“(Bad) Sports Analogies”

One of the most amazing parts of walking the spiritual path is having the spiritual awakening that’s talked about in the twelfth step. The shape it takes is different for each of us. Some people experience it more intensely than others. For some, it’s more of a constant, gentle nudge in the right direction.

For me, I’ve learned to recognize (most of the time) when my higher power is working in my life. It can be prayers that are answered, direct and in my face, or it can be subtle. I like the subtle ones the best. They’re like that little touch of grace that gets me through, that little bit of extra help. One small example: I have a job interview tomorrow (finally!) and needed to get my slacks and a shirt dry-cleaned. I went to the cleaners, asked for same-day service, and the woman behind the counter informed me that I’d missed the cutoff time. BUT, her driver hadn’t shown up yet. Since I only had the two items, she went ahead and took them.

Some might call that a happy coincidence. For me, those kinds of events are evidence of my higher power at work.

There’s more to it than just the incident this morning, of course. What happened today is the end result of my prayers asking for help, my doing the footwork to find a job, calling employers back, and (in all honesty) praying for the willingness to work. I do my part, ask for help, and the Infinite All gives me what I need.

All this action on the Higher Power front lately has me thinking about the nature of ‘God’. I’m not a big sports guy, but for some reason sports analogies kept popping into my head to describe it. Things the HP is not: God isn’t the opposing team, trying to prevent us from achieving or winning; God wants us to succeed. I don’t see God as the referee, either.

God is like the guy in basketball who gives you an assist so that you can make the shot. Or in football, he’s running up ahead of you and blocking other players so that your path is clear to run it in for a touchdown. Or he’s the quarterback with amazing accuracy who can get you the ball at exactly the right moment when you’re open for that small fraction of time. God is the guy behind you in the lineup, racking up RBI’s while you cross home plate. God can be the fans in the stands, too, who cheer you on and still love you even when you get beaten by a better opponent

For my readers out there who aren’t sports fans, my point is this: your higher power is a source help, of hope and strength. It’s with the assistance of our higher power that we’re able to succeed--in staying clean and sober, and in life in general. We have to do our part, practice the principles and do the footwork, and we get the help we need.

Our higher power isn’t ever going to do the things for us that we can do for ourselves, but it will always give us the help we need and do the things for us that we can’t do for ourselves.

The help is there. We have to do our part, ask for help, and we are given what we need.

“Loud Neighbors--Again”

After a few days of more unseasonable rain, we’ve finally got a sunny day here. I’m at the rose gardens in McKinley park, enjoying some shade and a comfortable breeze. I wasn’t the only one who thought coming here would be a good idea, either. Families stroll through the gardens, couples sit on the wooden benches with their arms draped around each others’ shoulders, and dog owners walk their dogs on the runners’ path. I’ll bet that really pisses off the runners.

I woke up this morning feeling pretty discombobulated; didn’t get a very good sleep last night. My neighbors threw a loud party again. About two dozen people started showing up after midnight. It was the same crowd as last week. I’d stepped out to have a cigarette, taking my phone with me and debating whether or not to call the cops. A group was out in the quad and they yelled ‘whuts up’ to me. I told them.

While I was on hold to repot them, the gal who lives there came down to speak to me. She’s young--early twenties. She told me how she’s already let everyone know not to invite any more people, and that they need to keep the volume down. I told her that’s great, but I’m still reporting her. She said how she wished I’d just gone to her and let her know they were being too loud. I told her that I don’t play games. I said to her that she needed to learn that you don’t start a party after midnight and that my calling the cops was the best way. She said she wished things could have been different. I said, “so do I.”

The thing is, I remember crazy parties. I’ve been to a few. Or maybe more than a few. I don’t actually have a problem with parties. What I have a problem with is starting a big one after midnight. This was the second week in a row. The gal just moved in and she’s throwing weekly shindigs and that’s not cool. There are consequences to our actions. I’m not responsible for my neighbor’s behavior, she is. She’d probably insist that she has a right to throw a party, but I have a right to a quiet place late at night.

Anyway, the situation was dealt with and maybe they’ll knock that shit off. Maybe they won’t and we’ll have to go through this exercise again. My real problem is that I got so pissed about it last night that I couldn’t get to sleep even after they’d quieted down. Damn I hate the insomnia. I’ve gotta wag the dog a little, now; set my alarms and see if I can’t get my sleep schedule back to something more normal.

I’m remembering being younger, being crazy, thinking that no one else in the world mattered but me and what I was up to at any particular moment. I’m not so naive or forgetful as to not see the irony of being the asshole neighbor now. How ‘bout that? That’s the journey of growing up, waking up, realizing that there are other people in the world and that we don’t get to do whatever the hell we feel like. It’s the journey of Recovery, too, because so many of us didn’t grow up. We walk into the rooms as children--whatever our actual age--and learn the things we would have learned just through normal life but didn’t because we were always loaded and stuck inside ourselves.

It doesn’t suck to have to be the asshole neighbor, either. And sitting here today, I don’t feel all that strongly about the incident. Maybe that’s because I’ve taken the time to work the program, share about it in this space. Or maybe it’s one of those ‘intuitively knowing how to handle situations that used to baffle us’ types of things. Ah, I’m not sure how much it matters really. It’s just one more bit of scenery on the journey.

Though I really wish I could have had this serenity I’m feeling now last night.

“District 18 (Greater Sacramento Area Marijuana Anonymous); est’d 2011”

My homegroup is an MA fellowship--Marijuana Anonymous. I go to the other fellowships, to Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous, but pot was my main drug, my drug of choice. I feel most comfortable there, like it’s in those rooms that I truly feel I’m around ‘my people’. Even in sobriety, stoners are still stoners and there’s a certain bent to those meetings. It’s definitely not a glum lot.

We talk often about how pot is viewed by others in Recovery. Just recently I listened to someone share in a meeting about how a huge chunk of her support group has relapsed, but don’t think they did since it was ‘only weed’. My sponsor tells a story about going to an AA meeting and hearing one of the old-timers ask the group whether or not they thought he should reset his sobriety date after smoking a joint. I have a sponsee with whom I’ve had frequent conversations about people he knows in the program who think it’s okay for them to smoke pot because they’re “just an alcoholic”. I remember all too well the days of tearing my hair out at people who smoked pot everyday, multiple times a day, and yet thought they were sober because they didn’t do crank or heroin anymore.

Marijuana is a drug, just like alcohol is a drug, just like speed, cocaine, and opium are drugs. If you’re honest with yourself about having the disease, then you know that ANY substance is no good. Some people can use marijuana occasionally, just as some people can have a drink and not be an alcoholic. I am not one of those. And I’m a firm believer that anyone who is serious about their Recovery needs to stay away from any and all mind-altering chemicals. If I were to say that it’s okay for me to drink--thinking that alcohol wasn’t my problem, pot was--then that means it’s okay for me to shoot heroin. Or take peyote. Or go shrooming on the weekends. No. Sober means sober. But I digress.

Time and time again, newcomers have come in the door, grateful that we exist. They aren’t welcomed in AA meetings and get yelled at and talked down to because “we talk about ALCOHOL here.” They get laughed out of NA meetings, told to get a life and that they don’t really have a problem and “it’s just pot; don’t be such a loser. Shit, just put it down.” I’ve got news for you folks: that’s what it means to be addicted: you can’t just put it down. People have come to you for help, and you laugh at them???

The Marijuana Anonymous program does exist. It’s a smaller fellowship, a younger fellowship. And that’s okay. Personally, I enjoy that our meetings are smaller. It means that people don’t get as lost in the shuffle. Newcomers don’t get to hide in the back; they’re right there in the middle of the circle. My local area only has about half a dozen meetings a week, but they’re well-attended. We have a book study meeting. We have a speaker meeting. We even have a newcomer meeting.

We have a body of members, elected by the individual meetings, that function as an area service committee. We plan intergroup events, have centralized our donations so that we can make regular contributions to the world organization, MAWS. One of my current service commitments is as the chair of that body.

This weekend is the yearly Marijuana Anonymous World Services business conference. My local area was on the agenda. We’ve been growing steadily, making our donations to MAWS, and asked to become an official area. When the time came, the report on our area was read and the delegates present at the conference were overjoyed to hear that Marijuana Anonymous is thriving in the Sacramento area. Our petition to become an official District was approved unanimously.

My sponsor would give me a talking to if I didn’t take some credit. But I don’t want to crow too loudly. The way I see it is I did my part. MA in this area is healthy and growing. Becoming a District was a natural next step--the next right thing for us, if you will. And yes, I was the one who handled the official communications with MAWS, put together the appropriate reports for the business conference, etc., but I see all of that as part of my job as the area chair. It was the group conscience of the meetings here in the area to try and become a District. My job as area chair was to see the will of the area done.

I’m glad it has been, too. Marijuana Anonymous is doing good things, here in the greater Sacramento area. So here’s to you, District 18. You’ve saved my life and the lives of many others. God bless (or whatever name you give to your Higher Power) and congratulations!

"Keep Writing"

The last time I was actively working steps, I sort of petered out in the middle of Step 10. I didn’t think too much about it. I do have an active prayer life, and I do a lot of service as well as sponsor other guys in the program. So I felt pretty comfortable with my program maintenance. But a few weeks ago, I was starting to feel a little itchy. Maybe it was nothing more than wanting to have bragging rights so could officially say I’d finished this latest round of steps. Or maybe it’s an integrity thing. Whatever. The point is, I’ve gotten back into the steps. I hauled my workbook and journal out and have been writing.

Ha! I seem to be on a writing kick lately. I do this blog, I’ve started doing some creative writing again, and now I’m putting pen to paper and doing step work. Maybe I’m trying to give myself Carpal tunnel syndrome.

I just wrapped my latest tenth step and am feeling really good. I can see, there in black and white, that I work a strong program. I was struck, too, with some good feelings about myself: I’m a good guy. For someone like myself who lived day to day hating himself and thinking he was the worst of the worst, that is a great change to not just see but feel as well.

I’m a big proponent of writing out step work by hand. There’s something too impersonal about typing it. When I see the words on the page in my own handwriting, they seem to have more power than if I’d just typed them up. When the truths of who I am emerge from steps like ten, four, and eight, it does so very intensely. I have my sponsees keep journals to do their step work in. I think it’s an important part of the process. There’s something ancient about it, in the way that sitting around in a circle in a meeting feels ancient and sacred. Talking with each other, writing our thoughts out, pen to paper, these are things humans have been doing for a long, long time.

Many of my leaps forward in Recovery have come from doing the work and being faced with what I’ve written. I see my own words in my own handwriting and I can’t argue with them. So often, I have been the last to know certain things about myself. At first it was that I was a selfish asshole. That was something everyone who knew me knew about me. These days, it’s that I’m a good man. Again, it’s something that the people in my life know and have even told me on occasion, but when I see it written out in my own handwriting, I can’t argue with it.

I don’t know if it’s like this for other addicts/alcoholics, but for me, with all the lies my disease tells me, I have the damnedest time knowing myself. I’m grateful to the friends I have in the program who help me with that, and I’m grateful for these tools and especially the steps that help me to catch up to what everyone else already knows.

“Get A New God”

One of my atheist fellows likes to say, “if your God doesn’t want you to be sober, then get a new God.” Personally, I love that phrase because it really pulls together so many points about what kind of a Higher Power we learn to let work in our lives. Many of us come into the program believing in a God that’s punishing and vengeful, or that hates us. It’s a huge part of the Recovery process--learning to allow a loving God to care for us and guide our lives. In fact, I think one of my sponsees has said it best. He’ll share about wondering what the right thing to do in any given situation is, and he’s not quite sure what his higher power thinks, so he’ll ask himself the question, “what would someone who cares for me want me to do?” The answer comes.

This ‘get a new God’ phrase seems to show up a lot in response to birthday nights. People will be receiving their tokens for various lengths of sobriety, showing gratitude to the program and their higher power for finding a new way to live. Once in a while, someone will come up to receive a token for clean time but, because of where the birthday night falls, their birthday is during that month but is still a day or two a way. Often times they’ll say something like, “God-willing, I’ll have 5 years on Tuesday.” To which my atheist fellows deliver the quip, “Hey, if your God doesn’t want you to be sober, get a new God.”

Now, said in that way, yeah it’s a little rude. And also, when it’s said by someone who doesn’t believe too strongly in a higher power, it can be downright hypocritical. I’m fortunate enough to have a powerful God working in my life; I really don’t understand people who work the program without that help. But they do, so who am I to judge? So what makes it okay for someone who doesn’t believe to knock those who do? Nothing. And this is where my atheist friends, I think, have a fundamental misunderstanding about faith.

It’s almost like they hear a comment such as ‘God-willing’ and see it as something to poke a little fun at. What they fail to understand is that, for those who do believe--especially those who believe deeply--sobriety and Recovery isn’t possible for them without help from their higher power. They’ve admitted the depth of their powerlessness over the disease. They couldn’t get sober without God’s help. They can’t stay sober without it. Their faith is the basic ingredient of their new life.

When someone says, “God-willing, I’ll have” so many number of days or years, they’re acknowledging that they didn’t get to where they’re at under their own power. It’s an act of humility. They aren’t saying they don’t think they’ll make it, they’re saying there’s no way they could have gotten to where they’re at without God’s help.

"New Phone, Old Thoughts"

1,001 one days at a time. How ‘bout that, eh? As usual, my addict brain, instead of allowing me to congratulate myself, has found ways to beat up on me. Uncle Steve isn’t just a liar; he’s abusive too. But we don’t have to go into all that. It’s just a bunch of lies.

I’m blogging now from a new phone. Over the weekend, I dropped my other one and shattered the glass. Instead of having a fit, cursing myself or my bad luck, or wailing about not having money to get a replacement, I shrugged to myself and put ‘get a new phone’ at the top of the to-do list. I researched, found a couple options, and went about finding the best price. There was a minor problem when I went to buy it at first. The guy at the store had me all set to go with a great deal and then it turned out he didn’t actually have the phone in stock. Weak. Everything turned out okay, though. I went to a different store and they were able to hook me up with the same phone, same deal. They even spread my payments out across my next few bills. Manageable? Check.

I love the new phone, too. It’s a slider design, a lot like a mini-laptop computer. The built-in keyboard is fantastic. The keys are widely-spaced and very easy to type on. The screen is good size with excellent graphics. It’s definitely better than my old phone and feels like it will last me just as long if not longer. Now if I can just avoid dropping it...

Hitting the thousand day mark yesterday, I talked to my sponsor last night and thanked him for his help. He gave me mad props for doin the deal--I stay in touch with him, I work the steps, I do service, work with others, etc. He made a special mention that I wasn’t bragging about my time, but continuing to give it away by thanking the people who’d helped me. I even spent some time with an old friend yesterday who’s kinda new to the program. It was good to see him. He’s in a sober living environment now, which for as hard as that is for him, is easier than living where he was.

I can give myself a break, but of course the disease says otherwise. Uncle Steve ain’t never gonna say he’s proud of me. Instead of looking at all the good I’ve done, instead of taking a measure of pride in my accomplishments, it tells me to focus on the bad: that I’m still unemployed, haven’t been able to quit the cigarettes, and then it jumps off from there. But I don’t have to do that. I have tools to handle that.

I can turn that perspective around and focus on the good. I can pat myself on the back for doing well in school this semester and commend my dedication for continuing on with that long-term plan. I can give myself approval for getting a good deal on a new phone instead of sitting in inaction and whining about life. I can be proud of the fact that just a couple days ago I put in another application for work; I am looking for a job and taking action to find one.

And more than all that, I’m not just sitting around on my ass. I have my music. I go to meetings; tonight’s the Area meeting and I’ve shown good leadership there over my term. I’ve even started a new writing project with a friend of mine.

I don’t just sit around anymore and let life happen to me. I’m an active participant in my life now. I do what I can and I leave the rest up to God. That’s the Recovery way.

"Thanks To You, Readers"

Hey everybody. Today is a special day for me. No, not a sobriety birthday, but something my sponsor likes to call 'proud-time'. Today, I have 1,000 days clean and sober.

As a tradition on my sobriety birthday, I try to call people in the program who have helped me to stay sober. I call my sponsor, my sponsees, and then reach out to any others who've been a big help. It's important to remember that I didn't do this alone, that I did it with the help of my higher power and with the help of so many other people in Recovery.

In that vein, I want to give a shout-out to my readers. Thanks to Google's fancy-shmancy statistical features, I can look and see where readers of this blog are, and you truly are all over the world.

I've been writing 'Thoughts On The Disease' since September of 2009, and since that first post, there have been visits to the blog from 465 cities in 46 countries. Thanks so much for the support, I appreciate it, and it is my hope that you have been helped, too, by what I write. Keep comin' back!

'TOTD' readership, top countries:
United States
United Kingdom
Canada
Australia
India
Philippines
Brazil
Germany
Switzerland
Slovenia
South Africa
Russia
Macedonia
Italy
Mexico

'TOTD' readership, top US cities:
Sacramento, CA
Carmichael, CA
West Sacramento, CA
San Francisco, CA
Washington, DC
Roseville, CA
Alameda, CA
Phoenix, AZ
New York, NY
Los Angeles, CA
Seattle, WA
Portland, OR
Denver, CO
Elk Grove, CA
Oakland, CA
Salt Lake City, UT

"Strange Weather"

It's been cold here lately. We even had some unseasonable rain yesterday. Check that--thunder, lightening, and hail. Usually, it's stopped raining by this time of year. Who knows? Maybe I'll get rain for my bellybutton birthday in June. I've always considered that a lucky sign the rare times it's happened.

I've got my big Statistics final tomorrow morning at 8am. Today will be spent, oh, studying certainly , but also de-stressing so that I'll have as much brain power as possible. Nothing worse than trying to take a big test with all sorts of other personal crap distracting me. I do have a time set up for studying with another student this afternoon.

There are a number of people in my life that are on my mind. One friend who's struggling to figure a way out of an abusive home situation. Another who's disappointed I'm not taking a trip with him. A sponsee who's struggling with the eleventh step. Another sponsee who I haven't heard from in a little while. Another friend in the program who's finding life unmanageable again after getting back together with an ex. Though I feel for all of them, their problems are their own. I can listen if they choose to talk to me about it, offer advice if I'm asked for it, and otherwise do them all the courtesy of letting them deal with and solve their own problems.

There was a time when guilt and fear motivated me into action. I'd jump on the codependent rescue cycle and charge my way over to insanity. I'd feed my ego and build myself up as a martyr, ever willing to sacrifice my own happiness and well-being to save others. I found fulfillment in defending others, feeding into their bullshit, keeping their secrets, and never ever suggesting to them that they might be responsible for their own problems and perfectly capable of finding their own solutions. Growing up, I'd learned that I was responsible for everyone else's emotional trauma and that the only worth I had as a person came from saving them from themselves. My God, I am so relieved to know I don't have to do that anymore. I'm grateful for the ability to let go of other people's stuff, knowing that it's not mine, that not only is it not my place to save them, but that I couldn't if I tried. And the biggest gift of all is that I don't have to feel guilty anymore for allowing others to be responsible for their own lives.

My favorite coffee shop here is packed with students today. I'm not the only one going through finals, of course. The laptops are humming, the papers are being edited, the books and the notepads, the pens and the pencils, and all the conversation too. There's three people working behind the counter and they can barely keep up. I'm happy for them, though. It's good to see a local place doing well.

Last night, I had a cigarette with one of my neighbors. She's the older of two young women. From the moment they moved in last year, I caught the familiar scent of chaos and drama. After watching the people who come and go from their apartment, being kept up by loud late-night parties in the quad, hearing stories told of feelings felt and thoughts expressed, I have smiled privately to myself many times that these two young ladies are so "one of us". Listening last night, it seems the drama reached a fever pitch and now one of them is moving out. I feel a little bit like the stereotypical old man looking down his nose and muttering, "young people!" under his breath. And of course, it doesn't occur to either of these gals that all the excessive partying might have something to do with their frantic, frenzied lives. A moment of silence for those that still suffer.

No matter what I do, life is going to keep happening--for me and for others. I can choose to get caught up in others' chaos and drama, or I can choose to remain centered in myself. In my better moments, I can stand tall, sure in my stable footing, and listen to the wind of insanity as it whips around me. Sometimes people caught in the storm will shout out for help and I extend them a hand. Sometimes they think they want help, but all they really want is to pull someone else into their chaos. The best thing I can do is to stay centered.

I remember taking lifegaurd lessons when I was a teenager. The biggest lesson was this: wait until someone has stopped thrashing before you try to save them; if they're still flailing about, they'll pull you under, too.

"Smelling Roses"

I'm gonna go ahead and put the point up front this time: it's nice to be able to take joy in life, even if it's for just little things. In fact, I'm pretty sure that some of the great spiritual beings have said that it's the little things that matter the most.

The big statistics test is Tuesday. I studied for a few hours today, will do so again tomorrow, and am having a study session with another student in the class on Monday. It's much more productive for me to spread it out like that instead of just cramming the night before. Plus, it leaves me the time to continue living my life. I had time today to go for my walk/run, get groceries, clean up around the apartment some, and even spend some time on the phone with a friend who needed a little help.

Damn it feels good to still be going strong on the exercise. I share about it at my homegroup last night, how I'm working on bulding up, trying to run more and more, but building up slowly so that I don't injure myself (again). I mentioned how I was the kid in school who was always picked last for the team--even after all the girls. The weight still isn't dropping nearly as fast as I'd like, but I'm okay with that. For now, it feels good to just stick with the exercise. I can feel the effects when I'm out there running, the satisfaction of adding more distance a little at a time. I see it in the mirror when I'm working with the weights. Exercise isn't about how much you can do in one go, it's about being consistent, continuing to do it for a long span of time. Following through, that's what feels the best.

Settling in this evening, I decided to go browse the used movies at a local store here in town that re-sells. I like supporting them; I'd much rather do that than give my money to the big chain stores just for the privilege of buying something new. I go to this local place, sell them my used movies, and get store credit to buy other ones.  Lately, I've been picking up seasons of South Park.

While I was there tonight, I saw a collection of Star Trek shows. I can't remember if I've ever outed myself in these pages as a Star Trek fan or not. I may have mentioned it once or twice. Anyway, I am, and a huge one at that. This collection I found had about a dozen episodes from all the different series and it was at a good price. I picked it up and another season of South Park and--with my store credit--got out of there for about what I would have paid to buy just one new movie. Good deal.

Watching an episode of ST:Next Generation, I found myself smiling, realizing how much I enjoyed the show. It's probably been at least ten years since I've seen it. ST:Deep Space Nine is the show I have all the episodes of, but in high school I would record the late-night repeats of Next Gen and watch it when I got home from school every day. So I know all those episodes. Still, it's been so long since I've seen them... I was smiling because they're just darn good stories. And the acting in this one particular show was great. Star Trek, well, it's not for everyone. But if you like it, then when it's a good one you REALLY like it.

There was a time when I couldn't just lay on the couch and enjoy my quiet time. But nowadays... I'm responsible. I tended to the things I needed to do today; I made the time to take care of myself; I spent some time helping others. And wouldn't you know it, at the end of the day I feel great just being here in my apartment with my itty bitty kitty asleep on the back of the couch and an old show playing on the tv. I'm filled with gratitude, so much so that I just had to write about it.

This Recovery thing is some pretty amazing shit. It's turned this helpless, miserable, lazy, coward and drug addict into a responsible, happy human being.

"A Little Venting"

I remember being at a meeting once and hearing the Secretary share an interesting observation. She had around seven years and had brought in a speaker with a similar amount of time. She talked about her confusion at how few people there were in the rooms with the 5-10 range of clean/sober time. There were plenty of newcomers, and always those old staple old timers, but for some reason that breath of clean time, it seemed to her, was strangely under-represented.

One of the regulars at my home group, who moved into that time range last year, and I have had discussion not too long ago about how much patience it takes to deal with newcomers sometimes. We have to remind ourselves that we were once new, and that it took time for us to get the Recovery we have today. And of course, that we need the newcomers to remind us of how things were for us when we were new, how bad things had gotten for us, and how downright insane we really were before we had begun practicing the principles of the program. But I think I do get at least part of the reason behind the missing people with time.

I remember, too, when I was in college the first time going to school for my music degree. I was a pianist and a composer (still am), but every music major had to be in an ensemble. For me, that meant singing in the choir. Badly. One day in my first year, a woman in the Soprano section who actually could sing and was a voice major confided to me that she hated singing in the choir. She said it was bad for her. When I asked her why, she explained that younger girls' voices hadn't developed enough, that they sang improperly because of it and because of lack of training. By singing next to them, it dragged her back into all her old bad habits.

As a therapist of mine liked to say, this is what we call a parallel process.

We change and grow through our Recovery. We become different people. Our old ways can become repugnant to us, like the surface of a hot stove we recoil from because we know how much it hurts to be burned. All the insanity of the disease, fresh and ripe in newcomers who've just walked in the door; the crazy codependence and egotism of those with a little Recovery who think they now have all the answers and are on a personal quest to save everyone who suffers; and of course the drama drama drama of lives lived in absence of emotional sobriety. Don't even get me started on the hookup culture. These are all things that fall away as we continue to progress in our Recovery, and being around them can be difficult. Speaking only for myself, I've worked so hard to leave that shit behind.

This is not to say I'm perfect, and I am definitely not in any place to judge, having done all of the above. But people are still people. Newcomers will get involved in relationships too soon and their Recovery will suffer. It breaks my heart to see it, but it happens a lot. I hate having to listen to lies and bullshit, words said out of insecurity and fear. When the disease is running things, we act like total children. I should know; I've done it enough times myself. Sponsees will ask to be sponsored and never call. Active sponsees will refuse to listen, then get angry when you call bullshit on them. I've fired sponsees for consistent refusal to follow suggestions. Because why waste my time giving advice when it's not followed? And more than that, what I want is to see my sponsees succeed in the program. It's really simple: if you aren't going to listen to me, find someone you are willing to listen to.

Even though it might break my heart to see others suffer, even though I know there's an easier way and that all their misery would melt away if they would just do this thing, I know too that I'm not responsible for anyone else, just myself. I can't make anyone listen, and I can't keep anyone else sober. All I can do is work the program for myself, keep on in my own Recovery, and trust in God that that is enough.

"Creatures Of The Earth"

"Recovery is like balancing grains of sand..." "Then I looked back and saw only one set of footprints..." "The child was throwing starfish back into the ocean..." "Sand, sand, everywhere and not a drop to drink..." Okay, I made that last one up.

There's lots of metaphors out there about sand, the beach, the ocean. I'm a California native and it's hilarious to me how people who don't live here think all us Californians live at the beach. We don't, of course. My homeland has the beaches, but also deserts, mountains, forests, lakes, rivers, foothills and valleys. I have been to the beach, though, many times. Days spent on the beach as a child, my feet in the cold waters of the Pacific Ocean, were some of my earliest experiences in communion with God.

I can feel God in places other than the ocean. Standing in a clearing in the forest, late at night with thousands of stars overhead; or on top of a mountain, looking out across hundreds of miles. I've taken long hikes through old-growth forests on the northern California coast and been amazed at the sheer bounty of life. I've stood the base of giant redwood and sequoia trees, wider around than I am tall, and been struck dumbfounded by the thought that they have been alive for thousands of years.

There are a number of Native American sayings that express the idea that the earth doesn't belong to us humans, we belong to the earth. Whenever I have immersed myself in nature, I have felt the overwhelming truth of that. As we humans become more and more urbanized, live more and more in sterilized environments of our own making, is it any surprise that we forget our place in the natural order? I've known people that the only wildlife they've ever seen is an opossum running across the driveway or a raccoon rummaging through garbage.

In Recovery, we learn that we are not the center of the universe, just one of an infinite number of pieces that make up the whole. Being connected to nature can help us to remember that, too. There's a kind of peace and power that comes from it, a connectedness that happens when we take the time to be away from all our electronic things. We get away from the television, leave behind the phones and the music players, and exist as just ourselves.

I've heard people say they don't like doing that, being without all their creature comforts. It makes them feel nervous, strange. Perhaps it's because we've become dependent on technology to tell us who we are? But we aren't our computers, our cars, our email, or voice messages. Or maybe we're so disconnected from the natural state of our being that we don't know how to behave as just ourselves without all the attachments.

Personally, I think it's important to spend a little time, here and there, letting go of civilization and connecting with nature. It helps us to remember who and what we really are--creatures of the Earth.

"Winding Down"

I'm on break from classes, sitting in the shade next to a waterfountain/sculpture here on campus. Students of all races chatter around me. A group of four is at a table, grimacing about whatever subject they're supposed to be working on, wishing they could just enjoy the beautiful day. A pair of girls eat a snack of a lunch and gossip about boys. A spikey-haired older woman is across the way, hunched over on her cellphone in a vain attempt at privacy. The sky above is clear blue without a wisp of white cloud.

I attended my last Statistics class of the semester this morning. Immediately afterward, I took my last Social Psychology test. When I turned it in, I made a point of letting the professor know how much I enjoyed the course and asked him if he'd be willing to write me a letter of recommendation when I apply for transfer to a four-year school this fall. He said he'd be glad to. In about an hour, I will sit on the Ageism panel for my Issues Of Diverse Populations class. I've got my notecards all ready and am actually glad to have this topic; it isn't nearly as controversial as some of the others have been.

After I'm done today, I'll hit the ground of finals week with both feet running. I don't have a final exam for Social Psych. I have class for Diverse Populations, but it will be a massive review for the actual final exam which is taken online, so I'll go to that Thursday, then take the test right when I get home. My Statistics final is the monster: cumulative, all the material we've had all semester will be on the exam. There will be some multiple choice answers, some fill-in-the-blank, and a bunch of manual calculations. It is a math class, after all. But that final isn't until next Tuesday, and I've got all weekend to study up for it. Plus, I'd have to basically bomb it to end up with less than a 'C' in the class, so I'm not feeling nearly as much pressure as I otherwise might.

I'm also not nearly as stresed out as I thought I was going to be. Part of that is having done well in my classes over the whole semester so far, part of it has been good planning for this last week. And part of it has been luck of the draw with the way the professors have structured the end of their classes. I'll be glad for the summer break. In the fall, I'll be taking the last couple of classes I need for the 2-year degree. Then, it's (hopefully) a transfer over to Sacramento State to finish the 4-year Psychology degree. My long-term plan is proceeding apace.

Since I knew I needed the break from school, I chose not to take classes this summer. It would be great to find some work, and I'll do my part towards that end. In the meantime, I've got music projects to work on, and of course there's still my Recovery. I'm definitely feeling a winding down of sorts from school, and that's a good feeling. With a good break over the summer, I'll be recharged and ready to tackle the next step this fall.

Suddenly, I'm thinking about feeling good and remembering the adjustment to being okay with feeling good. It still shows up from time to time, but for the most part, these days I can just accept the good feeling and enjoy it.

The feeling good isn't a coincidence, and it's not just the joy of being sober or the relief at the end of classes. Yesterday, I had a great workout. I did a 'burnout' day where I just pushed all of my muscles as far as they could go and it felt great to do so. The day before, I stepped up the distance that I run as part of my walking/running exercise.

The literature talks about the Disease as being a disease of the mind, body, and spirit. To truly recover, we need to treat all three, and I have definitely been doing that. It's no suprise that I'm feeling good; I'm being good to me.

"Boundaries And Bullshit"

I think when I look back on this spring what I will remember most is that the weather was beautiful and the allergies were a nightmare.

Hey there, all. Zach here. I started taking the allergy pills again. Grr. I hate taking anything and try to avoid it wherever possible, but after a meeting on the grass Friday night, working in the foothills hauling brush for my folks Saturday morning, then having a picnic in the park all Saturday afternoon, the allergies have beaten me down. I started in on the Claritin again yesterday morning and bit by bit things are coming back under control. They're not habit-forming, they're not narcotic, they're totally kosher under the program, so no worries there. Guess I just still have a hard time accepting help sometimes. However, sneezing blood got real old real fast.

Today I'm thinking about crossing lines, respecting boundaries, that sort of thing, and knowing when and where it's appropriate to call people on their bullshit.

I have some good friends in the program who I count on to call me on my shit. My sponsor is a big one. I need their perspective, their advice. I may not like it when they call me out, but I know that I need it. It keeps me out of that denial place; I can fool myself far easier than I can fool others. And I don't always realize I'm doing it. It helps me to stay in the Real, to know when I'm fucking up, because I can't always see it. That's especially true if I'm stuck inside myself, confined to my own perspective, thinking that the world revolves around me. Sometimes I need to be reminded that it isn't all about me.

That's an important aspect of sponsorship, I feel. Taking on a sponsor is admitting that our way isn't best, that we need help to deal with life. Ideally, it's someone we respect enough that we're willing to follow their suggestions even when we don't agree with them. Heh. Some might say 'particularly' when we don't agree with them. It's a speech I've given to my own sponsees before: you don't have to agree with it, you don't have to like it, you just have to do it. It's part of a sponsor's job to call someone on their bullshit. The sponsee has asked for help, asked for guidance. A sponsor isn’t there to blow smoke up a sponsee's ass, but to tell them when they're fucking up.

We can do this for close friends in the program too, and as I said earlier, I depend on mine for it. Other people in the program, however, are another story.

One of my character defects is thinking that I know what's best for others. Before I got into the program, I spent a lot of time and energy letting others know exactly what was wrong with them and what they needed to do to fix it. I made it my business to tell everyone I met how they should act, think, etc. It was the great irony, really, and yet not a surprise at all. It was how I learned to be in the world. I was always at the mercy of other people telling me what to think and feel; I didn't know how to do those things for myself, but I was real good at telling others what they needed to do.

It's so indicative of the diseased way of thinking where everything is reversed. Instead of controlling what we can--ourselves--we try to control others and think we can't control ourselves. It's the exact inverse of what's real--that we aren’t responsible for others, only ourselves.

If someone is my sponsee, I have a responsibility to let them know (with love) when they're falling short. If it's just someone else in the meeting, acting all crazy, my job is to shut the fuck up. Newcomers especially. I have to remember what it was like to be new, stumbling my way through as I tried to learn this new way of life. Others showed me compassion and understanding, and it's my job to show the same courtesy. Because I can't control other people, only myself. When I try to control others, the results can be disastrous. I lose my serenity, my life becomes unmanageable, and who knows what harm I might do to the other person.

It's a fine line to walk, but a critically important one. And I have a lot of gratitude for knowing that it exists and where it is, now. It's the allowing others the freedom to be themselves that gives me the same freedom to be myself.

"Drug Culture"

We live in a drug culture. Setting aside all the illegal ones for the moment, there are advertisements everywhere--on movies, on TV, in magazines--for perfectly legal remedies to whatever ails you. Modern medicine has a pill to fix everything. Pharmaceuticals is a multibillion dollar industry, with constant research and development, scientists and doctors working to come up with more pills, more effective pills, better pills. We have over-the-counter medicines, doctor prescriptions, and highly-controlled substances that pharmacies keep in safes under lock and key.

The message in our society is clear: if there's something wrong, take a pill to fix yourself. Just don't take any of those 'evil' illegal drugs. Those are bad. Our drugs are good! Sure they are. As comedian Bill Maher once said, "they don't want you to not use drugs, they just want you to use their drugs; Prozac can't go up against marijuana--it will lose."

I saw a therapist once who didn't really buy in to the whole 'brain chemistry' thing. He liked to say that brain chemistry was easy to change. Do vigorous exercise for an hour or two and *BOOM* dopamine all over the place. I've read some very interesting research being done right now that the only reason pharmaceuticals work for psychological conditions is because people think they do. In the field, we call that the placebo effect. Personally, I tend to hedge my bets when it comes to this subject. I've known some people who really seem to be helped by being on medication. I've known some people I think need to be on medication. And I know that psychiatric drugs are vastly over-prescribed. My feelings are, if you think you need the help, and your doctor thinks you need the help, and it seems to help when you take them, then by all means take the meds.

My problem is with the bigger picture. The very culture we live in is all about finding something outside ourselves to 'fix' ourselves. Feel bad? Take a pill to feel better! We're all happy, happy, happy over here. But, oh, don't deal with your problems; don't look at what's actually upsetting you; don't address your own issues. We've got a fast-food solution, right here: it's a little pill to... fix you.

Thus implying that there's something wrong with you to begin with.

All day long, all our lives, we are told that we are supposed to be a certain way, feel a certain way, think certain thoughts. If we don't, then something is wrong with us and we need to be fixed. Children see adults take pills to fix themselves all the time, then they’re for some reason surprised to learn that their kids are all on drugs. But if you take a pill to make you happy, you aren't really happy. You haven't solved anything. Therefore, you need to keep on taking the pills. And that makes the pharmaceutical companies very happy. I mean, wealthy.

The real solution is to give up the fast food way of dealing with life. Real problems need real solutions. You have to do the deep work, face the hard truths, and move through them. We have issues to deal with, and some of us more so than others, but that's called being human.

We don't need to 'fix' ourselves--we're not broken, just human.

"Lighten Up"

"We learn to lighten up," says today's Just For Today. Indeed. Some of the best times I've had in this life have been when I was standing around with some other addicts after a meeting, laughing with our sick senses of humor at a world that is so insane there aren't words to describe it. I'm sure there are plenty of people out there to whom the world makes sense, to whom other people's behavior isn't a confounding mystery. I am not one of them. I'm lucky to have people in my life who I can share a good laugh with, because from where I look at the world, you gotta either laugh or cry. And I've done enough of the latter.

There is a freedom and a joy that comes from working the program of Recovery. I love the part in the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous where it talks about how "we are not a glum lot". It's so true. And it's a depth of joy and mirth that I'm not sure normies can really understand. They've never been prisoners of the disease, so how can they know the joy of being free? 'How does it happen?' they might ask. 'Where does all this mirth come from?' 'With the horrors your lives have been, how can you crazy addicts & alcoholics possibly ever sit around just laughing??'

We just do. It's actually pretty simple. We don't have to lie all the time anymore. We are filled with hope and faith, whereas we were once lost and without direction. We know the past no longer holds sway over us, that how we live our lives today is what truly matters. Fear no longer paralyzes us, drives us, or dictates our actions. We have been through our own worst tragedy--the hell of our lives--and lived to tell the tale. Our lives today are miracles. We go about them with gratitude, knowing how fortunate we are, and seeing the humor in a world that allows such amazing changes in fortune.

At the height of active addiction, we are in constant crisis mode. Every little thing that happens is the end of the world. As we gain clean time, life balances out and we come down from the adrenaline rush of that constant, heightened state. We see the crisis-mode in others, too, regardless of whether or not they're addicts. We can't help but laugh because we know it so well. We know how exhausting it is, how unmanageable. We laugh because we know there is another way, and how much happier we are following it. We're laughing because we're remembering how we used to be like that, and how insane we were. By learning to not spend all our energy responding to life as if it were a constant crisis, we gain the ability to experience the full range of our humanity.

Occasionally, I'll find myself in a meeting that feels like a funeral. When I do, I don't go back to it. That is not Recovery. Morose despair is the past. Joy and laughter are the present, and--if we keep working the program--the future too.

"Strangers Yelling"

I've got some tenth-stepping to do. Here's the story:

I was having trouble getting up this morning. It was one of those days where I hit the snooze button on the alarm over and over and over again. At about quarter after eight, an email came through saying my first class was cancelled. Awesome. I could relax a little. I had time before my next class to run to the post office and grab a coffee. On my way to the post office, I apparently cut off some pedestrians who were trying to cross the street. I know this because, once I got to the post office, two different people yelled at me. Not just a quick, "you're an asshole," but seriously long, in-depth, "I'm gonna teach you a lesson/you should be thrown in jail/why don't you eat shit and die" yelling. I didn't yell back, mostly because I was caught so off-guard by the sheer hatefulness that was being spewed at me. When all was said and done, I thought to myself, "well, damn. I must be in the wrong."

I'm a little tempted to sit here and defend myself, say that it was a wide street, that the people crossing weren't inconvenienced, that no one was hurt; maybe even drop a few lines about what is wrong with people that they think it's okay to just lay into a total stranger like that, or ask the question to them if they had considered the possibility I didn't realize what I had done? But no, that is not the 12-step way. Clearly, I was in the wrong, so there you have it. I was wrong. I'll try and be more observant in the future. If people are crossing, I'll let them cross, even if I have plenty of time to go ahead of them.

The yelling really shook me up. You'd think I had murdered a child, the way they came at me. Later today, I'll call my sponsor and fess up to what happened. But the whole incident really got to me. Complete strangers had been appointed by God to make sure I knew what a horrible thing I'd done. I guess I needed to be told. Sure it would have been nice to hear, "excuse me, maybe you don't realize this, but you totally cut off those people back there." Oh well, message received, regardless.

On the way to school, I was thinking about all this a lot. Then I realized I was obsessing and had a laugh at myself. "Guess I'll just be thinking about this all day." Having had that moment, though, I felt better. And I think it's about acceptance. I'm not perfect, I'm human. I'm going to make mistakes. The best I can do is admit where I've been wrong, learn from it, and try to do better in the future. Maybe I didn't deserve as harsh a reaction as those people gave me, maybe I did. It doesn't really matter; I've got no control over others people.

So yeah, I was wrong to cut those pedestrians off. I'll try to make sure it never happens again. Since this is the first time it has, I'm pretty confident I'll be able to do that. No one was hurt. The people yelling at me probably spent more time yelling at me than the half a second they'd had to wait for me. I had some serious anger thrown my way, but I know it wasn't personal--even though they tried to make it personal. To the strangers who yelled, I'm not a human being who makes mistakes, I'm a selfish asshole who doesn't give a shit about other people. I know THAT's not true, and I know that if someone else has a problem with me, it's their problem.

I heard someone share once in a meeting that they don't have bad days anymore; they can have bad moments here and there, but that's all. And I must admit, I'm still feeling like it's a good day over here. Kind of a 'whoops, I fucked up/damn that was kinda scary/glad no one was hurt' morning, but that happens. It's life. Life keeps on happening, and I can deal with it from the center of my spiritual self, or I can let my disease dictate what I do. I could wallow in self-pity about what a horrible person I am, drive around in sheer panic and terror the rest of my life, or I could go get fucked up and spew all kinds of negative energy at the people who yelled at me--how dare they? Don't they know who I am?!

Or I can work the program of Recovery: admit where I was wrong; remember that I'm human, not perfect, and do better in the future; not take things personally; and finally, let it go.

“Spiritual Space”

I remember living in Oakland in my mid-twenties. I was on the fourth floor of an old building that had no elevator. It wasn’t in the worst part of town, more of a halfway point between a bad area and one that, well, wasn’t as bad. It was a nice place, with good sized rooms and a tiny-ass kitchen, but that didn’t matter too much to me. No central heating, though. One winter I was there, the radiator broke and wasn’t fixed for a long time. Those were some pretty cold nights.

My home has never been a place where tons of people hang out. Part of that is that I have always tended to have a few close friends rather than many casual acquaintances. On the rare times I had people over, they always commented on how barren my bedroom was. Basically, all I had in it was the bed. And with my insomnia, I can tell you there were plenty of times I didn’t even use the bed and slept out in the living room on the couch. To tell the truth, I hated the bed. Not because it was uncomfortable, but because I hated the act of going to bed. It was at a time in my life where I dreaded going to sleep because I was just going to have to wake up the next morning and go through the whole miserable existence of daily life all over again. For the longest time, I didn’t give much thought to my sleeping space--aside from resenting it.

For Christmas last December, my parents were gracious enough to buy me a new bed. That was a real blessing. Up to that point, I’d still been sleeping on the one that was leftover from when I split up with my ex-wife. Even if it hadn’t had all that negative energy attached to it, it was old and totally lacking in back support. I found a very reasonably priced frame, one that looked nice. It’s sort of an Asian/modern/platform frame. It looks great, and the bed itself is a nice firm mattress; very supportive, and it’s been doing wonders for my back. I’m still popping spinal bones back into place on a weekly basis.

After getting the old bed out, I realized that for the first time in my life I actually wanted my bedroom to be a special place. I wanted it to reflect me, who I am. I wanted it to be more than a place where I merely physically recharged; I wanted it to be a place to spiritually recharge as well. No one faith or religious tradition works for me, in terms of the expression of my belief in a higher power. Buddhism. Christianity, Wicca, and native American traditions are all ways I have found that are helpful to me for expressing my relationship with the spiritual.

I found a Shinto-style bench and set it up as an altar, aligned with the foot of the bed. Underneath it went my spell materials and blades. I have a quilted wall-hanging my mom had made for me a few years back. It’s called ‘the path’ and looks a lot like a row of stones. I hung it above the altar. I went out and bought new night stands. I found a pair that were inexpensive, but with a simple, minimalist design that matched with the rest of the furniture perfectly. I set candles on the altar, and on the nightstands too, where they’re inset in trays filled with river rock. My sobriety medallion now rests on the altar, centered. A gold chain that has special meaning to me surrounds it, shaped into a triangle by my own hands. There are 27 stones in the wall-hanging (3 x 3 x 3). There are a total of 13 candles. I took down every picture I’d had on the walls, then decided on three to re-hang: my bachelors degree in music, the concept art for my sobriety tattoo, and a print I own of a Van Gogh painting.

When it was all done, I stepped back and was instantly amazed. I could feel the power of the energy in my bedroom, now. But it was nothing compared to how it felt with candles lit. The first time I did that, I realized I had been feeling was the mere hum of a readiness. With the candles lit, the spiritual space was… well, I don’t know how better to describe it than to say that it got turned ‘on’.

Each of these changes has been taking place over the past few months. All the while, my mom had been working on a new quilt for me. I knew that, once the room was done and the quilt was done, it would be time to bless it. When I went away this weekend, I visited a friend of mine who is very connected to native American beliefs. He always has white sage for smudging--a cleansing ceremony that removes negative energy. I brought some sage back with me. Last night was a new moon, which I’ve read is an excellent time to smudge. I read up on the best way to go about it, the sat down last night to purify my new spiritual space.

When I light the candles in my room, I do it in a very specific way--in a circle around the room, and with a single, long match. I light the candles whenever I’m holding Session (as I like to call it). That can mean prayer, meditation, spellcasting, working on totems, any activity where I am attempting to directly connect with the spiritual in a powerful way. Last night, because it was a special night and I was going to be blessing the space, I turned off everything in the apartment: air conditioning, fans, lights, all went off. I stood by the first candle to light, said a prayer to the Infinite All, then struck the match. Fire burst into being.

Around the room, I lit each of the thirteen candles. I placed the burnt match on my altar, as is my custom when holding Session. Then I stood in front of the altar, ready to light a second match to burn the sage, and called upon the spirits of the earth to join me. I struck the match and it…didn’t light. I realized my error immediately. I had been egotistical. I had spoken to them with an air of superiority. I didn’t need them to join me, I needed their help. It was something I had to ask for and I’d gone about it without a trace of the appropriate respect. At once, I fell to my knees. I prayed three times for forgiveness. Then, with the utmost humility, and with a humbled heart, I asked for the spirits again for their help. This time, the match came alive.

I lit the sage, let it burn, then when the flames died down I blew on the embers and let the smoke flow. I began at my feet, then worked up to my legs, my torso, and circled my head. Then I passed the smoke over my altar. After that, I went to each corner of the room. The smoke from the sage traps the bad energy. When I was finished, I opened the windows to let the smoke out, and it carried all the negativity with it.

When it was done, I sat before the altar and thanked the spirits for their help. I knew at once that I had made my bedroom a sacred space, and that I would have to respect it as such from now on. They even came to me and told me that I could no longer wear shoes there. I smiled, agreeing to their terms. It was a small price to pay. For many hours afterward, I was overcome by a deep sense of peace and calm. I felt the spirits holding me, surrounding me with love, like a spiritual hug. It was so powerful. I had heard that a smudging could be draining to the one performing the ceremony. I didn’t feel drained, but I wasn’t full of energy. I was simply in a deep state of peace and calm. I left the windows open a long time, and I let the candles burn all the way down.

Today, my mother dropped off the new quilt. Tonight, I will light a new set of thirteen candles and hold Session for the first time in my fully cleansed spiritual space. There’s praying to be done.

"You Should Be Grateful"

Ho boy. The JFT was on gratitude today. I looked to it for inspiration to write and I'm not sure how much I have to say on that subject at the moment. There are plenty of things I'm grateful for--like being sober, having the opportunity to understand myself better, and the general feeling of peace and serenity I've gotten from working the program of Recovery. Still, I'm on the upswing from one of my dark places, so I'm not exactly bubbling over with joy, happiness, and love for the world. To be fair, though, I'm hardly ever... bubbly.

A big miracle of Recovery is that we have choices, now that we're sober. We can choose to not put in. We can choose not to act on our character defects. We can choose to help others instead of focusing on ourselves. I can choose not to shit all over the 'Just For Today', even though I think it's a little too free-love, hippie, la-la-la today. Gratitude is an important subject, and an emotion that we show more and more of the more time we have and the more we work the program.

I'm coming up on finals week for school. I've done a quick calculation to see where I'm at in my three classes. Two of them, I've got solid A's in; the other I've missed enough homework assignments that I'll only be able to pull a 'B'--even if I ace the final. The good news is that I'll still pull a 'B' in the class even if I get a 'C' and that takes a lot of the pressure off. The A's I'm getting are ones I worked hard for and it feels good to be getting the rewards of that hard work. I suppose I can admit that I worked for the B, too, but it's tough to do that without beating myself up for the 'A' I won't get.

Suddenly I'm thinking about how strange it has been, going back to school and doing well. Yes, I'm a smart guy and I'm working hard, but there's still those old childhood holdovers. All the years I didn't try, or thought I didn't need to. Being told the sun shined out of my ass at home, and getting my ass beat at school. Ah, that's not fair, it wasn't quite like that. Sure I was bullied pretty bad, didn't have friends. And from the home front I got a lot of messages about being naturally smart, special, and wonderful that I knew weren't true because if they were then why were all the other kids always being so mean to me? Perfection was the expectation, and failing to live up to that was a sin worse than... well, I don't know what exactly. But if I did do well in school, I got it even worse from the bullies, so I learned to not try hard, just accept 'good' grades. That way, I could find the best balance between the taunts of the bullies and the frustrations of my parents who couldn't understand why I refused to live up to my potential. Oh sure, they still loved me, just not as much as if I had gotten the straight A's they knew I should have been getting.

Hmm... I may still have some work to do on this subject.

The point I was trying to make, is that one thing I'm still struggling with is not being hard on myself. It's tough for me to be proud of myself for getting the grades I'm getting because I keep holding myself to the standard of perfection. It's tough to not beat up on myself, remember that I'm a great guy that any woman would lucky to have, when I'm sitting here by myself and seeing couples walking around all the time. All the shades and shadows of 'should' and 'supposed to' still circle. Hehe. Instead of focusing on all that, what I 'should' be is grateful--HA!

Ah, 'should'. I hate that word. It's nothing but negative.

On another note, I've been working on spiritual-izing my room. I brought some white sage back with me from my trip this weekend. Tonight's a new moon, perfect for a cleansing smudge. More on that tomorrow.

Be well, my readers. Stay sober--you're worth it.

“First Fix”

Oh man. It’s barely nine o’ clock, and I’m up and blogging. Not sure if I’ve ever mentioned it here in these pages, but I am NOT a morning person. I’ve got a pot of very strong coffee brewing downstairs.

I’m back home after my trip down to Pacific Grove. I woke up this morning to a clean apartment. Before I left last Friday, I took the time to clean the whole place from top to bottom. I vacuumed, dusted, the whole nine yards. I even made the bed ;-) I know there’s a lot of guys out there who don’t care too much about how clean their home is. There are plenty of people, men and women, who thrive on chaos in their homes, in their activities, in their relationships with others. And I suppose it can be said that that was once true for me. Nowadays, it’s the exact opposite. Cleaning my place, and certainly waking up in a clean home, does wonders for calming my chaotic mind. It’s just another facet of needing peace and quiet, preferring peace and serenity to drama and trauma.

This weekend was rough. The brain is still a little busy today. I’m doing a lot of praying, asking for help, and trying to remember that it will pass. I’ve got a full day ahead of me, and that will help. An artist I’m working with is coming over and so I’m gearing up for some good studio work. The cat has a vet appointment this afternoon. She’s overdue for her yearly checkup and needs her shots. At some point I’ll get over to the bank and to the landlord and get the rent paid.

Over the weekend, I wrote about being uncomfortable being in the church environment. With the disease still kicking, and realizing that it was doing so even before my trip, I have to admit that it wasn’t being down there that was the problem. While it’s true that being around wealthy people can piss me off, and that the naïveté that many good church-going folk possess truly grates on me, there’s something else going on that is the real cause of why my disease is acting up. I’m pretty sure what it is, too, but I’m hesitant to write about it here. Oh well, here goes anyway. Heh. Yeah, enough stalling.

I have an old-timer friend in the program who found her way into the rooms because of a crank addiction. She’s got a lot of time now, and would have even more if she hadn’t had a relapse on alcohol years ago. She shares frequently about how the disease is about so much more than drugs or booze, saying she can fix with anything because the stuff isn’t the problem. She’ll talk about how her first fix was food, something she still struggles with to this day.

It’s been said in the rooms many times, and I’ve joined the chorus, too: I don’t have a drug problem, I have a me problem.

My first fix was relationships. It was lying in bed next to a girl when I was fifteen that the committee of voices in my head first went silent. We hadn’t had sex. In fact we’d only been making out. But I remember that moment well. It was a lot like when I found pot. I felt a sense of peace and a feeling of purpose, like that was how I was meant to exist. I know a lot better now what true peace is, that it comes from within and not because of something external. I can look back now and see that what I was experiencing was escape. And I can understand, too, how that was why my emotions went so haywire when it came to relationships.

Yes, I was a teenager and hormones go crazy when you’re at that age. Yes, emotions run rampant during any love affair. But for me, there was the added element of a budding sufferer from the disease: I had learned that I could quiet my brain by being in a relationship. I could fix myself by being the ‘perfect’ boyfriend. If I was the perfect boyfriend to a girl, then I was okay as a person. My life had value, I was a worthwhile person--not the sack of shit I thought I was--if I made a girl happy. My happiness, my feeling good about myself, was dependent on someone else.

Fixing with relationships, or with sex or food, really isn’t all that different than fixing with drugs or booze. It’s still the same old story of using something outside of ourselves to escape. We don’t feel good inside, and so we do whatever we can to escape that feeling.

The reason my disease has been kicking lately is because I’ve started looking into dating again. I dusted off one of my online dating profiles and started looking around to see if there was someone I matched up with. I’ve been meeting women, and the disease is having a field day with it.

I spent a number of months deliberately not dating, doing a bit of hibernation you could say. And I gotta tell ya, right now I’m half-tempted to go back into that mode. Just say ‘fuck it all’ and not date. Give up. Enough. But I know that’s not the way. Refusing to walk through the tunnel doesn’t get you through to the other side.

I get so sick of this damn chatter. Every little thing becomes an excuse for the brain to go crazy with what-if’s. I have some tools to fight it; I can remind myself of What Is, and I can apply the knowledge and Recovery I’ve gained, but damn Uncle Steve always has that tv up so fucking loud when he watches this channel. What’s worse is I know lil’ Joshua is hiding behind Uncle Steve’s recliner, thinking of childhood pain and all the love he needed that he didn’t get.

So I have to try and ignore the blaring committee of my diseased brain. I need to stay on guard against the inner child who is chomping at the bit for the chance to grab the steering wheel of my life and drive it into a tree. And even though I know all these things, even though I’m aware that my brain just DOES THIS when it comes to my attempting to meet people or be in a relationship, I’ve learned that it really is all more than I can handle on my own. It’s Unmanageable. So I have to call in the big guns.

The last set of twelve steps I worked, I worked them specifically on my relationships with women. And just as I can’t stay sober on my own without God’s help, I can’t do relationships on my own without God’s help either.

As I wrote those words, my brain kicked back at me. It told me that I should be able to, that I’m not a real man because I can’t do it on my own. And you know what I think about that? At those thoughts, I smile and know that I’ve dealt the disease a powerful blow. ‘Should’. ‘Less-than’. That’s the language of the disease of addiction. Those are the things my disease tells me to try and drag me down, make me feel low. My disease doesn’t want me to succeed. It doesn’t want me to be happy. It does one-armed pushups and waits, salivating for the chance to tear me down and make me feel like shit. Not to get all mythological here, but it is the devil in my mind telling me that I am not a child of God.

I am a child of the Infinite All. I do deserve to be happy. I do deserve all the best. When the disease says different, it is lying.

So I’ve been doing a lot of praying and meditating lately. I’ve asked God’s blessing. I’ve asked God’s help. I’ve admitted, once again, that this is an area of my life that I really can’t handle on my own. And that’s okay. That’s one of the things God is there for, to help us, to do the things for us that we can’t do for ourselves.

I believe that there is a healthy peace, calm, and comfort that can come from relationships. But in order to get that, I have to go into it with healthy intentions. If I’m trying to escape myself or give my life meaning through being with someone else, then it won’t work; I’ll choose a partner who isn’t good for me. I’ll end up hurting her and myself. I can’t save and I can’t rescue.

I can’t not date forever, and I don’t have to. If I try to do it on my own, the results will be a disaster. I’ll end up hurting someone else and myself, too. If I ask God to walk with me, if I let myself be guided by his will for me and not my own for myself, then life becomes manageable. Relationships become possible.

The disease is still there, forcing out a last gasp, telling me how self-indulgent I am by writing so much about this issue. Yeah, I hear you in there. Yes, Uncle Steve, I know you’re watching the Relationship channel. Thanks for turning it down. Keep it down, will ya? And as for my inner child, the part of myself that I write about here as Lil’ Joshua? Self, I’ll be honest with you: you’re never going to get what you didn’t get. But it’s okay. How about I hoist you up onto my shoulders? Let’s go play ‘airplane’ in the park.

(Wheeeeee!)