quitting. This book was the one that got me started on the spiritual path, which did ultimately lead to my getting sober. Reading it for the first time was more than just having a light bulb go off above my head; it was a spiritual experience all unto itself. Reading the passage above, I found myself thinking something along the lines of, "wow, it really was like that, wasn't it?" How far I've come.

There was indeed a time when I didn't know how to meet my own needs; a time even where I didn't have the faintest idea what my needs were aside from needing or wanting to stop hurting all the time. I couldn't tell anyone what I needed. I had learned too well that I wasn't supposed to have needs, had learned that whatever needs I might possibly have were wrong, or bad, or at best incorrect. I had stopped listening to my needs. I'd taught myself that I didn't have any, just as I'd taught myself I didn't have thoughts of my own, or feelings of my own. Is it really any wonder that I was so miserable all the time? Again I say, how far I have come.

I need to be reminded from time to time that it wasn't always how it is now. I need to remember how bad it really was. And not so much how bad life was on the outside, but really how bad it was on the inside--the never ending emptiness, the hollow shell of a human being that I was, always guessing my way through conversations, hoping and praying that what I was saying was the 'right' thing to say. The constant feelings of guilt and shame, the sheer terror of being approached by a stranger. I was so used to always being on edge, ready to say or do anything just so long as you left me alone! It wasn't an angry reaction, but one of fear.

On the inside, I was dying. And I hated it. And I wanted more than anything in the world to be released from that pain. But there seemed no way for me to overcome my fears about people long enough to listen. I didn't knoqw how to have good people in my life that were worth listening to.

Yesterday, I had coffee with a newcomer and was reminded again how important it is to have someone new around. Some in Recovery put a lot of focus on newbies to talking to other newbies. "See that guy over there? Go talk to him." "I've only got a month. What could I possibly say?" "A month? That guy's got three days. I'll bet he wants to know how the hell you made it to thirty." There's so much more that newcomers have to offer, though.

Speaking for myself, I need to remember what it was like before I got into Recovery, and no one can tell me that better than someone who is new, fresh to the program. Someone who's life is full of chaos, who is still stuck thinking that the their disaster of a life is everyone else's fault. Someone who still causes chaos and wreckage and reaps the havoc of it. I can look at all of that, remember how I used to be EXACTLY the same, and reaffirm my decision to not live like that anymore. I can think of all I have learned, remember all the painful years before I had started working the program, and find a deep, deep gratitude.

I can meet my needs now. One of those needs is to never forget what it was like.

“Still One Day At A Time”

I started reading Stephen King’s ‘The Stand’ last night. I haven’t read a lot of his books, but what I have read I have liked and everyone’s always told me that ‘The Stand’ is one of the best--if not the best--of his works. In the author’s introduction, though, he said something which I found oddly amusing and very cool. He talked about how people will ask him how he writes and he replies to them, “One word at a time.” He went on to say that it isn’t any more complicated than that and then went on a little speech about the concept, saying how even the Great Wall of China was built “one brick at a time--but I hear you can see that motherfucker from space”. I laughed out loud when I read that, but today am really thinking about it.

Even today, I still live my life one day at a time. It’s a way I’ve found of being in the world that works. Yesterday has come and gone; what’s happened has happened. I can look back at it, feel whatever I might feel, and then use it as a resource to draw on in the future. Sometimes that means trying to not make the same mistake. Sometimes it means repeating something I did well that works. I try not to get lost in the future either. If I’m worrying about the future, then I’m trying to control something I can’t control, and that always leads to unmanageability. Some of the greatest philosophers of history have told us that right now, this moment, this is all we have.

In Recovery, we have lots of sayings that reinforce this idea. We talk about doing the Next Right Thing. We talk about how we will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. Some of us like to tell each other not to ‘future-fuck’ ourselves (a personal favorite). But no matter how you slice it, all these ideas are about being present for our lives. This is, of course, something we could not do while we were active in our addiction.

One day at a time; one moment at a time. This little idea is at the crux of not just how to live life in Recovery from the disease, but also in the pages and the words of some of history’s most famous thinkers. It’s where our power is. We can change the past. We can’t control the future. The only thing we can do is conduct ourselves in the moment. The more present we are for it, the better our chances to make healthy, spiritually-centered decisions.

Some even say that each moment is a whole universe unto itself, and I have to say that I can really get in to that idea. There are an infinite number of details in each moment. There are physical details, like how cold it is, what the shape and colors of the objects around us are. There are sound details, like the soft fan of my computer, or the typing of my fingers on these keys, or the meow of my cat wanting to be petted. There are smells, tastes. And there are the thoughts in my head and the emotions I feel.

Each moment has a vast wealth of STUFF that is happening right now. Being clean and sober means that, not only are we able to fully experience it, but that we are encouraged to do so.

"Functioning Anarchy"

"What do you mean, you don't have any leaders???"

I overheard this question once and smiled. The way we do things in Recovery can seem pretty damn strange to outsiders. The concept that our leaders are only trusted servants, that they don't govern, can be a real hard concept for people to get their heads around. Out there, outside of the rooms, leaders demonstrate their leadership by making people go along with them. They do it by appealing to people's emotions, by making logical arguments, all kinds of different ways--all in an attempt to assert their will on other people and on reality.

In the rooms, we do exactly the opposite. We learn to let go. We learn that we can't control people, places, and things, and we get to learn how to stop trying. It's a whole other way of doing things than what we're used to, and it's a whole other way of doing things from what out culture teaches us. Many of us in Recovery have what we affectionately refer to as 'control issues'. I translate that, for myself, as an inherent inability to let go. We cling. We cling to our drugs and our booze. We cling to our significant others. We cling to our resentments. We cling to our ideas about the way life should be. We cling to our notions of how things should go and what other people should do. These impulses are not Recovery-oriented.

They aren't healthy, either. They keep us in victim-mode. If the world around us isn't going the way [we think] it's supposed to, then our actions and our reactions to it aren't our fault. We are at the helpless mercy of a cruel world, a world that needs to be taught a lesson, a world in which everything would be just fine if only, if only, if only...

We are not victims. Maybe some of us were at one point. When we start our Recovery, we begin to see that we aren't victims anymore. Other people are responsible for their thoughts, their feelings, their actions. We don't make anyone else think or feel or do anything--they are responsible for ALL of themselves. And we, my friends, we are responsible for all of ourselves.

This is what makes being a leader in Recovery such an interesting position. We aren’t responsible for the meeting, or the group, or the district. A secretary doesn’t conduct the meetings, doesn’t guide the discussion. They don’t make the meeting happen, they make it possible for the meeting to happen, they allow it to happen by opening the doors. Group representatives don’t tell the people back in their groups the way things are, they listen to what the group thinks and then forward that information on so that each group conscience is represented at all levels. An intergroup leader doesn’t steer a district or an area in any particular direction, they facilitate discussion and ensure that all points of view are allowed to be expressed.

The idea of leadership in Recovery is very different from how it is out the world. For us, being in a position of leadership is a special responsibility. It’s a position of service. We don’t get paid for it. We don’t get any rewards for it beyond the satisfaction of knowing we are enhancing our own Recovery and helping ourselves to stay sober. For those of us who are new to the program, being responsibly isn’t something we have a lot of experience doing. Just as we get to practice spiritual principles by working the steps, we get to practice being responsibility by taking service positions.

Being a trusted servant, a leader, can be an especially useful practice. It helps us to work on our boundaries, to learn even more fully that we are not responsible for others. The most amazing thing about it seems to be that when we step back and allow others to be responsible for themselves, they more often than not are. I have seen meetings which have the same person in a leadership role for too long. The stress of it wears on them. They become harried, disorganized. Their attempts to control increase and their spiritual health declines. When they decide enough is enough, when they decide to set boundaries and step back from their position, the vacuum that is created causes others to step up to the plate and take on more responsibility. As one of my favorite authors writes, we don’t have to assume more than our fair share—we can allow others to shoulder their own responsibilities. And they do. But they can’t do it if we have taken it on.

It’s a different way of doing things, in Recovery. Everyone shares responsibility. We don’t sign away our portion of it. It can be loud, confusing, and seem chaotic, but it works. There are no laws, merely a series of suggestions that, when followed, are guides that allow the groups to function at their peak. To some, that seems like anarchy, and to a certain extent it is. But, as is the case with the Program itself, the most amazing thing is that it works.

"Standing Upright"

((This blog is fourth in a four-part series "Attitude Problem"))

I’ve done clerical work for most of my time in the workforce. With the exception of a brief stint teaching piano lessons (that ended in my having a mild nervous breakdown), I’ve always done clerical work. Data entry. Dealing with numbers and finances. Repetitive tasks. Excel spreadsheets and Access databases.

When I was still with my exwife, we went to a marriage counselor. I was still active in my addiction of course and once the counselor found out I was using, she made a big show of talking down to me about it. I’d had dreams at that point of making some career moves and the counselor told me basically to just forget it—that I was a drug addict, stop dreaming and get myself a grunt job at Cosco. She didn’t see me as a person of worth, because I was (am) an addict. My ex sat there the whole time, saying nothing, but that’s another story. Never once did this therapist mention getting into Recovery.

When I was under treatment for a bipolar mis-diagnosis, the doctor pressed home the point to me again and again to get some kind of job—any job!—so that I would have an income. This is not bad advice, but I don’t remember her as being someone who gave good advice, just prescriptions for legal drugs while at the same time telling me I needed to quit the illegal ones. This doctor also never said anything about doing a Recovery program.

I’d been raised with the not-so-gentle urging to get a state job. Both of my parents had been state workers (back in the days when state workers were actually productive), and had always pressed home the point of finding something stable. My dreams of pursuing music didn’t fall into that paradigm of theirs. So I found my way into data entry and other clerical work. When I got this last job, it was with that kind of thinking in mind—find something stable, dependable. It was neither.

I’m currently in school, taking night classes. I’m working my way through a certification program to be a drug & alcohol counselor. For one of our extra-credit assignments, we had the opportunity to take a personality test which let us know what type of work we are best suited for. Counseling was on my list. The results also talked about which jobs we’re not suited for. On my printout, the first line of that section read, “Avoid repetitive clerical positions at all costs.”

You don’t say...

One of my more crazy ideas though this whole losing my job, getting it back, then losing it again fiasco, has been the notion that I will eventually end up in a position that is good for me. Because I stood up for myself and didn’t stand for being treated as just a cog in a machine, I will find myself in a workplace where I am not seen as one. Other people treat us how we allow ourselves to be treated, whether that’s in the workforce, or in an abusive relationship.

I’m still learning who I am. I know much better, now, than I ever have before, but I know too that I am a work in progress. I am always growing, changing, learning. I’m hopeful that my schooling will lead me to a job where I can be much happier. And in the meantime, I will still need to have a day-job. But even if I end up doing a job just because it’s what I have to do, I know it won’t be forever.

There are an endless range of possibilities, and many of us who work the Program discover that things we never could have dreamed possible become a part of our daily lives. I don’t know what my dream job would be. I still have the idea in my mind to have a private therapy practice. But I like that part of my journey to get there is taking on this drug & alcohol specialization. It means I’ll get to help others along the way. And even if that ultimately is only a small part of what I do to earn my living, I will still be earning my living by helping others.

In the meantime, I have done some very good things for self-esteem: I stood up for myself, I’m going to school for something that interests me, and I’m working towards new goals that include service as a daily part of my life. In the AA big book, where they talk about working the ninth step, they say that we don’t grovel to anyone. I think that’s true for how we are to conduct ourselves in our everyday lives, too. I live an honest life, one of integrity, and that more than anything means being honest with myself about who I am. The journey continues.

"Character Defect: Uppity"

((This blog is third in a four-part series "Attitude Problem"))

A brief disclaimer: I am not black. Or "African-American" or whatever other PC term uptight white people need to hear in order to understand what I'm talking about. Now, I have been called a brotha of another color, which truly warmed my heart. I've also had someone tell me they hated that I was white but occasionally "talked black". He and I are no longer friends because he didn't appreciate my calling him out on his racist bullshit. Such is life. Anyway, this post has nothing to do with any of that, except for me to acknowledge that 'uppity' is a racially charged term and to say, yes, I did use it deliberately.

As a child, I didn't have abusive parents. No one ever called me names. I was never beaten. I never got molested. But I did have a, shall we say, unbalanced upbringing. My father wasn't involved in my childhood and my mother was way, way, way too involved. It took a while for me to understand I had abandonment issues from my dad, because he was present. He didn't literally abandon me, like move away, but because he was so uninvolved, the effects were the same as if he had. It's possible that that's one of the reasons my mother was so over-involved--she was trying to compensate for the attention I wasn't getting from my father.

Being too involved in your children's lives--so much so that they become reflections of yourself, when you are unable to conceive of them as separate individuals, when you place upon them the burden of your feelings because you are getting your happiness and sadness and anger and joy through them--has a specific name in psychological circles. In it's most extreme examples, it's a form of emotional abuse called enmeshment. This is a codependent pattern, and is healthy neither for the child nor the parent. The former, because they are saddled with a responsibility they cannot live up to, that of their parent's emotional life. And the latter, because they aren't being responsible for their own emotional lives and are setting a very poor example for their children of how to deal with life.

Children who grow up in this sort of environment tend to fall into two categories: feeling special, and feeling worthless. They also have a very poorly-developed sense of self--if they have one at all. I ended up with all of the above. My feelings of being special were hard-wired in at an early age. I learned that I had to be perfect, the good little boy, or I wouldn't get the love I needed. But if I was all those things, then not only was I loved but I was Special. The main influence there was my mother. In the rest of my life, the other children I socialized with for example, I got the message that I was worthless. It created a never-ending cycle. Mom would tell me I was special. I'd go out into the world believing I was, and the world would let me know that I wasn't. So I'd go home and cry to mommy that I wasn't special. Who, in turn, took even greater pains to make sure I knew that I was.

The experts will tell you that a child who grows up feeling 'special' rarely forgets it. As I got older, my feeling special became a chip on my shoulder so large that I'm surprised I didn't topple over from it. I was a know-it-all who thought he was God's gift to... well, all humanity I suppose. It was a defense mechanism, something that stayed in place because I needed it to cover up the deeply wounded, deeply insecure child inside. I could list dozens of examples of how this double-edged ego issue of mine caused damage to me and those in my life, but my real point is the simple one: I thought I was special, and the more life tried to disabuse me of this notion, the more tightly I clung to it.

With Recovery, this attitude of mine has slowly changed. I've done a lot of work on it and see it now as a two-sided coin: on the one side is my overinflated ego--the know-it-all, on the other side is my insecurity and the idea that I will never be good enough. As I've chipped away at this character defect, and gradually worked on the building up of my self-esteem, a change has taken place. A new attitude has taken up dominance in my brain. It's a genuine knowledge that I am enough and that I don't need to be anything other than who I am in order to be loved. Slowly, I have learned (and am still learning) how to be right-sized.

For me, being right-sized is a balance. I don't indulge my ego, but I also don't have to tolerate others treating me as less-than. It takes honesty; being honestly in touch with myself, knowing my strengths and my weaknesses, and knowing too that I am a person of worth and value. This is where my power comes from, the power of aligning myself with God by being who I am as he created me. And I don't have to give that power up to anyone.

"Of Worth And Value"

((This blog is second in a four-part series "Attitude Problem"))

I don't really write about it here in this blog, but people who know me in person know that I am a very politically-minded individual. One of my strongest-held beliefs is that everyone is created equal and deserves to be treated with a certain basic level of dignity and respect. I believe this holds true whether someone is rich or poor, regardless of the color of their skin, if they're a man or woman, gay or straight, etc., etc., etc. I try to carry this attitude with me everywhere I go and it occasionally gets me into trouble. My workplace--excuse me, 'former workplace'--is one of those places.

There is a belief held by some in power that, because they are in positions of authority, they are more important than the people who work for them. Sometimes they think they are more important because they make more money. Sometimes they are just egoists. This is not a perspective I respect. I don't want to get into a long diatribe on management techniques, but it's always seemed to me that you should treat the employees under you well. People who are treated well are more productive workers. People who are treated like shit respond accordingly. Every person doing a job is a valuable part of an organization, from the CEO all the way to the janitor. Failure to recognize that inevitably leads to others being treated as less-than.

The job I did is one of those positions that isn't thought of as important. To make matters worse, it was lumped in with numerous others which required a different skill-set, making my job technically interchangeable with positions which are actually unrelated. The way it was supposed to work was everyone could theoretically do everyone else's job if the need arose. In reality, while I could do others' jobs, they didn't have the training or experience needed to do mine. It was great for management, though; they could mix and match us to their heart's content. And they did so, never understanding the effect this had on their employees' morale: each of us being told by management's actions that what we do is so unimportant that were interchangeable. We aren't seen as skilled workers, we are seen as cogs in a machine, unthinking robots, to be pulled out and plugged in wherever our superiors felt like putting us. It's a recipe tailor-made for feeling less-than, which of course only helped management's ingrained concept that we were.

As part of my job, I coordinated with a lot of people, inside the company and out. The people I actually worked with recognized my skills. They knew that I was very good at what I did, and they understand how important it is to have someone good at what I do in my position. When I was feeling unappreciated, they were the ones who helped to lift me up and remind me that what I do IS important. My superiors sensed this attitude from me, my pride in my job and in my skills, and would shake their heads, unable to understand where I got this over-inflated opinion of myself. It had once been my hope that my superiors would see my skills, see my intelligence and my potential, and want to teach me more, maybe move me up in the company. Instead, they tried again and again to teach me that I'm just a mindless cog and couldn't understand why I wouldn't just accept it.

Some see this attitude of mine as an attitude problem. In my active addiction, and before I had the experience I do now of working the program, it was a problem. I didn't see myself as a person of worth and value, I saw myself as Special, which is a whole other issue entirely. As in, "how dare you treat me like that--don't you know who I am?!?!" Yeah. This is an attitude borne out of insecurity. Because I didn't love myself inside, I tried to demand others treat me as special. I didn't know how to love myself, so I overcompensated by trying to make others fill that void. This is a codependent pattern, by the way.

Since I've started my Recovery, I have been learning how to meet that internal need. I've been learning that I am a person of worth and value. I've been learning that I do have good qualities and skills and that, while I do deserve to have those recognized, I can't make others recognize them. It's been a process of establishing boundaries, of knowing what I do and don't have to do, of gradually insisting through my own conduct that others in my life treat me as a person, and value me honestly for the qualities I deserve to be valued for. One of those boundaries was insisting that I be allowed to do the job I have, and not something else.

When it became clear that I'd be losing my job, the first person I called actually was my dad. (Talk about doing something different!) I told him that I hadn't spent the past two years learning all these things to just throw them away. He agreed with me and supported me in my decision. I almost cried.

Some of my coworkers have looked askance at me for this decision. I've been told to 'just play their game' and that I should have just done the task they told me to do, to take the money and run. But, in this case, self-respect was a lot more important to me than money. Some people may think I'm stupid for this choice. Some people may think I'm still stuck in that thinking I'm special place. They are entitled to their opinions. For myself, I knew what I had to do and in this case it was to stand up for myself and for the fact that I'm very good at what I do. If this makes me 'uppity', then so be it. Yes, it would have been illegal for me to do the task they'd assigned me to, but I know my stance here has very little to do with that fact.

I'm not interested in changing the world. I'm not even trying to change the attitudes of my superiors. They don't see me or what I do as important, and that's fine. They don't see it as important that the work I do gets done correctly, and that's fine too. They get to make the decisions and they get to live with the consequences of them. For me, I get to stand up for myself. I am not a cog in a machine, or a robot. I am not an interchangeable non-person. I am not less-than or more-than, I'm just a human being, and I deserve to be treated as such.