“Perfection”

Sometimes I wonder if the most bitter pill in life to swallow is a deep disappointment. It’s like that moment when you realize your dad isn’t a superhero. Or when someone you thought was a genius makes a truly moronic comment. It seems so strange; we walk through molestation, poverty, death, and more. Yet there’s nothing quite like that feeling when you realize someone or something isn’t perfect--and that someone can be ourselves.

When that moment happens, there’s an innocence that dies. A hope gets dashed. Where we once held a belief in something as ironclad, we now see it in a colder, more realistic light. Our disenchantment can be mild, or it can be bitter as bile.

A lot of addicts I know (myself included) hold ourselves to impossible standards. We expect ourselves to be perfect. We expect others to be perfect, too. We expect situations, even life itself, to be perfect. And when it isn’t, oh are we ever bitter about it. In the rooms of Recovery, we say this: expectations are pre-meditated resentments.

I was thinking today about a situation I was involved in. A member at my home group was having some behavior problems (not unfamiliar for 12-step rooms). This member regularly talked far longer than the allotted time and had a very bad habit of interrupting other members during their shares. The member was talked to outside of meetings, asked multiple times to shape up and show respect to others in the meeting. The behavior didn’t improve, and the member ended up leaving the group after being told that their bullshit would no longer be tolerated.

Now, certainly anyone who’s been in 12-step rooms for any length of time knows that we can’t expect them to be perfect sanctuaries of peace and tranquility; they aren’t. They won’t ever be. Learning that they aren’t, seeing our fellows, our sponsor ‘fall from grace’ is difficult to walk through and a rough patch on the path to long-term Recovery.

But I wonder, too, about that member who walked out. They weren’t told to leave, but I wonder if there wasn’t an expectation there that the room was supposed to be perfect for them, the perfect place where they could say whatever they wanted and just talk and talk and talk. The fact that it was an unreasonable expectation doesn’t really matter. I imagine the bitterness that member felt had a very bad taste. Having reality intrude, get in our face, it seems to do it in the rudest way sometimes.

I try to remember that I’m not perfect. One of the best gifts Recovery has given me is the knowledge that not only do I not have to be perfect, but that I couldn’t be if I tried. Perfection isn’t possible. We are human. We are flawed. We make mistakes. It happens. In my better moments, I even find a way to laugh at myself and take joy in merely being human. In my worse moments, I am my own worst critic.

There is no such thing as perfect. Beating up on ourselves for not being perfect is a waste of time. Or worse, a form of denial because if we’re blaming ourselves for not being perfect, then we’ve forgotten a basic truth of our existence--that we are human. The same could be said of blaming life, situations, or circumstances for not being perfect. They aren’t; they won’t ever be. And that’s okay!

And of course, if it’s unjust to blame ourselves for not being perfect, it is truly unjust for us to blame others for not being perfect themselves.

“Thanks”

Uh-oh. The last time I blogged was on Veteran’s day. Today is Thanksgiving. I’m in serious danger of becoming the holiday blogger! I wonder if that’s anything like being an Easter/Christmas catholic?

It is thanksgiving day here, a day for being with family, feasting, being grateful, and praising god for a holiday that isn’t full of buying shiny plastic shit for people who don’t need it because otherwise they’ll think you don’t love them. For the first time in a couple of weeks, I had time and desire to hit up my favorite coffee shop. But, alas, on my way there, the streets were covered with roadblocks, police cars with red and blue lights piercing the wet air, and runners. Lots of runners. Gotta admire them for getting out there in the rain, though. I ended up at another local coffee shop and am now enjoying the quiet room. It feels good to write.

Last night I was over at my folks’ house to prep Thanksgiving dinner for this afternoon. They’re both injured right now and not getting any younger. My sister had the brilliant idea for the two of us to take care of dinner this year. Our family actually does Lasagna for dinner instead of the traditional turkey. So I spent last evening putting that together under mom’s direction, a desert, and then we made a couple pumpkin pies. We actually had a good time. It’s a far cry from the days when I wasn’t communicating with my family at all.

It’d be pretty obvious to say here on my Recovery blog that today I’m grateful for my Recovery, but there’s no denying the truth of that statement. Everything about my life today, I owe to the success I’ve had in working the program. There’s the things that are easily seen, like my job, my relationship with my family, the improvements in my personal relationships with others.

But there are other benefits which aren’t visible that are even more amazing to me. Things like the peace of mind I feel, the reservoir of calm that emanates from my very being now, and the confidence I have in myself. It’s things like the ability to not take things personally, not let others’ insanity affect me, to have good boundaries and be secure in myself and the knowledge that I am okay for who I am just as I am. These are the kinds of things most people rarely find, regardless of whether they’re in the program or not.

So this is my thanks for today--thanks for a new life, for being one of the lucky ones who is surviving this deadly disease, and who had the willingness to discover that it really is true: people really can change.

“Freed From Insanity”

That was the title for one of this week’s “Just For Today”. I saw it pop up in my email and it was almost as if an entire blog entry appeared before my eyes, fully formed in my mind, waiting to be written. And then, of course, several days went by while I did that whole life thing.

Today is a holiday and I’ve got the day off from work. There’s laundry to do, music to be made, and I’m starting it all off at my favorite coffee shop. Now that I’ve turned my attention back to the blog, I find myself thinking, “oh that’s right, I was going to write about THAT! Gosh, I had all kinds of good things to say about that... what was I going to say???” Oh well. This former stoner’s unreliable memory will just have to be accepted as I move forward. Because the topic is a good one, regardless of what I might have been going to say before.

We talk a lot in meetings about the insanity of the Disease. We’ve gone to all kinds of insane lengths to get drunk or to get loaded. We do all kinds of crazy things when we are intoxicated. But there is so much more to the insanity of the Disease than just how we relate to substances. The way we live our very lives is insane. We have poor boundaries at best; our personal lives are the shambles; we do things that affect others without any regard for them. We don’t think of other people; we are all too often incapable of doing so. We are stuck in our own little worlds, thinking that smallness to be the entire universe. And when reality intrudes, reminds us that there is a much larger world out there beyond what our limited perspectives are capable of perceiving, we react wildly. Violently. We don’t like it when the bubble of our denial is pierced.

As I’ve worked the program and found what I’ve found through doing so, I don’t really see myself as being ‘restored’ to sanity. If I were, that would somehow imply that at some point in my life I had been sane. Looking back, even before I first picked up, I can see the insanity of my behavior and my thinking. Now, being where I am, I can still feel those impulses in my brain. From time to time, they still get out, still run my life. Thank god for the tenth step. Because I still have everything in me that I walked into the rooms with.

As we go about our lives, we will encounter countless others who don’t live their lives by the spiritual principles we strive to live by. Sometimes they are active addicts, sometimes severe codependents, sometimes they’re just assholes. Sometimes, they’re none of the above, and simply don’t behave the way we wish they would. An ongoing struggle for me is boundaries. I meet people who are like I was, and I have to continually remind myself that I’m not responsible for them. I’m not responsible for their lives, their problems, I’m only responsible for me.

Some people get confused when I say things like that. They talk about that quote posted in so many rooms: “I am responsible.” And I explain to them as gently as I can how that means when someone asks for help, that’s when I help them. Because trying to help someone who doesn’t want it, who hasn’t shown the willingness to let themselves be helped, that leads straight to my going back to being insane. Because if I do that, then I’m not accepting the things I can’t change. When someone asks for help, that’s the key. It’s why I don’t tell people I’m going to sponsor them; I wait for them to ask me.

Some days it really breaks my heart to see others stuck in the insanity of their lives. So often, they live that way because they think they have to. I want to help them see that they don’t have to, that there is another way. But even those feelings are judgmental, because it’s not up to me to decide what is right or wrong for others. It’s up to them to decide if they want to be free or not. Because some people don’t! Some people would much rather stay with the insanity they know than try living differently. No matter how much they might hate it, they’ll stay stuck because it’s easier, more familiar. All I can really do is remember my boundaries, help them if they want help, and not take on responsibility that isn’t mine. And I can be grateful for my own freedom.

And I am. I am so grateful to have been freed, so grateful to not have to do all that anymore.

“Still Codependent, Too”

It’s been a while since I ranted & raved about codependence here in this space. A program friend of mine has recently realized that he’s got some work to do in this department so it’s been on my mind lately. He’s already looked at his issues there a little, and I had a good book to loan him. Ha. I have more than a few books on the subject :)

If you’re not familiar with the term and are wondering what the heck this codependence thing is, there are a lot of ways to describe it. Some people call it the Disease without the substance addiction piece. Some people call it being addicted to or dependent on people instead of a substance. I tend to think of it as the ways of thinking, communicating, and behaving that we learn by being around people with the Disease (or people who are codependent themselves).

A lot of us with the Disease have codependence issues, and many of us end up going to the rooms of Al-Anon or ACA (Adult Children of Alcoholics) to sort them out. If doing the 12-steps for our addiction is college, then working on our codependence is like graduate study. A lot people suggest not working on codependence until we’ve completed our steps. And yeah, there’s a point to be made there, but it isn’t that we have to wait to work on this--it’s to finish your steps!

In my mind, the definitive book on the subject is still Melody Beattie’s “Codependent No More”--especially if you haven’t done any step work or have never been to a 12-step room. For those of us who have finished our steps (or are working on them), it’s still a great book. A short sample:

“Communication is not mystical. The words we speak reflect who we are: what we think, judge, feel, value, honor, love, hate, fear, desire, hope for, believe in, and commit to. If we think we’re inappropriate to life our communication will reflect this: We will judge others as having all the answers; feel angry, hurt, scared, guilty, needy, and controlled by other people. We will desire to control others, value pleasing others at any cost, and fear disapproval and abandonment. We will hope for everything but believe we deserve and will get nothing unless we force things to happen, and remain committed to being responsible for other people’s feelings and behavior. We’re congested with negative feelings and thoughts.

“No wonder we have communication problems.”

--from Chapter 17, ‘Communication’

I first read ‘Co- No More’ when I was at the very beginning of my Recovery journey. In fact, it’s no stretch to say that this book WAS the start of my Recovery journey. It was as I got into it, attempted to start putting the ideas in Beattie’s book into practice that I discovered I was putting the cart before the horse; I had to deal with my addiction first before I could address these issues.

A number of people who have the Disease in their life (friends who are addicts, parents who are alcoholics, etc.) have found a lot of help from this book. Many of them find their way into the rooms of Al-Anon so that they can get help putting these ideas into practice. As it is with those of us who learn how to deal with life without getting loaded, people who suffer from codependence need to learn a whole other way of dealing with life, themselves, with others.

The ways we learn to be in the world don’t happen by accident. We adapt to our situations. If we’ve learned to function in a codependent way, it’s because it is what we had to learn to do in order to survive. Making the change, learning to do something different, is difficult, difficult stuff. A lot of times, we can’t find the willingness to follow through on it unless we’ve reached some kind of bottom and admitted to ourselves that we can’t do it the same old way anymore.

We can learn a different way. Like our Disease, codependence is something we must continue to work on, but change is possible. If we want it. If we work for it.

“The Joy Of Living”

We’ve had a few windy days here and I’ve been seeing something I’ve seen before that never ceases to amaze me: the way the wind whips across grass in waves. It’s an impressive sight, those ripples. So fluid, so natural, and yet so unnatural at the same time. Those tiny green blades, acting in concert as if they were an ocean surface. I have one of those ‘appreciate the little things’ moments every time I see it.

As crazy as life can get, with its ups and downs, its occasional total upheavals, and the random period of uninterrupted peace, I’ve found the old wisdom about the little things being the most important to be so true. Nature is a big one for me. I’ve always been a fan, and when I got clean & sober, I didn’t know if I would still enjoy it as much. Then I saw a sunset behind the mountains for the first time, stone cold sober, and was amazed at how its beauty was every bit as intense and wondrous.

There are some more mundane little things that are really enjoyable for me, too. Like paying my bills on time, not having to stress about creditors and collectors hounding me over the phone. For some bizarre reason, I really like cleaning my apartment, too. I’m not a neat freak, I just like having a clean place to come home to. As an introverted guy, my home is where I tend to recharge at, my retreat and safe haven from the world. Not that others aren’t welcome in it, of course! Simply that most of the time it’s just me there and my mind is more at peace with an orderly home.

The thing the cleaning, the bills, is they’re the normal humdrum stuff of day-to-day living. And I remember all too well a time when I didn’t do any of this. I remember, too, how hard I had to fight, the boundaries I had to establish, in order to learn how to take care of myself and have others in my life stop treating me as a near-invalid who had to have everything taken care of for him.

Sure, it’s true that as an active drug addict I wasn’t very capable at caring for myself. And even that affliction aside, my life skills were sub-par to none. So these days I carry a lot of private pride at being someone who takes care of his responsibilities, who takes care of himself. A small part of that is thoughts about those from my past who never thought I could, but mostly it’s the satisfaction of showing myself that I can.

That’s a big part of my joy in Recovery--being responsible, being a functioning member of society. For so long, my daily life was nothing more than a miserable existence. Now, instead of merely existing, I’m truly living.

“Drunk Talk”

When I was seeing my last therapist (you know, the one that was actually so helpful that I haven’t had to go back to therapy since seeing him?), he and I would talk a lot about the ‘language of alcohol’. There are lots of different aspects to it: the use of ‘you’ when what someone really means is ‘I’, talking around subjects instead of directly about them, lying--especially by omission, and many others.

My therapist and I would talk about this alcoholic-speak as my first language--my native tongue, if you will. And it doesn’t have to be called alcoholic speak. A better descriptor of it might be the language of the Disease; alcoholics use it, addicts use it, codependents, etc. By any name, it was the way I learned to talk growing up. Sorting through this way of communicating helped me to get a handle on how the Disease shaped me in my early years.

It helped me, too, to understand what exactly it was that drove me so crazy as a child and as a teenager. To this day, I still hate being lied to--especially by omission. I’m a big believer that a lie of omission is far worse than an outright falsehood. But there are other things about this language: it’s a dishonest way of communicating, certainly; disrespectful? Absolutely; and in general, when someone communicates with others in this style, they in effect treat others as less-than. At least, that’s how it feels to me. It’s a recipe for failure because a lot of this communication is dependent on the other person figuring out what is actually meant instead of taking what is said at face value. If you can’t figure out what the person meant, well then that’s your fault; in their mind, they expressed themselves very clearly. But no human being is a mind reader.

Anyway, I have done a lot of work to learn a different way of communicating, but I still find myself in situations where people do talk this way. Like anyone who grew up speaking a ‘different’ language, I fall back into it easily, like putting on an old, comfortable leather coat. And it’s only after I’ve been wearing it a little while that I remember, “wait a minute--I hate this jacket!”

It gets my anger up. I can’t even say for sure what makes me angrier. Is it because I allowed myself to fall back into old patterns? Or is it that old feeling of being a failure for not being able to read someone’s mind? Or the failure at not being perfect? Or just general anger at the unreasonable expectations that this way of communicating is based on?

And yet... people communicate this way all the time. So it’s fair to say that this is a challenging area for me. Even if it’s something most other people handle without a second thought, it’s difficult for me. And that’s okay. Even amongst those of us with the Disease, we each have our specific challenges.

Call it whatever you like; it’s a communication style that I’ve worked very hard to change in myself, and it’s something I work with my sponsees on, too. The language we use shapes our thoughts. Changing the way we speak helps to change the way we think.

“Self-Harm”

A little “what it’s like now” before I get to the “what it used to be like”: It’s a full life these days. I got hired permanently at my new job, which is a blessing and a curse. On my second official day, my coworker went out on maternity leave (which is in itself a very long story). One of my good friends went into a voluntary psychiatric hospitalization. And I even have a special someone in my life now. The job stuff, well I knew even before I accepted the position how utterly insane my work environment is so what’s happened there, while extremely stressful for me, is more or less par for the course. My friend made it through his time in the psych ward and it seems to have been good for him, but I’m still keeping my fingers crossed, regardless. And the special someone, while a wonderful addition to my life, is a subject I have a very strong policy about not blogging about for many reasons, not the least of which is respect for her privacy. So that’s the update on ol’ Z ;-)

* * *

I was doing some thinking recently about our stories, how we tell our stories at meetings, how the learning to talk about ourselves and see the patterns of our lives is such an important part of the Recovery process. I’ve got a version of my story here in the blog--called ‘My Story’ for some unimaginative reason--that I wrote a while back. I re-read it recently and was surprised. I’d thought it wasn’t very good, but it was. It rambles a little, and it’s a bit talky, but it was truthful and it covered the important stuff. One thing it didn’t mention, though, was my history of self-harm. If I ever do a revised version, I’ll have to be sure to include those details.

It was washing my hands earlier today that jogged my memory about all this. I did a little cutting, but mostly I was a burner--self-inflicted cigarette burns. There’s a scar on the back of my left hand that is all but invisible now, but I know it’s there and I can still see it. There’s one on my upper left arm, too. The rest are all on my legs.

I’ve forgotten how many there are, and some have faded over the years, but they’re all there on the insides, stretching from my ankles up to my knees. I suppose I could rub glycerin on them for a few months, but I’ve never really wanted to get rid of them. These days, they’re an important reminder of just hard it was for me, how deeply in pain I was at that time of my life, before I learned to dull that pain with substances.

I can still remember it, though. An intense, crushing pain. Sort of like having my mind squeezed by an overflowing of raw, negative emotion. I’ve heard people describe their experience with self-harm as a way to overcome numbness, a way to feel something. It wasn’t like that for me; for me it was about giving myself something else to focus on, and to give myself a reason for why I felt how I did. And there was a weird power thing to it. Like, I felt so powerless in my life, so weak and unmanly. Holding a cigarette to my skin and counting the seconds--sometimes minutes--was a way I had found to feel powerful, to feel strong, like I had some minor semblance of control. Maybe the extent of that control was nothing more than hurting myself but still. It was a desperate attempt to find something to hold on to.

Just as an aside, my suicide attempts were like that, too: a desperate attempt at control and escape from a painful, painful existence.

There was a news story not too long ago. It was an interview with an author who’d just published a book about self-harm. She talked about how the act is becoming more “mainstream”. Not that more people are doing it, but more people are talking about doing it, finding each other and being more accepting of the act. It’s not the hush-hush thing it used to be; less and less are people being thought of as sick or seriously mentally ill if they commit self-harm. Personally, I’m not sure that’s the greatest thing; I was seriously in need of real help when I burned. Most people I’ve known who self-harm do it because of deep, unresolved issues. I didn’t burn myself for sympathy (and most people I’ve encountered who cut or burn hide their scars) and if anyone had managed to see my scars or find out I was a self harmer and they gave me a ‘poor baby’ routine, I would have responded very viciously. The last thing I needed was for someone to see that very wounded part and feel sorry for me.

In fact, that reminds me of something I shared once, about why the rooms of Recovery were such a place of healing for me. It was because no one said, “poor baby” to me. No one offered my sympathy, just honest understanding. I didn’t (and still don’t) need to be coddled; I just need to be listened to. I need to speak my truths and just let them be spoken.

I’d stopped hurting myself years before I got into Recovery, but it wasn’t until years after I’d started that I finally felt okay with that part of my past. I remember the first time I wore shorts to a summer BBQ event. One of my close friends who knew why I never had before told me she was proud of me. And wouldn’t you know it, no one even noticed the scars, or at least certainly never said anything to me about them. Such a far cry from those years ago when people would ask me very pointedly why I did that to myself. I would try to answer them, but no matter what explanation I gave, they never really understood.

So much of Recovery is like that. The people we meet in the rooms understand us in ways no one else ever will--because they’ve been where we’ve been; they’ve felt how we feel.

These days, the scars on my legs are a reminder of where I’ve been. And they’re the physical proof, too, when I meet someone else who self-harms, they can know without a doubt that I understand.

"Centering"

Okay, I'm going to break a guy-rule here and admit the following: I can get really emotional watching movies. I'm not talking about crying, I mean all emotions. A good film just taps into me and the feelings start flowing out. I was watching one tonight and paused it--right at really good part, too--because I felt some anger that I needed to take the time to process. I went out for a run, and now I'm at my favorite coffee shop. And wouldn't you know it, there are two friends of Bill here, discussing where the best women's step study meetings are.

We are everywhere.

The anger stuff isn't really about me; it's boundary processing, continuing to learn and practice the principles. Other people's stuff is not mine to deal with. And, ironically enough, the friends of Bill are talking about stuff that's 'outside their hula hoop'. Love it. Their conversation has nothing to do with me, and yet it's exactly what I'm thinking about. This Recovery thing is so amazing.

Tonight when I got home, I did some laundry. My toilet sprang a leak and I used half my towels cleaning the water up. I'd planned to work on some music, but that's not how things worked out. And as it turned out, though, I did get done what I needed to--the bathroom's clean and I got to be here on the patio listening to Recovery happen. And to top it all off, the gal who works the counter here at the coffee shop is involved in our local version of the 'Occupy' movements sweeping the world right now, so I got to chat with her about how those are going. She wants me to come out and join them. We'll see.

Life is so full of such amazing things. Moment to moment, things can and do change. And we get to choose how we deal with all of it. We can be awake for it, taking joy in all that goes on around us, or we can be sucked in to the chaos and insanity. We can ride all the ups and downs, letting ourselves get spun out until we've forgotten what it's like to not be swept away, or we can remain centered and watch it all happen.

We can fall all over ourselves, trying to control, trying to rescue, refusing to accept the things we can't change; or we can choose serenity instead. The choice is ours and no one else can make it for us.

“Four Corners”

I had a dream the other night. The details are a bit fuzzy now, but each place I went to in this dream was empty. It was like at the end of a party where most of the people have left. There were a few stragglers, but even they were on their way out. The overall meaning I took from the dream was that it was about endings, and that I was the last one to be aware of things being over. You could say I was late to the party on that :)

As an addict in Recovery, the larger meaning strikes me as being about letting go of my old life. That part of my life is over. It could resume at any moment, of course, and that’s why I keep working the program--to do what I can to ensure it doesn’t. But after more than three years living clean and sober... On the one hand, it could be my subconscious working through the last bits of acceptance of living a new life. But with how I was in the dream, being surprised at the emptiness of these places, realizing I had come late, that everyone else had left, I wonder if instead it isn’t my brain telling me I still have some more letting go to do of the old me.

* * *

I’ve had some major changes in my life recently. They’ve got me thinking about something I heard shared once. I was at an NA book study and a woman with over a dozen years living clean and sober talked about how, even after all this time, she still had to struggle. She talked about wishing for something that would probably never come--the feeling that she had ‘made it’. As if one day, all her hard work would pay off and she would sit back with a contented sigh.

I’m remembering that because I’ve got a bit of that ‘made it’ feeling going on right now. My hard work in a number of different areas of my life is paying off. I’m grateful for the changes, amazed and surprised by the good things that are happening. And dealing, too, with all the fear and worry and obsession one would expect from a sufferer of the Disease.

Being so used to bad things happening, sometimes the most difficult thing for folks like us to accept is when things are going well. I’m reminding myself that God doesn’t give me anything I can’t handle. I learned that lesson by going through a tough trial in my life--the suicide of a sponsee. It would seem that it applies to good times as well as bad.

* * *

This month is something of a morbid anniversary for me. Fifteen years ago, I went through some of the most tumultuous, difficult events of my life. My second suicide attempt, my being in the mental hospital, and my being arrested all happened fifteen years ago this month. I’ve done the work to move through and get past all of these events, but there can’t be any denying the power and importance of how what happened shaped and changed my life.

Call it bizarre, but I’m much more at peace with the suicide attempt and the hospitalization than I am with the arrest. Even though I’ve never had any difficulty finding a job, I still do the tiniest bit of panicking every time I go through a background check. Fears aren’t always rational.

The scars of severe depression are something that have proven to be something very helpful to others I meet. Talking about being a suicide survivor, showing them the old burn marks up and down my legs, it helps them to know the darkness they’re suffering from doesn’t have to last forever, that there is a way out.

* * *

Maybe there is old stuff, old ideas about myself and who I am, that I’m still hanging on to that I need to let go of. And, as always, the fear that I feel is that of the unknown. If I let go of the idea that I’m not worthy of love, then I have to embrace the idea that I am worthy of it. If I let go of my false modesty when it comes to being a capable, functioning member of society, then that means I have to rise up to my full potential and follow through at my true level of capabilities. If I accept that it is possible for me to have a healthy, satisfying romantic relationship, then that means I have to give up not just unhealthy relationships, but being alone as well. And being alone is something for me that is pretty damn difficult to give up, not because I like it, but because it is so familiar.

Or maybe, just maybe, these are all things that I have learned, things that I already know, and what the dream is calling my attention to is that I’m forgetting them. Like, a one step forward, a two-steps back thing. It could even be my higher power reaching inside to encourage me not to fall back, not to give up and to continue to embrace the fact that good things just keep on happening in my life.

As I continue walking the path, the scenery is changing.

“Reason and Purpose”

For some reason, I’ve got scenes and quotes from the movie ‘The Matrix: Reloaded’ running through my mind. The bit about purpose--that it drives us, defines us; about the importance of reason, how the ‘why’ is crucial and how without a reason for what we do, we have nothing. I think we’ve all heard it at some point in our lives that “everything happens for a reason”. Maybe; maybe not.

Generally, we can say that in active addiction, when we’re in the grips of the Disease, our lives don’t have much purpose beyond getting and staying loaded. We might accomplish other things, but ultimately the main reason for being is to get and stay fucked up. ‘Lived to use, use to live,’ as they say in NA. Finding Recovery gives us a different purpose, a new reason to live. Again, as a broad stroke generality, we stop living for ourselves and start living for others.

People find their way into the rooms for a lot of different reasons. For some, it’s because they will lose their family, their wife, husband, children, if they don’t clean & sober up. For others, it’s a job or a home they will lose (or have already lost). For some of us like myself, it’s for no other reason than the simple fact that we’ve admitted to ourselves we can’t quit on our own.

“Want to quit but can’t? We can help you with that.”

When we first start working the program, our purpose is pretty basic: get clean; get sober; stay that way. The Third Tradition covers this universal purpose very well: the only requirement for membership is the desire to quit. There’s something important here, a flipside to this tradition that isn’t stated outright--that if you don’t want to quit, if you don’t have the willingness to do something different, there isn’t much we can do for you.

We start with a purpose like that, a purpose that consumes us. We start putting time together and our purpose shifts a little. We see that it is possible to quit, and so we begin focusing more on reasons to stay quit. Just as there are many reasons why we want or need to quit, there are even more for why we want and need to stay quit. As we work steps, we find ourselves restored to sanity and discover--to our profound amazement--that our lives are actually working. We tend to find that living clean and sober, walking the spiritual path, is its own reward.

Sure, there are all kinds of fringe benefits. I hear people talk about saving their marriage, or getting a long-needed divorce. I’ve heard heartwarming stories of people getting their kids back. The homeless and unemployable find jobs and start supporting themselves. People buy cars, buy houses, find new love and rekindle old love. Bonds of friendship form that are stronger than anything thought possible. Deep, meaningful relationships of all kind happen.

But the thing that happens to us which is more meaningful than all of the above, is the peace we feel deep inside. Our lives aren’t empty anymore--because we aren’t empty anymore. Some people call it the ‘God-shaped hole’ that becomes filled with our higher power. And yeah, sure, that’s one way to describe what happens. But whatever you call it, however you chose to describe it, it is our innermost selves that are transformed. That’s the reason why our lives change. What happens to us inside is so powerful that it extends outward and sends ripples through the reality around us.

Our very souls become healed, and we discover an entirely new purpose in life: the healing of and maintaining of our spiritual condition.

“Survivor Guilt”

Sacramento is a two-river town. We have the American river, flowing roughly east-west, and the Sacramento river going mostly north-south. I’m currently on a foot bridge crossing the former tonight. It’s not a big bridge, a replica actually of the Golden Gate bridge down in San Francisco. About fifteen feet wide, it crosses the American river from a business section of eastern Sacramento to the east side of our local University. I sit, cross-legged, directly in the middle as I write, occasionally glancing up at what stars can be seen here on a cloudless night. As people step onto the bridge, I feel the weight of their footsteps bouncing it ever so slightly up and down.

I caught a summer cold a couple weeks ago. It’s all but gone now. For a week and a half, though, I held off on my exercise, working the weights only 20 minutes or so every few days, and not running at all. Over the weekend, I put on my stinky gym shirt and started the practice back up. I could still feel the weakness in my body, so I didn’t push things. Tonight I did my first full mile since before I got sick. I’d say it felt good, but running doesn’t exactly feel good; it’s more like I feel good about myself for the doing of it.

I’ve kept my weight down, and have started dropping a little more now that I’m ramping the exercise back to what I used to do. Since I started things earlier this year, I’ve lost over 20 lbs. Someone asked me recently how much more I was going to ‘try’ to lose. I replied that another 10-15 would put me down firmly into the technically ‘healthy’ range, but that it’s more about just being healthy--eating properly, exercising regularly, and however much I end up weighing, well, that’s what it’ll be.

I’ve done this before--lost weight, ballooned back up, lost it again. I won’t say I’ve struggled with weight, but this time around it definitely feels like I’m the healthiest I’ve ever been, physically. One thing I’ve noticed from the times I’ve weighed less is the comments from others. Sometimes snide, sometimes spiteful. Jealousy is an ugly emotion. I was warned about it, the first time I started losing weight. I forget who it was, but they told me that as I found success to watch out for those who wouldn’t be happy for me, but envious.

I think that’s a difficult piece of being successful (regardless of what the particular success is) that doesn’t get talked about very much. It’s not enough to just have success with something. You have to guard your success against those who aren’t supportive or affirming of it. You have to continue being successful in the face of others who aren’t happy about it. Or I do, at any rate. Maybe there are folks out there who have achieved successes in their lives and received nothing but praise from those around them. It hasn’t been like that for me. I can relate a lot more to the unearned guilt others have tried to saddle me with than the well-wishes of those genuinely happy for me.

I had a conversation once with a therapist I used to see about something called ‘survivor guilt’. This is something that comes up for some of us who have had success working the program of Recovery, too. We do well, the program works for us. And we see others for whom it doesn’t work so well. Maybe it’s people who came in at the same time we did, or even members of long-standing who just haven’t found the joy and benefits of Recovery that we have. They still suffer. They still struggle. And they hate on us because we have found success where they haven’t.

But holding back our progress, sabotaging ourselves in the face of that? We don’t have to do that. Remember: we aren’t responsible for anyone else’s program. We aren’t responsible for anyone else period! Not what happens in their lives, not the choices they make, and not the feelings they have. It’s not our fault if someone else has a problem with us for being successful--in any way. That envy, it is not about us at all; it’s about them. Boundaries, my friends, boundaries.

If you are someone who is surrounded by emotionally healthy people who lift you up and congratulate you on your successes, then I offer you my congratulations. If, on the other hand, you are like me and have been faced far too often with jealousy, with the bitter and careless remarks of those who have yet to resolve their own insecurities, then I offer you this advice: you don’t need anyone else to be proud of your successes; you can be proud of yourself.

When was the last time you looked in a mirror and told yourself you were proud of you?

“Pity Parties”

From time to time, people will complain to me about something that’s not going right in their life. Maybe it’s a job that sucks, a relationship that isn’t working, a feeling of being stuck, or something else. I like listening, being the one to be there for them with a friendly ear. It’s the least I can do, given all the ears I’ve chewed off over the years. Sometimes people just want to be listened to.

Sometimes they’re looking for advice. They want the situation to end or to change, and no idea they’ve ever come up with has ever made a difference. Sponsor/sponsee relationships are like that a lot. There’s an underlying ‘everything I try doesn’t work; help me to do something different’ undercurrent to most conversations. But whether it’s someone looking for advice or just needing to be heard, I still like listening.

One thing that’s frustrating, though, is when someone isn’t looking to change or unload or distress, they just want to bitch and piss and moan so that others will feel sorry for them. I’m thinking of someone I worked with a few years back who was always going on and on, whining and complaining about the chaos and insanity of her life. If anyone tried to give her advice on how to change things, she’d just interrupt and run ramshod over whatever it is you were trying to tell her with more ‘poor me’. She didn’t want things to change; having others feel sorry for her was the only way she knew to make herself feel good. And to extend this twisted logic, why would she want her life to improve? If things went well, she wouldn’t have anything to complain about and no way to manipulate those around her into feeling sorry for her.

No one likes to be dragged into a pity party. I’ve probably pissed off more than a few people by refusing to be drawn in. They say, “woe is me!” And I say, “yep, sucks to be you.” I use this technique a lot with panhandlers who spin their yarns trying to get me to give them money. They launch into a big diatribe about missing a bus or needing to fix a car so they can get to the funeral of some distant relative, or whatever. I listen for as long as I feel like, and then say, “yep. That sucks.”

If you want my advice, I’ll give it. If you just want to be heard, I’ll listen. If you want me to feel sorry for you, I suggest you take your sob story to the convenience store down the block. The ‘poor me’ currency carries very little weight over here.

In Recovery, we learn to become people of action. If we’re unhappy about a situation, we take action to change it. If there’s nothing we can do about it, we give it over to our Higher Power and let it go. Sometimes there’s nothing more aggravating than listening to someone whine and complain about how horrible whatever it is that they’re going on about, only to have them climax the story with a determination to not do anything to change it.

We don’t need others’ sympathy. Other people feeling sorry for us doesn’t help us to change our situations, it only keeps us locked in them, feeding off that false sense of love. Someone feeling sorry for us isn’t love, it’s pity, and it doesn’t help our self-esteem--it makes it worse. Whining and complaining in order to get others’ sympathy is manipulation. And that is not the way.

What helps our self-esteem is taking action to change what we can. What helps us feel better is the empathy of someone who has been where we are. We change what we can; we let go of the rest. No one can pull us out of the pity-party hole. But we can choose to pull ourselves out.

"Dreams And Eskimos"

I don't talk very often about my drug of choice. For the record, it was (is?) marijuana. I'm not sure if I heard it said in a meeting or by someone in the medical profession, but one of the things about potheads is that we all have big dreams. I think I was ten years old when I first decided it was my purpose in life to change the world. And the way my sick and twisted mind worked, if I didn't change the world, well then I was a total failure as a human being. Yeah. Yeah, that's some serious egotism there.

I'm not sure if I can even really put the twisted mindset I carried around into words any better than the description above, so I guess that will have to do. But I carried this two-headed beast of an idea for a long time. Over the years, it took different shapes, some positive, others not so much. As a young teenager, I thought it was my mission to go into the ministry. As my love of music grew, so did my dreams of becomming a rock star.

There's nothing wrong with dreams, having goals, ambitions. There's nothing wrong with wanting to change the world for the better, either. For me, this desire didn't come out of a genuine place of altruism or goodwill. I felt worthless, like someone who just took up space in the world, consuming valuable air; I had to make some huge momentous change in the world just to justify my existence. It was about as far from right-sized as you can get.

Through working the program of Recovery, I've learned a few things. Not the least of which, of course, is that it is possible to live life without being loaded all the time. But more than that, is that I don't have to save the world, that I in fact don't have to do anything, say anything, or be anyone other than who I am as I am in order to be loved.

I've gained a different perspective, too, on the whole changing-the-world thing. As I've moved through my life, I know I have touched others. I remember being a teenager and knowing a girl who got pregnant. Years later, she would tell me how much she appreciated my compassion, understanding, and absence of judgment. One of my close, long-time friends has mentioned many times how I was one of very few people who didn't treat her as 'different' when we were kids because she was black and poor. Being in the rooms of Recovery is no less than a blessing as I get to watch and help others people come in, sit down, and begin changing their lives for the better. So maybe I'm not changing the world, just helping to change the worlds of those whose lives I get to share in.

I was at a meeting last night and someone told the story of the Eskimo. It's a common enough story in 12-step rooms, and one I've retold in this space before. I've had many eskimos in my life; I get to be the eskimo in others' lives. And that's a very good feeling, very powerful.

Whatever you call your higher power, when we follow it, we become aligned with that powerful force and become agents of its will. We start the Recovery process wanting nothing more than to learn how to live without getting loaded. What we get is so much more.

“Gossip Talk”

In the rooms, we talk about a whole lot of very personal stuff. I’ve heard shares ranging from stories of rape and childhood abuse, to events that lead to imprisonment and institutionalization. We talk about these things because we need to talk about them, because others who have gone through the same thing can relate to and understand what it feels like. We talk about them with our sponors and in meetings because those are supposed to be the people it is safe to share these stories with.

Yes, I said ‘supposed to’. Every meeting I’ve ever been to has said quite clearly, “what you hear here, when you leave here, please let it stay here.” But confidentiality isn’t always kept. Almost always, but not always.

Certainly it’s true that we shouldn’t gossip, that doing so is not Recovery-oriented behavior. After all, if we’ve ended up in the rooms of Recovery, we have no standing on which to judge others. We’re about as far from perfect as you can get. Anyone who thinks they have the right to gossip about another member’s life has clearly not taken a good look at their own, has not yet found the humility necessary to walk the spiritual path. But people do gossip. It may be rare, but it happens. So what can we do about it?

We can start with ourselves, being mindful about our own actions. We can choose not to gossip, to protect the anonymity of others in the meeting and lead by example. If someone else wants to gossip with us, we can choose to not participate; we can let them know that we’re not interested and that what they’re doing is hurtful.

We may even find ourselves the subject of gossip. That’s when we have to really work the program. We can’t allow the behavior of others to drag us down or keep us from getting the miracles the program has to offer. When others talk about us, either behind our backs or to our faces, we need to remember to keep our boundaries strong and to keep moving forward with our Recovery.

“Someone else’s opinion of you is none of your business.” We can’t live our lives in fear of what others think about us. We can’t control other people. The moment we allow someone else’s opinion to affect us, we give them power over us. What truly matters most is our honest opinion of our honest selves.

Jealousy is an ugly emotion. What others say about us can hurt, and it’s important that we find trustworthy people to talk to and to lean on when life throws us a curve. Part of the Recovery process is learning to open ourselves up, become willing to be vulnerable. When we do this with trustworthy people, that’s when we discover the amazing healing power that is such an important part of the process.

It takes time to learn who to trust. As time goes by, we may find ourselves revising our opinions about who is trustworthy and who isn’t. And that’s fine. When we first start our Recovery, we may be so used to others betraying our trust that we ourselves don’t trust the people who actually are trustworthy. And that’s fine, too. Because as time goes by, as we keep on going to meetings and keep on working the program, we learn.

“Doors and Windows”

There’s a saying out there: “When one door closes, another opens.” Some people say it like this: “When God closes a door, somewhere he opens a window.”

Things happen to us in our lives. Sometimes they’re events and circumstances we’ve brought on ourselves, sometimes it’s stuff we had nothing to do with and have no control over. Whether we believe in fate or destiny, or think that all of life is just one big, random clusterfuck, we can look and see both perspectives playing themselves against each other. They intertwine, like a tangled knot. It's the reason some people argue that the last part of the serenity prayer--the wisdom to tell the difference--is the most crucial.

I can look back over the course of my life and see the chain of events that moved me from one place to another. I can see, too, how my own choices, the decisions I’ve made in each moment, have affected the outcome and led to the places I found myself later on.

I’ve written here before about how I don’t like the idea that all of life is predetermined--that there’s no such thing as free will. If that were true, then there’s no responsibility. We aren’t responsible for our successes and we aren’t to blame for our failures. I don’t like it because I disagree with the whole ‘victim’ mentality of it. Yes, some righteously fucked up shit can happen, but we always have a choice in how we respond to it. We always have the choice of what our attitude is going to be as we go through life. And the choices we make are what shows our character. It is in the how we respond to what life deals us, how we play our hand, that truly speaks to the kind of people we are.

Most of us can look back over the course of our lives and see definite stages of it. Sometimes we can even draw lines or point to specific events, transition points that led from one phase to the next. A powerful enough event can change the entire course of our lives. For some, the moment we entered Recovery is one of those pivot points, just as much as the moment we first picked up. Early childhood trauma can be a point. So can any unexpected great success.

We can look at these transitions like walking through doorways. Sometimes after we’ve passed through a doorway, we find it has been locked behind us. When I was twenty years old, I went through a very intense, tumultuous six months. During that time, I had my second suicide attempt, was arrested on a false felony charge, and did time in a mental hospital. Going through those events changed my life in a profound and permanent way; there was no going back to who I was.

There are moments like these throughout our lives, but change is normal. Change is always happening. Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. And no matter what the forces are at play, we retain the choice of how we handle ourselves as we go through them. We can give in to fear and doubt. We can become panicked and distraught. We can be egotistical and angry. We can be calm, centered, and accepting.

Change can be scary, but in the end all it is, really, is just a door--and you go through it.

"Building Self-Esteem"

After a long week in white long-sleeved shirts, it feels so good to throw on a blue t-shirt and swim around in my baggy-ass, tattered jeans. I sit on the patio of my favorite coffee shop, waiting for my iced decaf. I've got about an hour before my homegroup starts, and I've been waiting for a chance to write for days. I'm fighting off a summer cold as well, so that combined with the exhaustion from an even more stressful week than normal well, we'll see how the brain does with the blog.

I've had self-esteem on my mind lately. It's one of the medicines my totem animal brings, specifically self-confidence. With what's been happening in my life lately with the job, the opportunities that are presenting themselves, I've needed that help. But I'm also seeing and hearing the subject discussed around me a lot lately.

When I was taking my psychology classes, I remember having multiple discussions about self-esteem. We'd talk about the movement in primary school education to avoid anything that might damage a child's self-esteem. We talked about it as a tact in child-rearing, how parents will tell their kids they're wonderful, beautiful and smart, attempting to build their children's self-esteem and how the only thing children actually learn from this is that their parents are liars. Or clueless. Or both. I remember an old joke from a tv show where the nerdiest loser kid in school is humilated and walks off in tears, wailing, "but my mom says I'm cool!" Oh no wait a minute, that was me.

No amount of telling someone how great they are can truly make them believe it. Belief in one's self comes only from experience. You may have heard it in the rooms: to build self-esteem, do esteemable things. It's only one of the many things we in the rooms of Recovery have in common; low self-esteem is a huge problem for so many of us. But, like our other issues, it can be addressed. It can get better. We have to do our part, do the footwork, and let our higher power take care of the rest. Like the rest of Recovery, improving our self-esteem and our self-confidence is a process--sometimes a painfully slow one--but if we set ourselves a good course and keep on keepin' on, we will make progress. It is the way of things.

How do we do this? How do we improve ourselves in this area? It's different for each person, but some of the common threads are already known to us if we've been in Recovery for a while. Just as getting away from people who are still getting loaded helps us to stay clean and sober, getting ourselves away from negative influences--people who tear us down--helps us to change. Besides, if you're anything like this addict/alcoholic, then you don't need anyone else to tear you down; I can tear myself down better than anyone else ever could!

We can't control other people. We can't make them change. We can only change ourselves. Giving ourselves permission to get rid of the bad influences in our lives is an important step to building up our sense of self-worth. By doing so, we're taking action to show ourselves we deserve better, that we deserve more. Even if we don't quite believe it at first, we're moving in the direction towards being good to ourselves.

Something else we can do is set achievable goals for ourselves, and then achieve them. We learn this the moment we walk into our first meeting when we learn to stay clean or sober one day at a time. It's a mangeable goal, something achievable. I applied this principle when I started exercising. Even though I had never been physically active in my life, I am now running multiple times a week. I didn't start out by running a marathon, I started out by running a few blocks and slowly built up over time.

Another thing that's really crucial is our own attitude. Again, that's something we do have control over. Beating ourselves up is a bad habit and not something that changes overnight. But it is a behavior we can unlearn. We can intentionally look for the good things in ourselves. When I take my sponsees through the steps, I have them write a up a character assets list as part of the fourth step. Then, later on when they feel low (as we all inevitably do from time to time) I remind them of it, have them pull it out and read it to themselves. I have lists of my character assets, too, and reading those truths about myself, written in the black and white of my own handwriting, is every bit as powerful as the other parts of the 4th Step inventory are.

We say pain is the price of admission, that pain is the motivating factor which brings us the willingness to change. It's as true regarding our low self-esteem as with anything else. At some point, we decide that we can't endure feeling that way anymore, and we find the willingness to do the work necessary to make real, permanent changes in our lives.

Things can be different. There is a solution. Become willing, do the work, and reap the rewards of it.

"Three For Friday"

Here's a complaint I hear a lot in the rooms: one of the hardest parts about living by spiritual principles is that most other people don't.

How true. And perhaps even truer is that THAT's the point.

I could go on for paragraphs and pages about how hard it is to be honest in a world where most people don't tell the truth, how being a spiritual seeker in a materialistic culture irritates those who aren't, or how easily the peace and serenity of good Recovery can be mistaken for egotism. But really, my fellows, that really is exactly the point. Recovery begins with the desire to quit, and then becomes so much more. It's simple, not easy, but the more we follow the spiritual path, the easier it becomes. The deeper we explore our own spirituality and our own relationship with that force greater than ourselves, the more we continue Becoming who we are as we were created to be.

* * *

I had a memory pop up today, one from my childhood. Each summer, I went to a week-long church camp. There are plenty of pictures of me from those camps, and in every one of them I'm a smiling, laughing face. Happy Zach, that's how it would appear to anyone looking at those pictures, and no doubt that's how I seemed to those around me. The truth is a little more complicated. I can remember those camps, the friends I made and the good times I had. I remember especially learning to connect with the spiritual there, in the forest, underneath the stars. But such a large part of my joy was in having escaped from my life outside those woods. And even there at camp, I was still picked on, bullied, taunted.

One year, I must have been about 8-10 years old, I was one in a group of half a dozen who were following one of the cool kids around, waiting to be entertained, trying to figure out how to belong and be a part of. At one point the cool kid stopped, picked up a rock, and pointed to a wide tree 30 feet away. He was going to show us his 'powers'. He told me to imagine myself standing in front of the tree, and that he would imagine it too. We both focused intently. Then he wound up his arm and flung the rock at the tree, striking it square where I was 'standing'. On cue, I let out a yelp of "OW!" But. Instead of being impressed with the cool kid's amazing powers, laughter ensued, all directed at me. It had all been an example of how gullible the young Zach was, what a fool he was to be say or do anything to belong.

Afterward, the cool kid took me aside, tried to make sure I understood the point of the 'lesson'. He talked to me about how I didn't really feel any pain, that it was all inside my mind. I listened, mute, struggling with every fiber of my young self no to cry anymore at the humiliation I'd endured. I certainly didn't say anything to him about how I'd only said, 'ow' because it was what I thought I was supposed to do, what I thought I was expected to say. But that's why I had done it, not because I actually felt any pain.

No, there's no real point to this story, and I don't repeat it here to whine, just to share. Just because it came to my mind today and it was something I hadn't thought about in a long time. It would take me another 25 years before I began learning that people don't respect you for being who you think they want you to be, only for who you are. Stories like this one, though, are what I remember most from my childhood. And this is how I remember them, too: always trying to be a part of, always trying to belong, and never succeeding beyond being the kid who got laughed at or picked on.

* * *

I had a spiritual revelation this week. The other night, I took myself over to the river to do some journaling. I haven't been to the river in a while, and it's been even longer since I put pen to paper to let out my innermost thoughts. Both place and action are sacred to me.

As I wrote, pondering my place and jotting down truths of my being, I had an amazing experience. My totem animal appeared and chose me. To those of you who aren't familiar with Native American spiritual beliefs, this might not be very impressive. If that's the case, I encourage you to broaden your knowledge a little. For purposes of this blog, it's enough for me to say it was a powerful spiritual experience to me. Two days later, the animal appeared to me again and I knew that my original feelings about the power and importance of the first visit had not been mistaken. It was almost as if my higher power was reassuring me, saying, "yes, that was real. Don't forget."

I've been doing some research on the significance of the animal, both as a totem and as a spirit guide, though it has yet to appear to me in a dream. I'll be on the lookout for a small sculpture of it to add to my altar at home, and it wouldn't surprise me if one day soon I find a charm version of it on a leather necklace available for purchase.

Still clean and sober over here...

“Saturday Night”

I live in a part of town that has lots of 20- and 30-somethings. Not a lot of kids, some couples. Mostly it's just a bunch of people who are young and not interested in living out in suburbia. I won't say drug use and alcohol abuse is rampant--I've lived in places where that was true--but going out and drinking, that's pretty normal behavior where I'm at. Hell, getting fucked up is pretty normal behavior for most people--Shh! Don't tell the deniers who live in the suburbs!

Last night I was doing my laundry and watched a group of people from a neighboring apartment head out for the local bar. One of the gals said hi to me and commented on how I was doing laundry, saying something slightly sarcastic, but also slightly sympathetic. My response? Well, what do you want? Laundry needs to get done, the machines are usually free Saturday night, and hey, when you don't drink, going out on a Saturday loses a lot of its glamour.

When my laundry was done, I went out for a run. After I got back, I sat out in front of my apartment to recuperate. Another crowd walked by, also on their way out to have a good time. Suddenly I was struck by a heavy wave of loneliness and a strong wishing for a group of friends to go get smashed with.

I remember something I've heard shared time and time again in the rooms, something I've said myself during my own shares and chairs. We talk about wanting to be 'a part of'. We feel lonely, alone, outcast, so we get fucked up and suddenly have a whole group that we fit in with, a crowd we belong to. For me, there was some of that when I was out there, but not a lot. It seemed like a lot to me because it was more than I'd ever had.

Most of my life has been pretty lonely, and I've written about that in this space before. Having the fellowship is helpful, and I feel very grateful for the friendships I have found in the program. For the most part, they're honest relationships with people where I've been able to trust the bond to be what it seems to be. Whether it's a deep friendship or a casual acquaintance I know not to take too seriously, I know where things stand between us. That's more than I can say for most people outside the rooms.

Some people get into the Recovery journey and fall right into the middle of huge groups of friends. They learn how it feels to actually be a part of, be honestly accepted, and they learn true acceptance of themselves. Some people, like myself, get only some relief and discover what so many others who have gone before us have learned--that sobriety can be a very lonely path to walk. A friend of mine from the fellowship and I talked about this over dinner just yesterday evening. Maybe that's why the subject was on my mind.

There have been plenty of people not in sobriety who have commented on the loneliness of life; it's not a new phenomenon. I don't have any answers for those who feel this feeling strongly, as I do. At least nothing more than the usual: this too shall pass; don't act out of fear of always being alone; keep working on yourself, keep working to improve your ability to be good to and love yourself.

One time, after going through a really hard period of loneliness, I had a friend suggest I reward myself for staying clean & sober through it. My solution was to go rescue a cat from the pound. I've had her a year and a half now, and having her definitely helps my home to not feel like such a lonely one.

Speaking of the Sheena, I should mention that, while I was writing this blog, laying on the couch typing it on my smartphone, she came and snuggled up with me. Maybe she sensed my loneliness. Maybe she wanted company herself. Maybe she just wanted to be petted and I was handy.

Whatever works.

“Choosing To Be The Best Of Ourselves”

Not too long ago, a friend of mine from the fellowship commented saying he saw me as a type-A personality. My instinctual reaction (re: the Disease) was to insist I wasn’t and respond with a bunch of false modesty and bullshit. Instead, I sort of nodded my head, acknowledging what was minimally a compliment.

Before I started my Recovery, back when I was still married to my now ex-wife, I remember an argument she and I had. I don’t remember all the details, but I do remember insisting to her I was never going to be one of those type-A personalities, never going to be one of those guys who worked out all the time, or who was a leader.

One time, back when I was seeing a therapist at the beginning of my Recovery, I insisted to him that I wasn’t a type-A personality. I think I might have even said something about how I hate guys like that, that I could never be one, etc. I don’t remember his words, but looking back I recall his reaction. I’d even go so far as to say he was amused, able to see my potential at a time in my life when I still didn’t have the faintest idea what I was capable of or who I could one day be.

This is the part, here, where I mention that I’m currently serving a second term as the local MA District’s Chairperson. So much for not being a leader. Oh and tonight I went for a three mile walk because, you know, no other reason than I just happened to feel like it. So much for not being someone who enjoys exercise. And by the way, my boss called me ‘svelte’ the other day. As in, having a trim physique.

It’s pretty miraculous what happens when we start caring about ourselves enough to actually start taking care of and being good to ourselves. As for being a type-A.... in the strictest sense I am not. I do possess some of those qualities, character traits such as drive, determination, leadership, etc., but if you were to test me, I’d come up as a type-B. Maybe all the pot I smoked has left me permanently mellowed. Or maybe Recovery brings about an inner peace that helps keep the blood pressure low. And hey, either way it’s good, since heart disease runs in my family. Something I will agree with is that I have a lot of strength of character, that I am not easily swayed from my spiritual course, and have come out ahead in some serious ‘top dog’ struggles.

I mention all this as a way to illustrate how who I am today is not anyone I ever expected to be. And that I’m as surprised as anyone at the difference.

Recovery does this to people, changes us, allows us to discover who we really are. To a certain extent, we even get to decide who we are. It’s the power of having the freedom to choose. If we’re loaded all the time, we don’t have a choice; the Disease chooses who we are for us. Even if we’re clean and sober, if we’re not working a program of Recovery, the Disease will still make our choices for us.

The program gives us a choice. It gives us a way to clean up the wreckage of our past and a way of living going forward so that we don’t create more. We learn how to take action instead of merely reacting to the world around us. We get to actually live a life free from the paralyzing chains of fear. No longer are we wrapped up in the what-ifs and maybes. If we chose to, we can even learn to have strong boundaries, take responsibility for ourselves and allow other people to be responsible for themselves. It’s about becoming who we really are, as we were created to be, free from the chaos and insanity of the Disease.

In the grips of the Disease, we are the worst of ourselves. With Recovery, we can choose instead to be the best.

“What Goes Around Comes Around”

We’ll make this very long story short. Last night I stood at my altar and prayed. Today, my prayers were answered. The specifics aren’t that important. The gist of it is that I prayed for guidance. The point is something that I realized on the way home today.

I was cruising through traffic, grateful to be done with work for the day, and thinking of someone I know who lost her job. She can’t prove it, but she’s pretty convinced she was sabotaged and I know enough about the circumstances to agree with her. As I flowed along in that sea of metal, I said a prayer for her, praying that goodness be visited upon her ten times the evil she endured. Then I got to thinking about how the prayer I had prayed last night had been answered for me today, and I realized how fortunate I was. So I said another prayer of thanks that the Infinite All answers my prayers.

It could be that I happen to pray for things just before they come to pass. Or it could be that I’ve learned to pray for the right types of things--things like guidance, help, strength, etc. I wonder if the big G answers all prayers, it’s just that not everyone is able to hear or see or understand those answers. Maybe I’m just lucky. Maybe the Program really works and my ever-deepening connection with a higher power is the direct result of my pursuing the spiritual. Shit, it could be any combination of all of the above.

I really want to write that there are some seriously fucked up people in the world, that some majorly bad shit really does happen. But I keep thinking about the Zen master story about avoiding judgment. I’ll try to keep it short. The story goes a little like this...

“One day a Zen master was tending his horse when the stallion broke out of its pen and ran away. When he told his neighbor about it, the neighbor replied with sympathy, saying how unfortunate it was. But the master just shrugged, saying, ‘eh. Good, bad. We’ll see.’

“A short time later, the horse returned with a filly. The law of the land was that any horse in your pen are yours to keep, and so the Zen master now found himself with a mated pair suitable for breeding. He mentioned this to his neighbor who was overjoyed at the good news. To which the Zen master replied, ‘eh. Good, bad. We’ll see.’

“When it came time for the filly to be broken in and taught to take a rider, the Zen master’s son volunteered eagerly to train her as best he knew how. But on the filly’s final day of training, she struck her hoof into a ground hole, breaking a leg. The Zen master’s son was thrown from her back and injured so badly he could not walk. Upon hearing what had happened, the neighbor rushed over to offer his condolences at such a bad turn of events. To which the Zen master replied, ‘eh. Good, bad. We’ll see.’

“A week later, the country went to war. Generals of the army began moving from house to house, collecting all young men able to serve, and pulling them from the arms of their weeping wives and mothers who feared they might not ever lay eyes on them again. But when they came to the Zen master’s house, his son was still laid up in bed recovering from his injuries. The neighbor watched the army officers leave then said in earnest to the Zen master what a fortunate stroke of good luck his son’s accident had turned out to be. To which the Zen master replied, ‘eh. Good, bad. We’ll see.’

The story continues, of course, but I think the point is made. What seems like tragedy at first may turn out to be a very good thing, and vice versa. Life will throw us all kinds of ups and downs; a calm peaceful mind looks at all of these with the same detachment (however loving) and thinks, “hmm... interesting.”

Some people believe it’s important to always hope for the best. I am not one of them. I think the thing to strive for is an unornamented acceptance. An event may turn out to be good, it may turn out to be bad. Life creates a pattern, with an ebb and flow, and one thing leads to another. When I am calm, centered within myself, I am best able to handle the oceans of this world, be they crashing waves or calm seas.

To my friend who was wronged, my heart goes out to you. You didn’t deserve it. Try not to let your heart and mind be drawn in to the evil done by poisoned souls. What was done to you has far more to do with them than yourself. Remember, too, what they say about Karma.

They say, “Karma is a bitch.”

“Being Understood”

It’s a hot Sunday. The air is heavy, sticky, what weather in supposed to be like this time of year. I think the cool summer has spoiled me a little. I’m sitting inside at my favorite caffeinating hole, oddly enough drinking a non-caffeine concoction. The place is full, but relatively quiet. It’s a good thing, too, since I’m in need of some peace.

I went to a birthday meeting today, an AA group I go to only occasionally. Picked up my 3-year AA chip, and listened to the shares. It’s a good meeting, with a lot of joy and some petty damn good Recovery. It’s also a very clique-y meeting, and one that I’ve never felt especially welcomed at. And that’s ok. There are MANY meetings out there like that. I may hit an NA birthday meeting up later tonight, we’ll see.

Something someone shared at the meeting got me thinking. It was about having a desire for peace, for calm. He talked about how he wanted life to stop being so crazy, and how growing up [mentally] in the program meant learning that life was always going to be crazy; we can’t stop it, we can only learn how to deal with it better.

The voice of Recovery in my head hears that and launches into a standard shpiel of how, when we take care of and are centered within ourselves, the insanity of the world doesn’t bother us. And that’s true, but I’m a little tired and not really in a frame of mind right now to pontificate on it.

The chamomile & soy milk of my drink is very soothing. I sip it and can feel the warmth flowing like liquid solace through my veins.

I’m remembering something I learned in a psychology class--that people who suffer from depression are actually better in touch with reality than those who don’t. Most people go through life with rose-colored glasses, not seeing (or choosing not to see) the harsh realities of reality. Not sure why I find myself thinking about that, except perhaps that when I’m spiritually tired, I tend to see those things more than at other times.

I’ve spent more than my fair share of moments being frustrated at the world, wishing it would be different, or at the very least not so righteously fucked up. Learning acceptance, practicing letting go of things I can’t change, these are the tools I’ve gotten from working the program and they’ve helped me a lot with that, but I still find myself looking around at the world from time to time and shaking my head. It doesn’t make sense. It probably never will.

I think I’m just feeling a lot of that feeling-like-an-outsider feeling I get from time to time. And I’m not sure there’s much to be said or done about it; it’s just where I’m at right now.

I will share this, though: one of my friends from my homegroup called me ‘wise’ recently. Another talked (and not for the first time) about how much he appreciated my shares. I try to handle complements, especially those kind, with grace, balancing being appreciative with not overindulging my ego.

I really do appreciate it when people tell me those things, though, and they help me more than I’m usually willing to admit. The insecurity and worthlessness my Disease spits at me never really quits. It fades into the background, more and more so the longer I work the program. Those reminders that I am loved, by people who really know me, understand who I am and what I’ve been through because they’ve been there themselves, those are the moments I really treasure. They may be few and far between, but they are what sustains me on days like today where I’m tired and the insanity of the world feels like too much.

“Choosing Life”

Today’s NA ‘Just For Today’ starts off, “Active addiction is a smoldering death-wish.” I read that and thought to myself something along the lines of ‘God, does it ever!’ For my readers who don’t frequent that fellowship, those who do know all too well that there’s more of an emphasis on the life-ending consequences of the Disease in those rooms. But the part of this JFT that I like the best is how it goes on to talk about our self-destructive behavior. I like it anytime the literature talks about how the Disease is about so much more than just getting loaded or drunk.

This central idea--the feeling of worthlessness--is a common thread through all of our lives. It’s one of the things so many of us hear others say when we’re listening for the similarities and not the differences. It’s something we all can relate to. Sometimes it’s buried; sometimes it’s close to the surface. Sometimes, we broadcast it for all to hear. Sometimes we fight with our last denying breath to admit it exists.

My feelings of wanting to die were pretty close to the surface. The fading scars of self-inflicted cigarette burns on my legs are proof of how intense it once was. I suppose the fact that I still smoke my cigarettes is proof that it’s not entirely gone.

Listening to others tell their stories is an important part of the Recovery process, for both the one talking and those listening. When we hear those stories, sometimes the similarities to our own are chilling. How many times have we heard someone say they heard a speaker tell ‘their’ story? The specifics can be what draws us in. Maybe it’s hearing some talk about being molested, or raped, or homeless, or rejected by their family. I personally tend to be especially drawn to those who’ve attempted or contemplated suicide, having been there several times myself.

But that one idea--the emptiness inside, the feeling of worthlessness, that seems to me to be something that we all share and can relate to.

I like how the JFT talks, too, about how any time we make a choice against that feeling, we are choosing Recovery. Whenever we stand up for ourselves, whenever we take action affirming ourselves, that is a stance that says ‘I am worth it’. When we start going to meetings, or start working steps, those are moments like that. We might not realize it at first, but even if we’re not aware of it on a conscious level, some part of us has decided we are worth living. Some part of us has decided we don’t want to die.

Crawling out of that deep, dark, hole and into the light is such a long, difficult process, but many of us have done it. Recovery is about so much more than being clean or sober (or both). It’s about reclaiming our humanity. Or perhaps even grasping it for the first time.

“Drama, Affairs, and Amends”

Where oh where to begin? You know that one living amends I have about... no, no that’s not gonna work. Have you ever noticed that those of us with the disease find each other... no, that’s not it either. Hey, have you... no. Hmm... wait a minute, wait, I got it. I know how to start this blog--with the point. And the point, my readers, is this:

Drama stops when you say it does.

In one of my previous jobs, I worked with a woman I was very attracted to. She was beautiful (of course), way out of my league, and married. I’m sure she was aware of how I felt, but was very good about not teasing me, which looking back is something I really appreciate now.

Working through my steps the first time, another incident--one from my past where I’d had an affair with a married woman--came up on steps 8 & 9. There was no way I could make a direct amends to that woman without causing more harm, so my sponsor suggested a living amends: no more married women. Ever. Period. It’s a good suggestion and one that I have followed.

This living amends has guided me a number of times. For the situation I mentioned above, my plan--in the unlikely event that this woman ever decided she was interested in me--was always to tell her the story of my past, tell her about my living amends, and leave it at that. It never happened, but I have been propositioned by other married women since, and as it turns out, my plan works great when put into action. I’ve stayed true to my living amends.

There are plenty of men out there who would have no problem getting involved with a married woman. To them, having a hot, lonely, gal on their jock is a great thing. I’ve even heard some guys describe it as the ideal relationship because they get everything they need out of it and none of the stuff they don’t.

But the reason I hold on to this living amends... it isn’t because I’m a goody two-shoes or because of some higher moral authority I see myself as holding to. The reasons are really, really practical.

The first is that I won’t get what I need out of a relationship if I’m involved with a woman that’s married. These days, sex is only a minor part of what I need in order to have a fulfilling, satisfying relationship. The second is that I learned my lesson damn well from my experience. A lot of people--not just me--lost a lot because of what I did. Homes were destroyed, careers lost. What I did affected so many more people than just myself.

But the biggest reason, the one that overshadows those first two, is this: I am done with drama. No more. Finished. I have played my part in that production and exited Stage Left.

Those of us with the disease know drama. It’s like a member of the family. Some of us have the hardest time trying to deal with it, trying to rid ourselves of it. Some of us don’t know how to live without it. Some of us never even bother to try.

I’ve spent a lot of energy learning boundaries, working to understand exactly where that line is that defines my side of the street from someone else’s. And you know what I’ve learned? Drama stops when I say it does. Drama stops when I decide for myself to not get involved in other people’s business. It stops when I start allowing other people to be responsible for themselves, their own situations, and their own problems.

Some people don’t know how to live without drama in their lives or in the lives of the people around them--particularly family. Some people have some crazy twisted ideas about what it means to be there for others, and about sacrificing themselves out of guilt or fear.

I’m responsible for me. Period. If I don’t want drama in my life, I can say ‘no’ to it. Maybe other people won’t understand, maybe they’ll even consider me a selfish asshole for making that choice. So what? Someone else’s opinion of me is none of my business. There are plenty of things in life that contribute to unmanageability. Letting go of drama is something I can control, and when I do that, my life becomes more manageable.

I can never make up the harm I caused to the people I hurt. But I like to think that it does mean something that, when given the choice, I’ve made different decisions since.

And hey, I won’t lie; sometimes I still think about that gal I used to work with, her beautiful brown eyes and her thick, black curly hair. But I’m proud of myself that I’ve kept (and continue to keep) my living amends going, because that means more to me than any illicit affair ever could.

“Sobriety Birthday Blog”

Today I celebrated three years of living clean and sober. I’d considered rounding some friends up to go shoot pool or something, but finally decided an easy day around home was what I really needed. That’s kind of how it goes, being an introvert.

I do have a sobriety-birthday routine of a sort, though. I once heard someone share about making a phone call to her sponsor, complaining that she hadn’t called to wish her a happy birthday. Her sponsor replied that she had been taught that, on your birthday, you should be the one to call your sponsor and thank them for helping you to stay sober. And any sponsees, too, if you have them. It’s a good story about showing gratitude, and one I’ve taken to heart. My sponsor--by no small coincidence--has the same policy.

I called my sponsor earlier today. He only had a quick minute to talk because he was sitting down with another sponsee, just starting the Big Book. I called both my sponsees as well. Birthday milestones are huge, and can be rough patches. I haven’t been too nutty this year, and I’m hoping that’s a testament to my continuing to work a strong program.

One of my sponsees recently made a request for a blog topic, actually. He was wondering what the difference is between calling a spade a spade and not being judgmental. The question reminds me of how we’re not supposed to take others’ inventories, and yet always end up doing so anyway. So dude, this one’s for you.

I guess I’d start with the reminder that our perceptions aren’t always accurate. There’s a compassion angle in there, too. We don’t always know the full story behind someone else’s behavior or the words they say. There’s boundaries stuff here as well. It’s not up to us to decide what’s right or wrong for someone else, only ourselves.

I have a little problem with the terms themselves, now that I think about it. So many people say they’re ‘just telling it like it is’ or ‘calling a spade a spade’ when what they’re really doing IS being judgmental. Pick your favorite stereotype about a stereotyped group. “They’re just like that.” As if all people in the category weren’t individuals with their own individual traits and characteristics.

So often, people claim a judgmental remark as the ‘truth’, and they somehow think because they’re speaking the truth, it’s not judgmental or that it’s okay to be so because it’s true and something everybody supposedly knows. Shall I make a list of all the things that humanity has thought were ‘true’ over the years? The earth is flat. Humans will never fly. Native peoples are savages. I’ll go ahead and stop there.

We need to be careful about certainty. We need to be wary of thinking we know ‘the truth’. Even the AA Big Book cautions us against this, saying that we have not found ‘The’ way, merely ‘a’ way to live without getting intoxicated. Never forget: even the things we think we do know for certain, we just might be wrong about.

As for what counts as being judgmental, well I don’t know any other way to say it than to say it’s when we pass judgment--we decide something is good or bad, or right or wrong. We don’t get to decide those things for other people, only ourselves. If we don’t like how other people live, we get to choose to not live that way. If we discover another person isn’t trustworthy, or is someone we don’t want to be around, we get to choose to not place our trust in them or to not have them in our life. What we don’t get to do is label them.

Recovery is about changing ourselves, learning to let go of the things we can’t control--and other people is one of those that takes a lot of work to learn how to let go. And that’s okay; it’s a process, not an event.

The best thing we can do is to strive for a Zen-like state, where we’re at peace with ourselves and with the world around us. We see what goes on around us, and we think “hmm.. interesting.” We can see the world, accept it for what it is, and not pass judgment on it. We can save our emotional investments and use them to work on making our selves healthier.

Passing judgment is a reaction, and part of the work of Recovery is transforming ourselves from people who merely react into people of action.

“Restored To Sanity”

Yeah. The key word there being ‘restored’. As in, until we work the steps, we are straight-up insane. As in, fruity as a nutcake. Nuttier than Chinese chicken salad.

A group of us were having fellowship last week after a meeting. One of the newcomers was bemoaning the problems she’s having with her ex-boyfriend. Specifically, how he still calls her all the time. Those of us with a little clean time (and who have worked through the steps) made the very simple suggestion that she just not pick up when he calls. But no, oh no, she can’t do that. If she doesn’t answer, he’ll just call again. And again. And again and if she still doesn’t answer, he’ll show up at her house.

“That’s insane,” commented yours truly.

She didn’t get defensive, but she sure did take his side. She spent some time justifying his obscenely controlling behavior, then went on to mention how she’s done the same thing many times.

“So,” she challenged, “does that make me insane, too?!”

Ah, the sound of crickets on a warm Sacramento evening.

I’m pretty sure it’s not my job to tell newcomers they’re insane, that’s why I kept my mouth shut. Some folks feel that realizing how insane we are, figuring it out for ourselves, is an integral part of the Recovery process--and Step 2 in particular. And hey, maybe even just the having that conversation will plant the seed in that newcomer’s brain, get her thinking about herself, her behavior, and wondering about her own insanity. That’s a good thing.

To be clear, it’s not the driving over to someone’s house that is the insane behavior here. I’ve had a woman I was involved with drive over to my place because she couldn’t get a hold of me. I’ve even done it myself once or twice. No, the key here is the why, the reasons behind the behavior. Apparently, this newcomer’s ex- is so controlling, so insane (yes, he is a fellow sufferer of the Disease), that he is unable to deal with as independent a behavior as a woman who is not his girlfriend anymore choosing to not pick up the phone. He’s apparently driven over to her place enough times that she feels compelled to answer whenever he calls, because she knows what will happen if she doesn’t.

As if either of them were somehow responsible for the others’ behavior. They aren’t, of course. We aren’t responsible for anyone’s behavior except our own. Girl dumps you? Deal with it, pal. Ex-boyfriend can’t deal with being dumped and calls you all the time? Guess what, picking up the phone every time he does isn’t going to cause him to stop calling, it’s only going to encourage him.

Fear. Lack of trust. These are the things that lead people to such controlling behaviors in a relationship. Here’s a little truth: you’ve got no control over other people, and that includes those you’re in a relationship with. Attempting to control the uncontrollable? Leads to unmanageability.

Work the steps, people. Get restored.

“Zen Moment II”

Ha, that was a good one, eh? Sometimes you gotta let the bullshit out first before getting to the truth. Not sure what that’s about. I don’t know if I’ll leave that previous blog up or not. It is true, in what it’s what I thought at the time. But there’s some deeper truth. It sounds like this:

I can NOT believe I am doin’ this shit.

No, I’m not talking about what I do for my job, and not even about the fact that I’m working, although sort of. Mostly, what I mean is how I’m doing this stressful job, but thinking the whole time about how it’s a trade-off. I’m doing it because of where I’m hoping it’s going to get me. I’m starting to think about things I never really have before, like buying a home, being set in a job, and am trying not to listen to the absolutely insane levels of stress going on. Because there is plenty to be legitimately concerned about.

Such as, am I future-fucking myself? Is this really the opportunity I think it is, or am I doing something I don’t want to do with the expectation it will get me something down the road? Because we all know what expectations are -- pre-meditated resentments.

Or is it the opposite problem? That I’m not recognizing the value of my skills, my value as an employee. Am I finally getting paid at an appropriate level, receiving the rewards of the hard work of the Program, and seeing what it’s like when life doesn’t just work, but life REALLY works? Am I just passing through another level of learning to be okay when things are good?

Perhaps it is nothing more complicated than what I already know--that where I work is a place that I extremely stressful, eats new personnel for dinner, and that my coworkers (at least one I’m sure of and two others I have my suspicions about) suffer from the Disease and are not in Recovery. Perhaps things are poorly run, and communication really isn’t the greatest.

I admit, I’m doing a lot of thinking about how things seem to be, and not trusting it because I’ve been wrong so many times before. What does it seem to be? It seems that I have a fantastic opportunity on my hands, that I’m doing really well with the job, and am being fast-tracked for even better things. Yes, it’s a seriously stressful job, a hard job, but I’m doing the hard work, getting it done, and being paid well for it. And what’s more, I’m being responsible about that part of it, too. I’m not out spending gobs of cash. I’m keeping almost the exact same buget as before and using the extra pay to take care of some debt and to save. There’s even the possibility that I might be able to buy a home in a couple years, depending on how things work out.

So I’m keeping vigilant, trying to keep my head above water and accept life on life’s terms--because that includes good things as well as the bad. And I’m keeping on in my Recovery, too. It’s the foundation that’s making all of this possible.

P.S. Wow. Maybe buy a home? Me? Really?! Too. Cool.

“Zen Moment”

Even at the rare times I sit down to blog, I’m having trouble doing so. I try to construct my prose, tell my stories, plan out my arguments, and then the whole ‘simplify!’ part of the program kicks in. And then my blog turns out really short, like, a paragraph or maybe only a couple sentences. For example:

Damn, do I work with some seriously insane folks who don’t know how to communicate. It drives me up the wall and totally reminds me of growing up. Secrets, assumptions, and if you aren’t perfect well then you’re worthless. But hey, that’s a quality problem to have, right? Thank god for the Program that I’m sober, that I have a job, and that I’m lucky enough to have a job that not only utilizes my skills but also pays me well for it.

See? Just a paragraph. I don’t seem to have the patience to go into all kinds of detail. Here’s another one:

With all the stress from work, I’ve been reorganizing my life. I’ve pared down a lot of things, not the least of which is not spending my energy where it isn’t useful. Such as, not wasting time chasing after women who aren’t interested in me, purging my facebook account of all the ‘friends’ I don’t actually know, etc. Concentrating my energy on the things that matter, being focused and able to make those decisions, is a beautiful gift and one I’m truly grateful for.

Tah-dah! Even writing about these things, I feel like I’m attaching more importance to them than what they warrant. It’s almost as if the ‘intuitively know how to handle things’ promise from the Big Book is morphing, collapsing into something even more efficient. Taking action is becoming something that happens so instinctively, I can’t quite seem to detail it as it happens anymore. Is this good? Bad? Time will tell. How about another ‘blog-a-graph’...

The pace of life isn’t too fast, just faster than what I’d prefer. But it’s worth it to me because I have faith that the rewards from it will come in time. I’m keeping my boundaries strong, making sure to take time for and take care of myself. But damn do I still long for days on end of sitting around doing nothing. Who doesn’t though, right? There’s got to be a happy-medium. I just hope I find it sooner rather than later.

I suppose I could do one more...

I still have my doubts about whether I will meet a woman who’s right for me. At least I’m okay these days with being by myself. It would be nice to have someone to share life with, though.

There, see, just a few sentences. Is all this shorthand bizarre? Insane? It doesn’t feel insane, just very fast. Efficient. I don’t know. The journey of life is taking me somewhere, and I have no idea where. I’m staying in touch with my higher power though and doing my best to trust that all is as it’s supposed to be. Which isn’t very difficult. Mostly, I find myself being pretty zen and watching all of this, thinking, “really? This is what life is doing right now? Well that’s pretty interesting...”