One of my favorite books is “Illusions” by Richard Bach, the same author that wrote “Jonathan Livingston Seagull”. I first read it when I was about ten years old and I still keep it handy because there is so much powerful, amazing wisdom in it. I recommend the book to all my sponsees, have bought copies for ex-girlfriends, and tell anyone seeking deeper spiritual understanding about it.
It’s a short book, written in a first-person narrative, and the story is fantastic. It’s about a spiritual master who was going to become a modern-day savior, but instead changed his mind and quit. The plot of the book follows the author as he meets this almost-savior and learns the advanced spiritual wisdom he knows. As the book progresses, the author learns more and more from the master, ultimately becoming one himself.
There is a moment near the end, where the master is quizzing his pupil, pretending to be a seeker searching for deep knowledge and understanding. The author gives a long-winded reply and the master chides him about needing to keep it short, that he will lose his entire audience if he can’t learn to keep his responses brief. The author sort of throws up his hands and says something like, ‘so what? I know what I know and you asked so if you don’t like the answers, tough--no one’s forcing you to listen.’ The master then laughs and congratulates his student, telling him he’s just graduated. “How does it feel?” The master asks. The author replies, “frustrating as hell.” His teacher laughs again and counsels him that he’ll get used to it.
I think about that passage from the book sometimes. Like when I’m frustrated with people in the program who won’t listen, or when I hear about addicts who still drink or smoke pot, or when I feel down about how more people don’t follow this blog. There’s a little voice inside me that wants to shout, “hey! I’ve got some seriously profound shit to say over here that will literally change your life!”
But I can’t control others, I can’t make them listen, and even if I could, who is to say that what is right for me is right for them?
It always comes back to boundaries. My sponsor tells me from time to time that I care too much. And he’s not saying, ‘Zach, be more of a dick,’ he means that I’m taking ownership of stuff that isn’t mine. Even with my sponsees, it’s not up to me to make someone else ‘get’ the program. That’s an impossible task anyway. And even if someone else does get it, that has very little to do with me and much more to do with them, with their choices, and their insights.
I key into the 12-step program on the spiritual level. That’s where I ‘get’ it, where I relate to it and process the wisdom it teaches. But not everyone is looking to have a deep, meaningful spiritual experience. Some people are just looking to not get loaded anymore, and that’s fine. For me, that’s what freedom means--by not getting fucked up anymore, I am allowed to have a profound spiritual life. Part of that deal is allowing others to not have that if they don’t want it. How other people live their lives, how they work the program, none of that is for me to decide. I get to decide for myself how I live, how I work the program, and that is enough.
Letting go of other people is a big part of the program. Forget about trying to control our using; accepting our powerlessness over substances? That shit is piecemeal compared to learning how to stop trying to control others.
There will always be other people in our lives who don’t live the way we think they should. There will be people who think differently, who act differently, who feel and say things other than what we wish they would. Letting go of others is not an art I’ve perfected, just another thing I keep working on, and it’s a catch-all category that covers just about everything.
From an active addict who always flakes, to a battered woman who won’t leave her boyfriend. From a coworker who drinks too much, to a fellow in recovery who hasn’t yet learned to stop being an asshole. From an ex-friend who never returns messages, to a woman I might be interested in that only wants to be ‘just friends’.
Other people get to make their own choices, and I get to let them. Whether I think they’re bad or good is irrelevant. If I try to control other people, I go right back to being as insane as I ever was when I was using. My life goes right back to being unmanageable. My serenity is dependent upon letting go, upon my not trying to control other people.
If we want to truly recover, we have to let go of everything that isn’t ours. We don’t have to agree with how other people live their lives, the things they do and say, and we certainly don’t have to like it, but we do have to accept it. Because that’s What Is.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
“R.I.P., Amy Winehouse”
Over the weekend, news struck of the death of British singer Amy Winehouse at the tragically young age of twenty-seven. Though it hasn’t been officially confirmed as far as I know, I’m pretty sure she died from a drug overdose. To anyone familiar with this artist’s life, I don’t think we need official confirmation about that. Her struggles with substances were well-known and one of her most popular songs was about refusing to get clean.
After the news hit, I watched my social network connections and participated in a lot of the conversations about her death. There were a few haters out there, and a few conversations about the haters, too. Those were the ones I paid the most attention to. One comment in particular that sticks out in my mind was a very judgmental poster who wrote that addiction isn’t a disease, it’s a choice; that he was able to get himself off of drugs and that anyone who chooses to stay on them deserves the consequences, even if it means they die. Basically, he was saying she deserved to die and good riddance.
Maybe I’m being harsh in summarizing this poster’s comment, but it was a pretty harsh comment and I don’t see the need to beat around the bush about it. I didn’t smack him down, didn’t judge his judgmental words, I just wrote about how ironic it is that when someone gets themselves off of drugs without help, they tend to be even more judgmental towards the people who are still hooked. You’d think they’d be thanking their lucky stars that they were able to get off the stuff, but instead of gratitude, they are filled with animosity. This is what we refer to in the program as, “sobriety without Recovery.”
I was never into Winehouse’s music, but I’d listen to her songs when they came on. I even have a little hope that, because of her untimely death, she might be better remembered. That’s how these things tend to go. Regardless, the Disease has claimed another one of us.
Winehouse isn’t the first artist to die from a drug overdose and she definitely won’t be the last. Use and abuse of drugs goes hand-in-hand for all artists, and musicians especially. I’ve been there, myself, obviously. Yes, I am saddened by her passing, but at times like this I remember one of the most sobering slogans to be passed around the rooms of Recovery, something my sponsor first told me when my very first sponsee committed suicide--that some must die so that others may live.
Requiescat in pace, Amy Winehouse. God rest your weary soul.
After the news hit, I watched my social network connections and participated in a lot of the conversations about her death. There were a few haters out there, and a few conversations about the haters, too. Those were the ones I paid the most attention to. One comment in particular that sticks out in my mind was a very judgmental poster who wrote that addiction isn’t a disease, it’s a choice; that he was able to get himself off of drugs and that anyone who chooses to stay on them deserves the consequences, even if it means they die. Basically, he was saying she deserved to die and good riddance.
Maybe I’m being harsh in summarizing this poster’s comment, but it was a pretty harsh comment and I don’t see the need to beat around the bush about it. I didn’t smack him down, didn’t judge his judgmental words, I just wrote about how ironic it is that when someone gets themselves off of drugs without help, they tend to be even more judgmental towards the people who are still hooked. You’d think they’d be thanking their lucky stars that they were able to get off the stuff, but instead of gratitude, they are filled with animosity. This is what we refer to in the program as, “sobriety without Recovery.”
I was never into Winehouse’s music, but I’d listen to her songs when they came on. I even have a little hope that, because of her untimely death, she might be better remembered. That’s how these things tend to go. Regardless, the Disease has claimed another one of us.
Winehouse isn’t the first artist to die from a drug overdose and she definitely won’t be the last. Use and abuse of drugs goes hand-in-hand for all artists, and musicians especially. I’ve been there, myself, obviously. Yes, I am saddened by her passing, but at times like this I remember one of the most sobering slogans to be passed around the rooms of Recovery, something my sponsor first told me when my very first sponsee committed suicide--that some must die so that others may live.
Requiescat in pace, Amy Winehouse. God rest your weary soul.
Monday, July 25, 2011
“Depression Warning”
When I was unemployed, I didn’t sit around doing nothing; I had my music, lots of meetings and service work, pool, friends, etc. Since going back to work, it’s been a little bit of a question as to how to keep all of that going and work full-time, too. The simple answer is that I haven’t. But, in general, I’ve been pretty successful at adjusting. I’m still doing everything--mostly--just doing less of each. Instead of going to three or four meetings a week, I do one or two. Instead of blogging every day or two, I write every three or four days. And I’m glad to say I only missed one day of exercise--that was really important to me to keep up. I haven’t gotten out to shoot pool yet, and I did have a stack of Netflix movies that sat unwatched for several weeks. But I just watched a couple of them over the weekend, and I will get back out to shoot soon enough.
Learning how to keep my life going, being back at work after not working for a year, is a process. And there have been some bumps along the way. After a really rough couple of days on the job, I had some serious doubts. So I reached out for conscious contact and received wisdom--it’s just a job; go to work, get paid, that’s what it’s for. Since that moment, stress has been much lower and I’ve felt a lot better. It’s a far cry from the days of agonizing in misery about having to work at all, and feeling depressed about not being recognized for the skilled employee I am.
Speaking of depression, though, I want to pivot a bit here. I’ve had my struggles with it, but have been fortunate enough that my issues in that area have pretty much vanished, thanks to my working the program. Not everyone is so lucky. I know so many people who just struggle, and struggle, and struggle. Finding the right meds is a challenge. Remembering to take them every day is even more of a challenge. Getting out of bed when they’re not working, or it’s just a straight-up bad day? Next to impossible.
I have one good friend in the program who, if he’s off his meds for even a couple days, the change is visible. His apathy-level skyrockets. His tendency to isolate increases dramatically. He fidgets constantly, as though trying to escape somehow from his own skin. It’s hard to watch, hard to see him suffering, and sometimes it’s even hard to remember to have compassion for him. It might seem like such a simple thing--just take the medication--but something so easily said is not so easily done. Kind of like, “if you have a problem, why don’t you just quit?”
Another real difficulty for those who suffer from Depression is that this particular evil really does not like it when you feel good. A lot of us who struggle with just plain addiction are aware of how hard it is to be okay with feeling okay. Especially at first, we aren’t used to feeling good. We’re so used to feeling bad that we find ways to sabotage ourselves, drag our lives back down. Learning to accept the times we feel good is a process of Recovery, too.
For those dealing with Depression in addition to addiction, the challenge becomes at least ten times as difficult. It’s a mental illness that will do everything it can to keep someone from feeling good about themselves, and the harder you push, the harder it pushes back. It’s like one step forward, five steps back. Constantly.
My heart goes out to all those who have this added challenge, and the only advice I can think to give is to remember what it says in ‘how it works’--“There are those too who suffer from grave emotional and mental disorders, but many of them do recover if they have the capacity to be honest.”
There is hope, my friends.
Learning how to keep my life going, being back at work after not working for a year, is a process. And there have been some bumps along the way. After a really rough couple of days on the job, I had some serious doubts. So I reached out for conscious contact and received wisdom--it’s just a job; go to work, get paid, that’s what it’s for. Since that moment, stress has been much lower and I’ve felt a lot better. It’s a far cry from the days of agonizing in misery about having to work at all, and feeling depressed about not being recognized for the skilled employee I am.
Speaking of depression, though, I want to pivot a bit here. I’ve had my struggles with it, but have been fortunate enough that my issues in that area have pretty much vanished, thanks to my working the program. Not everyone is so lucky. I know so many people who just struggle, and struggle, and struggle. Finding the right meds is a challenge. Remembering to take them every day is even more of a challenge. Getting out of bed when they’re not working, or it’s just a straight-up bad day? Next to impossible.
I have one good friend in the program who, if he’s off his meds for even a couple days, the change is visible. His apathy-level skyrockets. His tendency to isolate increases dramatically. He fidgets constantly, as though trying to escape somehow from his own skin. It’s hard to watch, hard to see him suffering, and sometimes it’s even hard to remember to have compassion for him. It might seem like such a simple thing--just take the medication--but something so easily said is not so easily done. Kind of like, “if you have a problem, why don’t you just quit?”
Another real difficulty for those who suffer from Depression is that this particular evil really does not like it when you feel good. A lot of us who struggle with just plain addiction are aware of how hard it is to be okay with feeling okay. Especially at first, we aren’t used to feeling good. We’re so used to feeling bad that we find ways to sabotage ourselves, drag our lives back down. Learning to accept the times we feel good is a process of Recovery, too.
For those dealing with Depression in addition to addiction, the challenge becomes at least ten times as difficult. It’s a mental illness that will do everything it can to keep someone from feeling good about themselves, and the harder you push, the harder it pushes back. It’s like one step forward, five steps back. Constantly.
My heart goes out to all those who have this added challenge, and the only advice I can think to give is to remember what it says in ‘how it works’--“There are those too who suffer from grave emotional and mental disorders, but many of them do recover if they have the capacity to be honest.”
There is hope, my friends.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
“Guy Talk (of a sort)”
From time to time, I am reminded, that is to say I become even more keenly aware of the fact, that I am not like other men. And not in an AA Big Book kind of way. In a way that I’ve never really understood or been able to articulate. In fact, if you want to know a secret, I sincerely hope that after my life is over, it will be revealed to me just what exactly the fuck the deal is. And before I go any further with this, I want to say that, yes, I am aware of how I am ‘different’ in terms of being an addict/alcoholic. This post isn’t about that.
Over the years, I’ve had a lot of theories. One is that it has something to do with being raised around only girls when I was a little kid, that there’s something about me that just doesn’t ‘feel’ right for a man who’s straight. Like, I missed out on some early male-emotional-dampening training or something. Or maybe I just missed basic training in how to form male relationships, so I lack some kind of learned instinct there when it comes to relating to other guys.
Maybe it’s an alpha-male thing. Like, I’m not a follower; I’m my own man, but to contemplate that brings up some interesting thoughts. Such as, I’m not a dick, what is up with these other guys who lash out, attack? They’re like puffed-up bullies on the schoolyard from when I was a kid. Men do it as adults, too. What’s up with that? I mean, what did I ever do to them? And hey, maybe that’s a part of the puzzle that’s missing--that guys are just guys and it’s something I don’t really understand. Maybe what they sense in me is the kind of vibe that when other guys give it off it’s because they’re the type of man who does attack? So they attack first as some kind of pre-emptive action? I don’t even know what I’m saying.
Ah see, here we go again. I’m trying to guess at other people’s motives, trying to read minds. That isn’t possible. I have a difficult enough time trying to understand myself; understanding other people is mostly beyond me. But even having written that, something doesn’t feel right. Because I do understand other people. Often. There’s just something here that I don’t get.
Stepping back a little, I think a thought that I’ve had many times: why are people assholes? Sounds silly, after all I’ve been one more than a few times in my life. But seriously, I think about this: why are people so horrible to each other? Why do people treat each other like shit? And what is it about me that this very, very common fact about life still surprises me? Where did I get the idea that it’s not supposed to be like this? Certainly not from the available evidence!
One of my best guesses, knowing what I do about how boys are raised vs girls, and about female vs male children subculture, is that I spent my formative years learning how to relate to other people in a cooperative way instead of a competitive way. In a workforce, I work well with women and not so much with men. I’m not a ‘good old boy’. I have always been excluded from that club, for a reason I have never quite understood. But it feels like something that’s tied in with all of this... stuff.
This is all way too much analysis. The short? I have had a lonely life, one where I’ve often felt that I don’t fit in. It’s one of the big reasons I started getting high--I had a built-in group of friends. And all the shit that was always bothering me went away, too. I didn’t have to worry about being weird, feeling insecure, being smart, or any of the rest of that stuff. Maybe people accepted me just because I was the idiot stoner, but at least they accepted me.
Which is not to say that no one accepts me now, just that... a lot of people talk about the deep, abiding acceptance and friendship they have found in the fellowship. That has not been my experience. I have met people, made friends through going to meetings, but a deep friendship that’s lasted? Not as yet. And hey, maybe that’s just the nature of life, that friends come and go. ‘The only constant is change’.
Or shit, maybe I’m just inherently a loner and I’m feeling depressed because I’m working again, doing this clerical bullshit that I hate when I’d rather just be a hippie peace-loving artist type. There’s always that possibility.
Over the years, I’ve had a lot of theories. One is that it has something to do with being raised around only girls when I was a little kid, that there’s something about me that just doesn’t ‘feel’ right for a man who’s straight. Like, I missed out on some early male-emotional-dampening training or something. Or maybe I just missed basic training in how to form male relationships, so I lack some kind of learned instinct there when it comes to relating to other guys.
Maybe it’s an alpha-male thing. Like, I’m not a follower; I’m my own man, but to contemplate that brings up some interesting thoughts. Such as, I’m not a dick, what is up with these other guys who lash out, attack? They’re like puffed-up bullies on the schoolyard from when I was a kid. Men do it as adults, too. What’s up with that? I mean, what did I ever do to them? And hey, maybe that’s a part of the puzzle that’s missing--that guys are just guys and it’s something I don’t really understand. Maybe what they sense in me is the kind of vibe that when other guys give it off it’s because they’re the type of man who does attack? So they attack first as some kind of pre-emptive action? I don’t even know what I’m saying.
Ah see, here we go again. I’m trying to guess at other people’s motives, trying to read minds. That isn’t possible. I have a difficult enough time trying to understand myself; understanding other people is mostly beyond me. But even having written that, something doesn’t feel right. Because I do understand other people. Often. There’s just something here that I don’t get.
Stepping back a little, I think a thought that I’ve had many times: why are people assholes? Sounds silly, after all I’ve been one more than a few times in my life. But seriously, I think about this: why are people so horrible to each other? Why do people treat each other like shit? And what is it about me that this very, very common fact about life still surprises me? Where did I get the idea that it’s not supposed to be like this? Certainly not from the available evidence!
One of my best guesses, knowing what I do about how boys are raised vs girls, and about female vs male children subculture, is that I spent my formative years learning how to relate to other people in a cooperative way instead of a competitive way. In a workforce, I work well with women and not so much with men. I’m not a ‘good old boy’. I have always been excluded from that club, for a reason I have never quite understood. But it feels like something that’s tied in with all of this... stuff.
This is all way too much analysis. The short? I have had a lonely life, one where I’ve often felt that I don’t fit in. It’s one of the big reasons I started getting high--I had a built-in group of friends. And all the shit that was always bothering me went away, too. I didn’t have to worry about being weird, feeling insecure, being smart, or any of the rest of that stuff. Maybe people accepted me just because I was the idiot stoner, but at least they accepted me.
Which is not to say that no one accepts me now, just that... a lot of people talk about the deep, abiding acceptance and friendship they have found in the fellowship. That has not been my experience. I have met people, made friends through going to meetings, but a deep friendship that’s lasted? Not as yet. And hey, maybe that’s just the nature of life, that friends come and go. ‘The only constant is change’.
Or shit, maybe I’m just inherently a loner and I’m feeling depressed because I’m working again, doing this clerical bullshit that I hate when I’d rather just be a hippie peace-loving artist type. There’s always that possibility.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
“Sunday For Me”
I’m inside at my regular coffee shop. It’s too hot to sit outside and smoke as I write, and plus some guy with a whole pack of huge dogs is sitting out there. So I’m in here enjoying a muffin, a carbonated caffeine confection, and a view of a very pretty redhead as she works on some type of school project. And wouldn’t you know it, my drink just spilled all over.
You gotta laugh. Or at least I do. What’s there to be embarrassed about, really? Was I actually going to try to talk to her? Most likely not. Does she care that I spilled all over the table, or that I cleaned it all up right away? Did she even notice?
So why laugh? Because of how seriously I still take myself. Because a pretty woman can still turn me right back into a insecure teenager. Because of all of that goes on inside my head while the outside of me is the picture of calm, like I got everything under control. It’s the strange dichotomy of knowing all the stuff that moves through my mind and how the surface rarely reflects any of it. It’s as one of my fellows likes to say: I still have all the parts of me inside, all the sides of myself I’ve ever been; the difference now is that (thanks to the program) they don’t rule me.
Although, I suppose if I’m still insecure enough not to go introduce myself to a pretty girl, then some of those things do still rule me. Guess that just means there’s still work to be done.
I’ve set today aside as a ‘me’ day. With all the stress at work, plus the other stuff I’ve been dealing with like the car, I knew I needed a day to myself for just... whatever. If I don’t take care of myself, then I’m no good to anyone else. I’ll take time to clean the apartment up, work on some music, and hopefully watch this long-ass movie I got through my Netflix that I’ve been putting off watching because it is so long.
Some people don’t have any trouble taking care of themselves, stepping back when they need a break. It’s something I’ve had to work to learn. Learning that’s it’s not only okay to take time for myself, but that it’s a necessary part of living, has been a very a good thing. Someone once told me a long time ago that being an adult means you have one job: to take care of yourself. That job entails a lot of different things--working so that you have money to eat, a place to live, etc. But also having good boundaries, dealing with your issues, and much more.
Lots of us in the rooms feel that we’ve grown up in the program, and that’s true for me as well. Though I think I’d phrase it a little more specifically than that. The program hasn’t taught me how to be an adult, it’s given me the tools to learn it for myself. It always seems to come back to that. The program hasn’t shown me how to live life, it’s given me a way of living clean and sober, a way that works, that provides me with the opportunity to change and to grow. I get the opportunity to live my life; whether I choose to do so is up to me.
You gotta laugh. Or at least I do. What’s there to be embarrassed about, really? Was I actually going to try to talk to her? Most likely not. Does she care that I spilled all over the table, or that I cleaned it all up right away? Did she even notice?
So why laugh? Because of how seriously I still take myself. Because a pretty woman can still turn me right back into a insecure teenager. Because of all of that goes on inside my head while the outside of me is the picture of calm, like I got everything under control. It’s the strange dichotomy of knowing all the stuff that moves through my mind and how the surface rarely reflects any of it. It’s as one of my fellows likes to say: I still have all the parts of me inside, all the sides of myself I’ve ever been; the difference now is that (thanks to the program) they don’t rule me.
Although, I suppose if I’m still insecure enough not to go introduce myself to a pretty girl, then some of those things do still rule me. Guess that just means there’s still work to be done.
I’ve set today aside as a ‘me’ day. With all the stress at work, plus the other stuff I’ve been dealing with like the car, I knew I needed a day to myself for just... whatever. If I don’t take care of myself, then I’m no good to anyone else. I’ll take time to clean the apartment up, work on some music, and hopefully watch this long-ass movie I got through my Netflix that I’ve been putting off watching because it is so long.
Some people don’t have any trouble taking care of themselves, stepping back when they need a break. It’s something I’ve had to work to learn. Learning that’s it’s not only okay to take time for myself, but that it’s a necessary part of living, has been a very a good thing. Someone once told me a long time ago that being an adult means you have one job: to take care of yourself. That job entails a lot of different things--working so that you have money to eat, a place to live, etc. But also having good boundaries, dealing with your issues, and much more.
Lots of us in the rooms feel that we’ve grown up in the program, and that’s true for me as well. Though I think I’d phrase it a little more specifically than that. The program hasn’t taught me how to be an adult, it’s given me the tools to learn it for myself. It always seems to come back to that. The program hasn’t shown me how to live life, it’s given me a way of living clean and sober, a way that works, that provides me with the opportunity to change and to grow. I get the opportunity to live my life; whether I choose to do so is up to me.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
“Sometimes Life Just Is”
What a week. Work is good, in the sense that it’s good to be employed, better to be getting paid well for it, but the pay is earned through high levels of stress. I had a minor issue with Area to deal with, and my homegroup last night was... lame. Oh, and the clutch went out in my car. But it’s been fixed and I don’t really feel like going over the whole story about that. I think I used up all my complaining credits with the new tires ordeal.
I’ve started at least one blog this week but been unable to finish it. I had a look at what I’d written, but just wasn’t feeling the subject so much anymore. It was going to be a big diatribe on how so many new meetings have started because of resentments.
I’ve had other thoughts for writing, too, about smaller fellowships that have a hard time growing, like my Marijuana Anonymous group that I go to. People go to them for a while, get time, and leave because there aren’t people with time in those meetings. And yet, the reason there isn’t people with time is because when people get time, they leave because there aren’t more people with time. You’ve heard about Marijuana Anonymous, right? It’s a gateway fellowship; leads to harder and stronger fellowships?
There was an incident at work, well, not an incident, just the staff joking around about my baldness and cracking wise about my looking like a skinhead . But ya know, I don’t really feel like writing about all that either.
So there you are, I’ve chewed up half a blog writing about all the things I’m not going to write about. I’ll go ahead and throw in a casual mention here about how it’s not like thousands of people peruse this site everyday, depending on me for help living life on life’s terms.
I’m not bitter, just... tired I guess. Yes the job is stressful, but when I do finally see my paycheck at the end of this month, it will all have been worth it. There’s lots of potential at this place for a career track for me, and that’s promising. Sure, I was pissed beyond belief about the car, but it’s fixed now. And I spent some time with my dad today and really enjoyed that.
In a weird way, I feel like I’m settling into my own skin even more. Not worrying so much about always trying to be as spiritual as possible, just allowing myself to just be.
There’s something, too, going though my mind--a little bit of loneliness. And that’s okay. All things in their time, I suppose.
Maybe what I’m feeling is that life doesn’t necessarily have some big, overarching, deep meaning; maybe life just is. You live it, you make your choices, and it is.
Still sober over here, though.
I’ve started at least one blog this week but been unable to finish it. I had a look at what I’d written, but just wasn’t feeling the subject so much anymore. It was going to be a big diatribe on how so many new meetings have started because of resentments.
I’ve had other thoughts for writing, too, about smaller fellowships that have a hard time growing, like my Marijuana Anonymous group that I go to. People go to them for a while, get time, and leave because there aren’t people with time in those meetings. And yet, the reason there isn’t people with time is because when people get time, they leave because there aren’t more people with time. You’ve heard about Marijuana Anonymous, right? It’s a gateway fellowship; leads to harder and stronger fellowships?
There was an incident at work, well, not an incident, just the staff joking around about my baldness and cracking wise about my looking like a skinhead . But ya know, I don’t really feel like writing about all that either.
So there you are, I’ve chewed up half a blog writing about all the things I’m not going to write about. I’ll go ahead and throw in a casual mention here about how it’s not like thousands of people peruse this site everyday, depending on me for help living life on life’s terms.
I’m not bitter, just... tired I guess. Yes the job is stressful, but when I do finally see my paycheck at the end of this month, it will all have been worth it. There’s lots of potential at this place for a career track for me, and that’s promising. Sure, I was pissed beyond belief about the car, but it’s fixed now. And I spent some time with my dad today and really enjoyed that.
In a weird way, I feel like I’m settling into my own skin even more. Not worrying so much about always trying to be as spiritual as possible, just allowing myself to just be.
There’s something, too, going though my mind--a little bit of loneliness. And that’s okay. All things in their time, I suppose.
Maybe what I’m feeling is that life doesn’t necessarily have some big, overarching, deep meaning; maybe life just is. You live it, you make your choices, and it is.
Still sober over here, though.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
“Writing After A Run”
It cooled off enough today that I went for my run while it was still light out. I think I’ve gotten used to running at night, because on the way over to the park I found myself anticipating all the people that would be there and thinking how I hate running when there are other people around.
By the time I’d reached the park, though, I had shoved aside any resistance and put myself in to the mental discipline of the run. I’m very focused; I concentrate on my form, keeping a steady pace, and give myself a lot of positive energy. Maybe in time it will become easier, something I can just go out and do, but for now it’s still new enough that I need to motivate myself strongly to keep going. That may be one of the reasons I enjoy it so much--each time I go out, it’s like a triumph of mind over matter, of overcoming the body that’s telling me I can’t do it and proving to myself once again that I can.
The reason I don’t like having other people around is it’s more difficult for me to maintain my rhythm. I have to slow down for the walkers, watch out for the dogs, and stay clear of the cyclists. The cyclists in particular get to me. It’s a sand runners’ path; what the hell is wrong with them that they’re bicycling on it?
I suppose in the interests of rigorous honesty, I could mention that I feel a little insecure running around other people, too; a little bit less-than. I don’t go very fast, and I’m still heavier than I wish I were. Those things will change in time, of course.
It’s not such a bad thing for me to feel these things. Here’s where Recovery kicks in--to combat those insecurities and aggressive tendencies, the feelings that if I don’t deal with them I’ll end up getting drunk or high because of. The tape plays out like this: I feel less-than because I’m not in as good of shape as the other runners, or I’m so pissed off at having to deal with obstacles that I just give up and stop running altogether; then I feel like shit because I gave up, that I’m worthless and never going to accomplish anything. After that? It’s gettin’ fucked up time.
But I don’t have to take that road. I can choose instead to remember that I’ve got no control over other people, to give myself mad props for continuing to get out there and run over a mile 3-4 times a week. That perspective, that mental place, takes so much less energy than being hard on myself and feeling depressed. It's the difference between unmanageable and manageable. Plus, the more I do it, the better I feel about myself for continuing to do it. It’s one more thing that if you told me I’d be doing it back when I was still out there, I’d never have believed you.
They say addiction is a disease of the mind, body, and soul. We have to take care of all three to get the most out of our Recovery. I never thought I’d end up being the kind of guy who runs and lifts weights. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care about how it’s changing my body for the better; I love that shit. But I do it for the discipline more than any other reason.
It’s important to me now to take care of myself. I don’t go too crazy on it for the same reason I don’t go too crazy trying to go to lots of meetings or doing lots of service. Balance. That’s what’s most important. Having a balanced life. I have the program--the Steps, and the other people in the Fellowship--to thank for helping me to get here, to a mental place where I care enough about me to take care of myself. Spiritually, mentally, and physically.
By the time I’d reached the park, though, I had shoved aside any resistance and put myself in to the mental discipline of the run. I’m very focused; I concentrate on my form, keeping a steady pace, and give myself a lot of positive energy. Maybe in time it will become easier, something I can just go out and do, but for now it’s still new enough that I need to motivate myself strongly to keep going. That may be one of the reasons I enjoy it so much--each time I go out, it’s like a triumph of mind over matter, of overcoming the body that’s telling me I can’t do it and proving to myself once again that I can.
The reason I don’t like having other people around is it’s more difficult for me to maintain my rhythm. I have to slow down for the walkers, watch out for the dogs, and stay clear of the cyclists. The cyclists in particular get to me. It’s a sand runners’ path; what the hell is wrong with them that they’re bicycling on it?
I suppose in the interests of rigorous honesty, I could mention that I feel a little insecure running around other people, too; a little bit less-than. I don’t go very fast, and I’m still heavier than I wish I were. Those things will change in time, of course.
It’s not such a bad thing for me to feel these things. Here’s where Recovery kicks in--to combat those insecurities and aggressive tendencies, the feelings that if I don’t deal with them I’ll end up getting drunk or high because of. The tape plays out like this: I feel less-than because I’m not in as good of shape as the other runners, or I’m so pissed off at having to deal with obstacles that I just give up and stop running altogether; then I feel like shit because I gave up, that I’m worthless and never going to accomplish anything. After that? It’s gettin’ fucked up time.
But I don’t have to take that road. I can choose instead to remember that I’ve got no control over other people, to give myself mad props for continuing to get out there and run over a mile 3-4 times a week. That perspective, that mental place, takes so much less energy than being hard on myself and feeling depressed. It's the difference between unmanageable and manageable. Plus, the more I do it, the better I feel about myself for continuing to do it. It’s one more thing that if you told me I’d be doing it back when I was still out there, I’d never have believed you.
They say addiction is a disease of the mind, body, and soul. We have to take care of all three to get the most out of our Recovery. I never thought I’d end up being the kind of guy who runs and lifts weights. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care about how it’s changing my body for the better; I love that shit. But I do it for the discipline more than any other reason.
It’s important to me now to take care of myself. I don’t go too crazy on it for the same reason I don’t go too crazy trying to go to lots of meetings or doing lots of service. Balance. That’s what’s most important. Having a balanced life. I have the program--the Steps, and the other people in the Fellowship--to thank for helping me to get here, to a mental place where I care enough about me to take care of myself. Spiritually, mentally, and physically.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
“Negativity, Positive Thinking, and Balance”
Think positive! You can do it! If you believe it can happen, then it can! Turn that frown upside down! Ugh.
Overly positive people piss me off. So many times, it feels just so forced. It grates on my nerves. And more than anything else it reeks of denial. I’ve known far too many people who weren’t genuinely positive, people for whom their positive attitude was nothing more than a front, a mask, a way to cover up how miserable they really were inside.
I don’t think there are any phrases in particular that bug me, but one that jumps to mind is when people say things will all turn out for the best. I always want to look them in the eye and reply with something like, “oh, you can tell the future? That’s pretty cool. You should use that shit to win the lottery.”
Thinking or saying things will turn out for the best isn’t something that works for me; I’ve found it much more useful to think or say that things will turn out however they turn out. What will be will be, and I will be alright, regardless. It’s the way I truly accept life on life’s terms--by not making any kind of judgments about it.
Of course, there is the flipside of a permanently positive attitude, the negative nancy--someone who’s always looking for the worst, who always has to point out the one cloud in the sky, who finds the gray in every silver lining. That’s not any fun either, and people like that are a real drag to be around. Especially the ones who feel it’s their duty, their obligation, to point out the negative. You know, like they’re doing us all a service by reminding us constantly of the worst possible outcome.
Few of us walk into the rooms having a positive attitude. Maybe at one point we used to hope for the best, but life taught us to expect the worst. That was definitely the case for me. I didn’t rail against God specifically, but I was convinced that Fate had it in for me. It didn’t matter what I did, life was never going to go my way. Believe me, I am so glad I turned out to be wrong on that one.
I grew up in an environment of forced positivity. That was what I leaned growing up, to always be positive, always have a smiling face, and act like everything is wonderful even when it’s not. Especially when it’s not.
Now that I’ve had some time in Recovery, some time practicing the principles in all my affairs, my outlook on life is more positive. Or at least, not nearly as negative. I try to stay balanced. It’s important to my Recovery, to my staying out of denial, to look at things for how they are. I don’t know that things will turn out for the best. They very well might, but for me to assume that they will, or to tell myself that just to get through? That still feels like denial to me, like that old way of doing things that stopped working for me a long time ago.
If thinking that things will turn out for the best works for you, then more power to you and good luck with that. It doesn’t for me. For me, what works is to think about the fact that no matter how things turn out, I will be alright. For me, that’s the real power of being positive, knowing that no matter what happens, I will be alight. Everything isn’t going to be okay; it’s okay now.
Overly positive people piss me off. So many times, it feels just so forced. It grates on my nerves. And more than anything else it reeks of denial. I’ve known far too many people who weren’t genuinely positive, people for whom their positive attitude was nothing more than a front, a mask, a way to cover up how miserable they really were inside.
I don’t think there are any phrases in particular that bug me, but one that jumps to mind is when people say things will all turn out for the best. I always want to look them in the eye and reply with something like, “oh, you can tell the future? That’s pretty cool. You should use that shit to win the lottery.”
Thinking or saying things will turn out for the best isn’t something that works for me; I’ve found it much more useful to think or say that things will turn out however they turn out. What will be will be, and I will be alright, regardless. It’s the way I truly accept life on life’s terms--by not making any kind of judgments about it.
Of course, there is the flipside of a permanently positive attitude, the negative nancy--someone who’s always looking for the worst, who always has to point out the one cloud in the sky, who finds the gray in every silver lining. That’s not any fun either, and people like that are a real drag to be around. Especially the ones who feel it’s their duty, their obligation, to point out the negative. You know, like they’re doing us all a service by reminding us constantly of the worst possible outcome.
Few of us walk into the rooms having a positive attitude. Maybe at one point we used to hope for the best, but life taught us to expect the worst. That was definitely the case for me. I didn’t rail against God specifically, but I was convinced that Fate had it in for me. It didn’t matter what I did, life was never going to go my way. Believe me, I am so glad I turned out to be wrong on that one.
I grew up in an environment of forced positivity. That was what I leaned growing up, to always be positive, always have a smiling face, and act like everything is wonderful even when it’s not. Especially when it’s not.
Now that I’ve had some time in Recovery, some time practicing the principles in all my affairs, my outlook on life is more positive. Or at least, not nearly as negative. I try to stay balanced. It’s important to my Recovery, to my staying out of denial, to look at things for how they are. I don’t know that things will turn out for the best. They very well might, but for me to assume that they will, or to tell myself that just to get through? That still feels like denial to me, like that old way of doing things that stopped working for me a long time ago.
If thinking that things will turn out for the best works for you, then more power to you and good luck with that. It doesn’t for me. For me, what works is to think about the fact that no matter how things turn out, I will be alright. For me, that’s the real power of being positive, knowing that no matter what happens, I will be alight. Everything isn’t going to be okay; it’s okay now.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
“Keeping A Level Head”
This is one of those “what it’s like now” stories.
I’m driving my old truck right now, the one I drove for a short time before I started commuting to Berkeley back in 2005. My parents held onto it when I got a new cat because hey, it’s good to have a truck in the family. It doesn’t have any air conditioning and the stereo is... well, actually it’s exactly half a stereo is what it is. A number of years back, someone tried to rip the CD player out of the dash, unaware that I’d bolted it down when I put it in. Consequently, the thief succeeded only in ripping off the faceplate and the front circuitry connected to it. There’s a CD still in there from all those years ago. I can see it, lodged in the player, locked inside, unable to be ejected or forced out. Sometimes I wonder what’s on there.
The point of all this, though, isn’t a trip down memory lane or a gleeful telling of how I foiled a car stereo thief. No, the point of all this is gratitude.
I was headed home from work yesterday when I realized my tires needed air--again. This is the second time I’ve had to refill them in the space of a month. Doing so, I noticed an exposed belt on one tire, and another wouldn’t even take air. The remaining two were much balder than I realized, too. So in the 100+ degree heat, I popped on the donut spare, filled THAT up with air, and got on my way. I turned the hazard lights on, kept my speed down, and prayed the whole way home that I wouldn’t have a blowout on the causeway.
I hadn’t counted on spending my first paycheck buying new tires, but it looks like that’s what I’ll be doing. And it doesn’t even come for another three weeks. So like I wrote earlier, this is about having gratitude--gratitude that my folks still had the old truck for me to borrow.
My car is still pretty new to me. I haven’t had it a year yet, and this isn’t the first thing to go wrong with it. It’s needed a new clutch, and the gas mileage is significantly worse than what I was getting in my previous car. Or maybe it just seems so significant because gas prices are about a dollar a gallon higher than they were at this time last year. But I can’t complain too loudly; the car was a gift, after all. And I suppose another benefit of having a job now is that I can start saving for a different car if I so choose.
Changing the tire in the heat wasn’t fun. Neither was having the clutch go out on me while I was on the freeway that time. But both of these problems were times that really highlighted something that being in Recovery has done for me. I didn’t have any tantrums, no nonsensical rants. I took quick action to deal with both situations, and I didn’t experience any disproportionate emotions. Sure, there was some anger, some frustration, emotions you would expect. But no outbursts, no wild fits of anger. There are those who knew me when I was using who would tell you that that, all by itself, is a miracle.
Sometimes the miracle of Recovery is feeling so serene we feel totally at peace, at one with all of creation. Sometimes, the miracle is nothing more than keeping a level head through difficult times.
I’m driving my old truck right now, the one I drove for a short time before I started commuting to Berkeley back in 2005. My parents held onto it when I got a new cat because hey, it’s good to have a truck in the family. It doesn’t have any air conditioning and the stereo is... well, actually it’s exactly half a stereo is what it is. A number of years back, someone tried to rip the CD player out of the dash, unaware that I’d bolted it down when I put it in. Consequently, the thief succeeded only in ripping off the faceplate and the front circuitry connected to it. There’s a CD still in there from all those years ago. I can see it, lodged in the player, locked inside, unable to be ejected or forced out. Sometimes I wonder what’s on there.
The point of all this, though, isn’t a trip down memory lane or a gleeful telling of how I foiled a car stereo thief. No, the point of all this is gratitude.
I was headed home from work yesterday when I realized my tires needed air--again. This is the second time I’ve had to refill them in the space of a month. Doing so, I noticed an exposed belt on one tire, and another wouldn’t even take air. The remaining two were much balder than I realized, too. So in the 100+ degree heat, I popped on the donut spare, filled THAT up with air, and got on my way. I turned the hazard lights on, kept my speed down, and prayed the whole way home that I wouldn’t have a blowout on the causeway.
I hadn’t counted on spending my first paycheck buying new tires, but it looks like that’s what I’ll be doing. And it doesn’t even come for another three weeks. So like I wrote earlier, this is about having gratitude--gratitude that my folks still had the old truck for me to borrow.
My car is still pretty new to me. I haven’t had it a year yet, and this isn’t the first thing to go wrong with it. It’s needed a new clutch, and the gas mileage is significantly worse than what I was getting in my previous car. Or maybe it just seems so significant because gas prices are about a dollar a gallon higher than they were at this time last year. But I can’t complain too loudly; the car was a gift, after all. And I suppose another benefit of having a job now is that I can start saving for a different car if I so choose.
Changing the tire in the heat wasn’t fun. Neither was having the clutch go out on me while I was on the freeway that time. But both of these problems were times that really highlighted something that being in Recovery has done for me. I didn’t have any tantrums, no nonsensical rants. I took quick action to deal with both situations, and I didn’t experience any disproportionate emotions. Sure, there was some anger, some frustration, emotions you would expect. But no outbursts, no wild fits of anger. There are those who knew me when I was using who would tell you that that, all by itself, is a miracle.
Sometimes the miracle of Recovery is feeling so serene we feel totally at peace, at one with all of creation. Sometimes, the miracle is nothing more than keeping a level head through difficult times.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
“When Family Has The Disease”
A lot of people in the program come from families where the disease runs rampant. Dad’s a drunk, mom takes pills, sister’s on crank, brother’s in jail, and every combination of the above and more. Some of us have family members who don’t drink or use, but we’d swear they’re still ‘one of us’ because of their behavior. Maybe they’re totally self-absorbed, or maybe they’re obsessive worriers. Or maybe they’re just straight-up insane.
Whatever the case, whatever our past history, we all reach a point where we have to reckon with our family. Whether we’ve been abused growing up or were simply not our parents’ favored child. We might reconcile with our blood relatives, our family of origin, or we might choose to leave them out of our lives completely. Sometimes we want nothing more than to do that last one and it simply isn’t possible. Sometimes we beat our heads up against a brick wall for years, focusing on their actions (or lack thereof) and wishing beyond all hope that they would just miraculously become different people.
That’s the trap, of course. Our family members who still suffer, who haven’t found Recovery and don’t want to do something different, there really isn’t much we can do for them. We can spend our energy being frustrated at them for not being who we wish they were. We can rail against the disease for keeping our blood from being who we think they might or could be. But in the end, the one thing we can’t do, the thing that is so hard to admit to ourselves, is change them.
All we can really do is detach ourselves, and do it with whatever love we can muster. Trying to help them? Disaster. Buying booze or drugs for them? Not helpful. Giving them money instead of letting them suffer the consequences of their own actions? Totally wrongheaded.
We want to help, of course we do, particularly if we ourselves have found Recovery. Maybe we want them to find what we have found. Maybe we just want them to stop being assholes and treat us the way we feel we deserve to be treated. For once in our lives! But we can’t help them, they can only help themselves. And here’s the real kicker: it ain’t up to us to help them; that’s not our place. In case you haven’t heard it in a meeting, let me tell you now: don’t take other people’s inventory. We’re only responsible for ourselves, no one else--and that includes family.
We have only one avenue open to us that works: acceptance. Our family is who they are. We can’t change them, no matter how much we might want to. With time and with Recovery, we can learn to accept them, but that’s a process that takes a long time. And a lot of patience.
Here’s the thing about acceptance, too: we don’t have to agree with What Is, we don’t have to like it, we just have to accept it.
I remember splitting up with my ex-wife. My family insisted that they weren’t taking sides, but all I could see was that they weren’t on mine. My sister would call her and not me, go out to dinner with her and her new boyfriend, but not visit me. My mom wouldn’t listen to two sentences of my side of the story without changing the subject. My dad couldn’t even look at me straight when I expressed my frustrations at feeling abandoned by the lot of them. If they’d at least looked me in the eye, told me, “we still like her; she’s still part of the family to us,” that would have at least been respectful, but they couldn’t even do that. It sucked. It still does. But it’s something I’ve learned to accept.
My family is who they are. And with some Recovery (and no small measure of therapy), I can understand a lot better now their position. It’s still not something I like, or that I agree with, but it’s something I’ve learned to accept and let go of. My family is who they are, and my job is to remember that, to stay in the Real, and not fall into the trap of wishing they were different. Because they’re not going to be. They’re going to keep on being who they are no matter what I do. So I need to do the only thing I can: accept, and let go.
That’s what we can do about our family members who have the disease: accept, and let go.
Whatever the case, whatever our past history, we all reach a point where we have to reckon with our family. Whether we’ve been abused growing up or were simply not our parents’ favored child. We might reconcile with our blood relatives, our family of origin, or we might choose to leave them out of our lives completely. Sometimes we want nothing more than to do that last one and it simply isn’t possible. Sometimes we beat our heads up against a brick wall for years, focusing on their actions (or lack thereof) and wishing beyond all hope that they would just miraculously become different people.
That’s the trap, of course. Our family members who still suffer, who haven’t found Recovery and don’t want to do something different, there really isn’t much we can do for them. We can spend our energy being frustrated at them for not being who we wish they were. We can rail against the disease for keeping our blood from being who we think they might or could be. But in the end, the one thing we can’t do, the thing that is so hard to admit to ourselves, is change them.
All we can really do is detach ourselves, and do it with whatever love we can muster. Trying to help them? Disaster. Buying booze or drugs for them? Not helpful. Giving them money instead of letting them suffer the consequences of their own actions? Totally wrongheaded.
We want to help, of course we do, particularly if we ourselves have found Recovery. Maybe we want them to find what we have found. Maybe we just want them to stop being assholes and treat us the way we feel we deserve to be treated. For once in our lives! But we can’t help them, they can only help themselves. And here’s the real kicker: it ain’t up to us to help them; that’s not our place. In case you haven’t heard it in a meeting, let me tell you now: don’t take other people’s inventory. We’re only responsible for ourselves, no one else--and that includes family.
We have only one avenue open to us that works: acceptance. Our family is who they are. We can’t change them, no matter how much we might want to. With time and with Recovery, we can learn to accept them, but that’s a process that takes a long time. And a lot of patience.
Here’s the thing about acceptance, too: we don’t have to agree with What Is, we don’t have to like it, we just have to accept it.
I remember splitting up with my ex-wife. My family insisted that they weren’t taking sides, but all I could see was that they weren’t on mine. My sister would call her and not me, go out to dinner with her and her new boyfriend, but not visit me. My mom wouldn’t listen to two sentences of my side of the story without changing the subject. My dad couldn’t even look at me straight when I expressed my frustrations at feeling abandoned by the lot of them. If they’d at least looked me in the eye, told me, “we still like her; she’s still part of the family to us,” that would have at least been respectful, but they couldn’t even do that. It sucked. It still does. But it’s something I’ve learned to accept.
My family is who they are. And with some Recovery (and no small measure of therapy), I can understand a lot better now their position. It’s still not something I like, or that I agree with, but it’s something I’ve learned to accept and let go of. My family is who they are, and my job is to remember that, to stay in the Real, and not fall into the trap of wishing they were different. Because they’re not going to be. They’re going to keep on being who they are no matter what I do. So I need to do the only thing I can: accept, and let go.
That’s what we can do about our family members who have the disease: accept, and let go.
Monday, July 4, 2011
“Dealing With Fear”
It’s hot here right now. Really hot. We’re on day two of what is supposed to be a four day stretch of 100+ degree days. I’d planned to wake up early this morning to go on my run, but got hit with a bout of insomnia last night. By the time I was up today, it was too hot to run (at least, too hot for me). So I walked four miles instead.
Back at my apartment afterward, I stepped into the shower and found myself being irritated with my brain. It’s been on the busy side lately; lots of imaginary conversations, worrying, fears coming up, that sort of thing. I’ve noticed it in both my prayer and my meditation time. I’m hoping that it’s just stress from being back at work.
Actually, now that I think about it, it’s not really from being back at work, it’s just fear related to that. Here’s a great example: one of the things I’ve been worrying about is that I’m supposed to be at work today even though it’s a holiday. I know I’m not. I have paperwork showing that 4th of July is one my paid holidays. I know full well that no one else is going to be there, so even if I went, there wouldn’t be anyone there to let me in! And yet, even with all this knowledge, the fear is still there.
I was talking with a friend just yesterday about how irrational emotions can be--especially fear. A comment I made is something I heard the late great comedian Bill Hicks say often, that there is nothing to fear ever. That’s not something I can quite get my head around, but as a spiritual puzzle, it’s powerful to ponder.
So as I was soaping up my bald head in the shower today, I reminded myself that I had just yesterday passed on this little piece of spiritual truth and wouldn’t it be a great idea to take my own advice? And just like that, my whole mindset turned. With the fear dispelled, the force of my Recovery kicked ass and took names.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. Today IS a holiday, so enjoy your holiday, Zach! Go have a coffee and write a blog. Come home afterwards and work on some music. Oh and by the way good job working up a sweat with that four mile walk this morning. And didn’t you work out with your weights for an hour yesterday? Hell yeah, dude!”
It’s okay to relax and enjoy ourselves. I forget to do that all too often. And fear... fear is one of the biggest paralyzers. It causes us to react without thinking, keeps us from taking considered action. Even worse, it holds us prisoner in the future, in the past, in the domain of ‘what if’. Recovery is about the real, about ‘what is’, about living in the now.
I’ve heard people in meetings share about how they live their lives now without any fear. That’s great for them. For myself, I still feel fear from time to time. It’s much, much less than what I used to deal with, and I have the program to thank for helping me to sort through all that. I have the program to thank, too, for helping me learn how to deal with fears so that when they do show up these days, I can overcome them.
Now if you’ll excuse me, my music awaits :-)
Back at my apartment afterward, I stepped into the shower and found myself being irritated with my brain. It’s been on the busy side lately; lots of imaginary conversations, worrying, fears coming up, that sort of thing. I’ve noticed it in both my prayer and my meditation time. I’m hoping that it’s just stress from being back at work.
Actually, now that I think about it, it’s not really from being back at work, it’s just fear related to that. Here’s a great example: one of the things I’ve been worrying about is that I’m supposed to be at work today even though it’s a holiday. I know I’m not. I have paperwork showing that 4th of July is one my paid holidays. I know full well that no one else is going to be there, so even if I went, there wouldn’t be anyone there to let me in! And yet, even with all this knowledge, the fear is still there.
I was talking with a friend just yesterday about how irrational emotions can be--especially fear. A comment I made is something I heard the late great comedian Bill Hicks say often, that there is nothing to fear ever. That’s not something I can quite get my head around, but as a spiritual puzzle, it’s powerful to ponder.
So as I was soaping up my bald head in the shower today, I reminded myself that I had just yesterday passed on this little piece of spiritual truth and wouldn’t it be a great idea to take my own advice? And just like that, my whole mindset turned. With the fear dispelled, the force of my Recovery kicked ass and took names.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. Today IS a holiday, so enjoy your holiday, Zach! Go have a coffee and write a blog. Come home afterwards and work on some music. Oh and by the way good job working up a sweat with that four mile walk this morning. And didn’t you work out with your weights for an hour yesterday? Hell yeah, dude!”
It’s okay to relax and enjoy ourselves. I forget to do that all too often. And fear... fear is one of the biggest paralyzers. It causes us to react without thinking, keeps us from taking considered action. Even worse, it holds us prisoner in the future, in the past, in the domain of ‘what if’. Recovery is about the real, about ‘what is’, about living in the now.
I’ve heard people in meetings share about how they live their lives now without any fear. That’s great for them. For myself, I still feel fear from time to time. It’s much, much less than what I used to deal with, and I have the program to thank for helping me to sort through all that. I have the program to thank, too, for helping me learn how to deal with fears so that when they do show up these days, I can overcome them.
Now if you’ll excuse me, my music awaits :-)
Friday, July 1, 2011
“Judging Other Addicts”
I was having fellowship after a meeting recently and we got to talking about the different vibes each of the fellowships have. How AA has a different feel from NA, talk like that. And it’s true, different meetings have different atmospheres. And there are plenty of judgmental folks in Recovery, people who think they’re somehow better (or worse) than others because they used such hard drugs, or drank so much more than others did.
For me, I try to remember that comparing myself to others, thinking of myself as better-than or less-than, isn’t Recovery-oriented thinking. I don’t care if someone was slammin’ dope and homeless or if they have a big house, beautiful wife, and five children. It’s not up to me to decide how ‘bad’ someone’s disease is, or to put a label on how much suffering they’ve been through. We all experience pain differently and I’m not about to discount someone’s own personal hell just because it was different from my own. Recovery is supposed to be about healing, lifting each other up, not tearing each other down.
During the conversation, I commented that a good speaker won’t talk about what they used, because ultimately that doesn’t really matter. Talking about what we were hooked on is carrying the mess, not the message. Focusing on what we used is focusing on the problem, not the solution.
This is a subject I feel very strongly about and I can get downright preachy sometimes. I have to be careful not to branch off into judgmental territory myself. It’s too easy for me to point out others’ flaws, how lost they are, moving from one program to another as they treat one addiction after another.
Don’t treat your addiction; treat the disease that causes it.
The disease is about so much more than our substance abuse. It’s in the way we think, the way we speak, how we act towards others and how we approach reality itself. We aren’t honest with other people or with ourselves. We’re pessimistic and lack trust. We’re quick to point out other people’s faults while refusing to take responsibility for our own. We’re flakes who let people down. We’re deeply insecure, raging egomaniacs. We hurt people, with our words and through our actions. We say we’re sorry over and over again but never actually change. We refuse to admit when we’re wrong. We take everything way too personally. We think we’re responsible for how other people feel and how they live. We make ourselves crazy trying to change other people and manage their lives, because we don’t know how to manage our own. We desperately try to control everything outside ourselves, all the while ignoring the glaring need for healing within.
This is the disease. This is what it looks like, untreated, without Recovery. Anyone who has lived with a dry drunk or an addict who has tried quitting on their own knows these behaviors. They are the ways we do life that don’t work. They are the behaviors that cause our problems. They are the reason why our lives don’t magically improve when we stop using and drinking.
This is why I believe it doesn’t matter what someone was hooked on. I’ve known people who whored themselves out just for a ten-sack of weed. I’ve known seemingly fully functioning members of society who were secretly crystal meth addicts.
Some people don’t think addiction isn’t a disease; cancer is a disease. Well guess what--addiction kills, too. And besides, how often do you hear a brain cancer survivor say to someone, “Oh…. You just had skin cancer? What a pussy.”
Being judgmental towards other addicts doesn’t help us recover; it keeps us in the disease, and it keeps us focused on the problem. I prefer to stay focused on the solution.
For me, I try to remember that comparing myself to others, thinking of myself as better-than or less-than, isn’t Recovery-oriented thinking. I don’t care if someone was slammin’ dope and homeless or if they have a big house, beautiful wife, and five children. It’s not up to me to decide how ‘bad’ someone’s disease is, or to put a label on how much suffering they’ve been through. We all experience pain differently and I’m not about to discount someone’s own personal hell just because it was different from my own. Recovery is supposed to be about healing, lifting each other up, not tearing each other down.
During the conversation, I commented that a good speaker won’t talk about what they used, because ultimately that doesn’t really matter. Talking about what we were hooked on is carrying the mess, not the message. Focusing on what we used is focusing on the problem, not the solution.
This is a subject I feel very strongly about and I can get downright preachy sometimes. I have to be careful not to branch off into judgmental territory myself. It’s too easy for me to point out others’ flaws, how lost they are, moving from one program to another as they treat one addiction after another.
Don’t treat your addiction; treat the disease that causes it.
The disease is about so much more than our substance abuse. It’s in the way we think, the way we speak, how we act towards others and how we approach reality itself. We aren’t honest with other people or with ourselves. We’re pessimistic and lack trust. We’re quick to point out other people’s faults while refusing to take responsibility for our own. We’re flakes who let people down. We’re deeply insecure, raging egomaniacs. We hurt people, with our words and through our actions. We say we’re sorry over and over again but never actually change. We refuse to admit when we’re wrong. We take everything way too personally. We think we’re responsible for how other people feel and how they live. We make ourselves crazy trying to change other people and manage their lives, because we don’t know how to manage our own. We desperately try to control everything outside ourselves, all the while ignoring the glaring need for healing within.
This is the disease. This is what it looks like, untreated, without Recovery. Anyone who has lived with a dry drunk or an addict who has tried quitting on their own knows these behaviors. They are the ways we do life that don’t work. They are the behaviors that cause our problems. They are the reason why our lives don’t magically improve when we stop using and drinking.
This is why I believe it doesn’t matter what someone was hooked on. I’ve known people who whored themselves out just for a ten-sack of weed. I’ve known seemingly fully functioning members of society who were secretly crystal meth addicts.
Some people don’t think addiction isn’t a disease; cancer is a disease. Well guess what--addiction kills, too. And besides, how often do you hear a brain cancer survivor say to someone, “Oh…. You just had skin cancer? What a pussy.”
Being judgmental towards other addicts doesn’t help us recover; it keeps us in the disease, and it keeps us focused on the problem. I prefer to stay focused on the solution.
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