(This blog is second in a multi-part series, “Thoughts On The Steps”. This series is not a guide on how to work steps; steps can only be worked under the guidance of a sponsor. The twelve-step program is a spiritual program; it teaches us how to live a spiritual life. Working each of the steps gives us the chance to practice a spiritual principle. Whatever your particular fellowship, the Steps are the same, as are the spiritual principles behind them. These are my thoughts on the steps and on those principles.)
Step Two: Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
There’s an unspoken assumption being made in this step that we did something in Step One--admitted we were insane. After all, why would we need to be restored to sanity if we weren’t? This is a bit of a touchy subject. The word ‘insane’ conjures up images of stark-raving lunatics, psychotic killers, and emotionally unstable parents who murder their children in their sleep. I myself tend to think of Glenn Close in ‘Fatal Attraction’.
Mental instability is not the kind of insanity we’re talking about, here. Think of that as ‘Insanity’ with a capital ‘I’. For us, the insanity (with a lower-case ‘i’) is more a realization that the way we have been living is insane. Our thinking, the ways we behave, this is where our insanity lay. And we know, deep inside, that we can’t go on doing life the same way we have been. Something’s gotta give. We have to change, find a way to do things differently. We can’t go on the way we have been going.
If we’ve honestly admitted to ourselves that we can’t control other people, places and things, then isn’t it insane to continue to try to do so? If we’ve admitted we’re powerless over our problem (whatever the problem), that we can’t solve it ourselves, then don’t we need a solution that comes from outside ourselves?
There’s a bit of humility needed to take this step. Just as in the first step, we have to make some serious admissions. We don’t have all the answers. The way we do life, in general, doesn’t work. That can mean trying to do life by being loaded all the time; it can mean trying to do life by manipulating others, or circumstances. Maybe it means we’ve exhausted ourselves from constant worry. Maybe we’ve been crushed by the realization that we aren’t all-powerful, that no matter what we do, we can’t make the world be the way we think it should.
Whatever the reasons behind it, we come to a point where we admit that the answers aren’t going to come from inside us. Our own power is not enough to deal with life. We don’t have the resources within to cope. We need a power greater than ourselves alone. That means we turn to the spiritual. Call it God, call it Great Spirit, call it what you will. It is that force that is not of the body or the mind. It is the spiritual energy that exists beyond us mere mortals.
This step talks about coming to believe. That describes a process. We come to believe in the spiritual. Then we come to believe that that force--whatever you choose to call it--can be helpful to us. We come to believe that there is another way, that there is help, that there is an answer to our struggle. When we do, we find Hope.
Hope can come to us many different ways. For some, the realization occurs within; they find Hope for themselves that their lives can get better. For others, they see how relying on the power of the spiritual has changed people’s lives and they come to believe it can work for them as well. Each person’s path is unique.
There is a difference between Hope and just wishing for something. I’ve heard it described that a wish is for something that may or may not be possible; Hope is for something that definitely is. There is an aspect to Hope that wishing doesn’t have--an element of belief. If you Hope something is true, then you have a belief (however small) that it is possible.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
“Step One: Honesty”
(This blog is first in a multi-part series, “Thoughts On The Steps”. This series is not a guide on how to work steps; steps can only be worked under the guidance of a sponsor. The twelve-step program is a spiritual program; it teaches us how to live a spiritual life. Working each of the steps gives us the chance to practice a spiritual principle. Whatever your particular fellowship, the Steps are the same, as are the spiritual principles behind them. These are my thoughts on the steps and on those principles.)
Step 1: We admitted that we were powerless--that our lives had become unmanageable.
I have deliberately omitted the word ‘alcohol’ or ‘addiction’ from this step to show something very powerful: except for that one word (and it is different in fellowships other than AA and NA), this step is EXACTLY the same, no matter what fellowship you attend. It is also the only step that contains that ‘one word’, whatever the word is. To me, the point isn’t the word I’ve left out here, it’s all the other words that I’ve left in.
Those of us with the Disease of addiction (or alcoholism, for you old-school folks out there) are control freaks. Anybody who says different is fooling themselves. We try to control ourselves, our thoughts, our emotions. We try to control other people--make them do what we want, think and act the way we think they should. We try to control circumstances, events. On and on and on. Why is this? Because we are unable to accept things as they really are. It’s called denial.
This is the beginning of the spiritual program: learning to accept what is. We practice living in the real, instead of in whatever fantasy we have created in our minds about the way things are supposed to be. We stop focusing on how things should be, the way people ought to act, how we wished we felt. We start focusing instead on how things really are. How do we really feel? What is actually happening? In order to do this, we must practice Honesty.
It is our attempts to control that lead us to create unmanageability in our lives. All our attempts to manipulate other people, situations, circumstances and events--that is what is meant by ‘unmanageable’. It’s all the lengths we go to in order to try and force reality to conform to our ideas about how things are supposed to be. Those of us in Recovery from addiction can find plenty of examples in our lives of this; all we have to do is look at the crazy lengths we went to to get loaded, to cover up that we were loaded, or to try and not get loaded.
The larger point here, though, is that we are powerless over much more than our own addictions. We are powerless over other people, places and things. As a wise man once said, “you want to know what you DO have power over? Just look in the mirror, pal. ‘Cause that’s IT.”
We have power over ourselves. We have power over the actions we take, the words we choose to speak. We have power over our own choices. Not to use a blatantly obvious example, here, but we can choose to accept our Disease, choose to ask for help, and choose to begin living differently. Or we can choose to go on the same old way until we die.
When we work the first step--especially for the first time--we admit to ourselves that we are powerless over our addiction, whether that be alcohol and/or drugs. We practice the principle of Honesty by admitting to ourselves a very harsh truth. Once we have done that, we are free to continue moving forward.
This practice of honest admission, of acceptance, becomes a tool for us in our daily lives. It helps us to deal with ourselves and the world around us. We can continue trying to control the things we can’t, leading to insane unmanageability, or we can let go, accept what is, and change the thing we can--ourselves. It’s why the Serenity prayer is such a big deal to 12-step folks.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Acceptance of what is--that’s how we begin to change our lives. We stop trying to change the things we can’t, stop driving ourselves crazy trying to do an impossible task, and start changing the things we can. Honesty, the spiritual principle behind the first step, is the tool we use to accomplish this task.
Trying to make reality resemble our own designs? That's the Disease. We aren't masters of the universe. We don't get to decide what should or shouldn't be. The spiritual path is one of acceptance, of seeing the world as it really is and not as we would have it be.
Step 1: We admitted that we were powerless--that our lives had become unmanageable.
I have deliberately omitted the word ‘alcohol’ or ‘addiction’ from this step to show something very powerful: except for that one word (and it is different in fellowships other than AA and NA), this step is EXACTLY the same, no matter what fellowship you attend. It is also the only step that contains that ‘one word’, whatever the word is. To me, the point isn’t the word I’ve left out here, it’s all the other words that I’ve left in.
Those of us with the Disease of addiction (or alcoholism, for you old-school folks out there) are control freaks. Anybody who says different is fooling themselves. We try to control ourselves, our thoughts, our emotions. We try to control other people--make them do what we want, think and act the way we think they should. We try to control circumstances, events. On and on and on. Why is this? Because we are unable to accept things as they really are. It’s called denial.
This is the beginning of the spiritual program: learning to accept what is. We practice living in the real, instead of in whatever fantasy we have created in our minds about the way things are supposed to be. We stop focusing on how things should be, the way people ought to act, how we wished we felt. We start focusing instead on how things really are. How do we really feel? What is actually happening? In order to do this, we must practice Honesty.
It is our attempts to control that lead us to create unmanageability in our lives. All our attempts to manipulate other people, situations, circumstances and events--that is what is meant by ‘unmanageable’. It’s all the lengths we go to in order to try and force reality to conform to our ideas about how things are supposed to be. Those of us in Recovery from addiction can find plenty of examples in our lives of this; all we have to do is look at the crazy lengths we went to to get loaded, to cover up that we were loaded, or to try and not get loaded.
The larger point here, though, is that we are powerless over much more than our own addictions. We are powerless over other people, places and things. As a wise man once said, “you want to know what you DO have power over? Just look in the mirror, pal. ‘Cause that’s IT.”
We have power over ourselves. We have power over the actions we take, the words we choose to speak. We have power over our own choices. Not to use a blatantly obvious example, here, but we can choose to accept our Disease, choose to ask for help, and choose to begin living differently. Or we can choose to go on the same old way until we die.
When we work the first step--especially for the first time--we admit to ourselves that we are powerless over our addiction, whether that be alcohol and/or drugs. We practice the principle of Honesty by admitting to ourselves a very harsh truth. Once we have done that, we are free to continue moving forward.
This practice of honest admission, of acceptance, becomes a tool for us in our daily lives. It helps us to deal with ourselves and the world around us. We can continue trying to control the things we can’t, leading to insane unmanageability, or we can let go, accept what is, and change the thing we can--ourselves. It’s why the Serenity prayer is such a big deal to 12-step folks.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Acceptance of what is--that’s how we begin to change our lives. We stop trying to change the things we can’t, stop driving ourselves crazy trying to do an impossible task, and start changing the things we can. Honesty, the spiritual principle behind the first step, is the tool we use to accomplish this task.
Trying to make reality resemble our own designs? That's the Disease. We aren't masters of the universe. We don't get to decide what should or shouldn't be. The spiritual path is one of acceptance, of seeing the world as it really is and not as we would have it be.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
"Sink Balls"
When I was younger, I played a lot of pool. I shot in a league, played in a couple tournaments. It was fun and I enjoyed it a lot. I was better than your average player, and right about the time I started to really get good, I stopped playing. I couldn't tell you why. Last fall, I was thinking about the need to have more hobbies, more things that I enjoyed doing. I remember liking pool, so I hauled out my cues and started shooting again.
It wasn't quite like riding a bicycle, but it did come back to me pretty quickly. And I discovered that, just as before, it was something I had a lot of fun doing. I remembered some advice I've heard, about if you want to get better at something you need to practice. I'd read a book by one of the top pool players who put it like this: just sink balls. So I made myself a deal--play at least once every week, then at the start of this year play a tournament.
I go mostly once a week, sometimes twice, and shoot for a couple hours. I've been doing that every week for a few months now. Last night, I went to the pool hall where I shoot and played in their 9-ball tournament. It was a B-grade tournament, and I'd known that; it made me nervous. I'd only played in C-level tournaments before. But I'd promised myself I would play in a tournament. That was the goal.
When I practice, I pay pretty close attention to how well I'm doing. There's bad days, good days, as with anything. It's been cool to track my progress and see my game improve. I keep a tab of how long my longest shooting run is and how many times I hit that. My current record is ten in a row. The more common runs are five, six in a row. But I'm always shooting by myself and had no idea how I would do in a competition.
When the day came--yesterday--to shoot in the tournament, I'll admit I was really nervous. I didn't really know if I was good enough to play in a 'B' tournament. And there were a few moments there where I thought seriously of chickening out, putting off the tournament play for another month. I happened to talk with a friend of mine who encouraged me to play it anyway. The point wasn't to win, but to go in there and do my best. Because that was the goal I'd set for myself.
I didn't win. I didn't even make it past the first round. But I played well. I brought a good game, had some dumb luck. And I got to see what level the other players were at and discovered that I fit right in. I am a B-level player, which is good knowledge to have. But the real victory, for me, is the fact that I achieved my goal. I set a goal for myself, a goal of self-improvement and a test for it. When the time came, even though I got nervous, I followed through. There really aren't words for me to express how huge that is.
In my active addiction, the word 'goal' didn't have much meaning. I'd say that I never achieved many of my goals, but the more accurate truth is that I didn't even bother to set goals because I knew I wouldn't achieve them. Not so much because I didn't have faith in myself (which was true), but more because I was flat out lazy. And there was a lot of that Learned Helplessness in there, too. The times that I had tried, I didn't succeed, so I learned not to try.
Recovery has done many things for me. It's given me courage, strength, and confidence in myself. It's helped me to find faith in myself. Faith to set goals, and the courage to meet them. Some might argue that paying five bucks to enter a pool tournament doesn't take much courage. And I'll give you that; forking over five dollars isn't hard. But being dedicated in my practicing, making sure I get out there week after week? Takes some work. Overcoming nervousness and internal fears? Takes more. Not listening to the voice inside that never stops telling me I'm not worth spit and how DARE I have a high enough opinion of myself that I think I'm worthy of entering a tournament? Takes a LOT of work.
I'm not going to stop shooting pool. I love it. I have a great time shooting. And this isn't going to be my last tournament, either. I won two games last night; without that dumb luck, I would have won more. I played at their level, and I deserved to be there. As the saying goes, "next time, those mf's are goin DOWN!"
It wasn't quite like riding a bicycle, but it did come back to me pretty quickly. And I discovered that, just as before, it was something I had a lot of fun doing. I remembered some advice I've heard, about if you want to get better at something you need to practice. I'd read a book by one of the top pool players who put it like this: just sink balls. So I made myself a deal--play at least once every week, then at the start of this year play a tournament.
I go mostly once a week, sometimes twice, and shoot for a couple hours. I've been doing that every week for a few months now. Last night, I went to the pool hall where I shoot and played in their 9-ball tournament. It was a B-grade tournament, and I'd known that; it made me nervous. I'd only played in C-level tournaments before. But I'd promised myself I would play in a tournament. That was the goal.
When I practice, I pay pretty close attention to how well I'm doing. There's bad days, good days, as with anything. It's been cool to track my progress and see my game improve. I keep a tab of how long my longest shooting run is and how many times I hit that. My current record is ten in a row. The more common runs are five, six in a row. But I'm always shooting by myself and had no idea how I would do in a competition.
When the day came--yesterday--to shoot in the tournament, I'll admit I was really nervous. I didn't really know if I was good enough to play in a 'B' tournament. And there were a few moments there where I thought seriously of chickening out, putting off the tournament play for another month. I happened to talk with a friend of mine who encouraged me to play it anyway. The point wasn't to win, but to go in there and do my best. Because that was the goal I'd set for myself.
I didn't win. I didn't even make it past the first round. But I played well. I brought a good game, had some dumb luck. And I got to see what level the other players were at and discovered that I fit right in. I am a B-level player, which is good knowledge to have. But the real victory, for me, is the fact that I achieved my goal. I set a goal for myself, a goal of self-improvement and a test for it. When the time came, even though I got nervous, I followed through. There really aren't words for me to express how huge that is.
In my active addiction, the word 'goal' didn't have much meaning. I'd say that I never achieved many of my goals, but the more accurate truth is that I didn't even bother to set goals because I knew I wouldn't achieve them. Not so much because I didn't have faith in myself (which was true), but more because I was flat out lazy. And there was a lot of that Learned Helplessness in there, too. The times that I had tried, I didn't succeed, so I learned not to try.
Recovery has done many things for me. It's given me courage, strength, and confidence in myself. It's helped me to find faith in myself. Faith to set goals, and the courage to meet them. Some might argue that paying five bucks to enter a pool tournament doesn't take much courage. And I'll give you that; forking over five dollars isn't hard. But being dedicated in my practicing, making sure I get out there week after week? Takes some work. Overcoming nervousness and internal fears? Takes more. Not listening to the voice inside that never stops telling me I'm not worth spit and how DARE I have a high enough opinion of myself that I think I'm worthy of entering a tournament? Takes a LOT of work.
I'm not going to stop shooting pool. I love it. I have a great time shooting. And this isn't going to be my last tournament, either. I won two games last night; without that dumb luck, I would have won more. I played at their level, and I deserved to be there. As the saying goes, "next time, those mf's are goin DOWN!"
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
“God Will Save Me”
I was bumming around the internet today and found a good essay on atheism/agnosticism as a path to God. The author didn’t say anyone who walks this path ultimately finds God, just that there are some who do. They begin with no belief, then come to believe. There are more than a few 12-steppers out there who know exactly what I’m talking about.
The author repeated an old story that I like a lot, about a man who becomes trapped in a flood. He decides to make this his chance test whether God really does exist or not. He prays, deeply, and asks God to come and save him.
As the rain pours down, he hears a warning on the radio that everyone needs to get to higher ground. But he ignores it, thinking God will save him. A firefighter comes to his door, telling him he needs to evacuate, but the man declines, telling the firefighter that God will save him. The waters rise and the man climbs higher in his house, up to the second floor. Before long, the Coast Guard comes by in a boat, but the man declines to get in. He tells the serviceman that God will save him. Finally, the floodwaters force him to the roof. A helicopter comes by to save any last survivors. But once again, the man shouts at the top of his lungs, refusing help, that he is waiting for God to save him.
The rising waters envelop him and the man drowns. He wakes up in Heaven, face to face with the almighty. He stutters at first, then says to God, “why didn’t you save me?” To which God replies, “Are you fucking kidding?! I warned you on the radio. I sent a fireman. I sent the Coast Guard. I sent a goddamned helicopter, for crise sakes!”
Yeah, okay, I added the profanity, just cause I think the story’s funnier that way.
Seriously, though, I like this story because it is such a great example of the way so many misunderstand how the spiritual works in our lives. It also highlights a very important principle: we need to do our part. When we do our part, and let our higher power take care of the rest, amazing things happen.
I’ve known people in Recovery who were adamant about their atheism. And it’s true that you don’t have to achieve any kind of special ‘God-consciousness’ for the Program to work for you. But of those who I have seen have success in the program, they tend—far more often than not—to be connected with the spiritual. People who learn to rely on a higher power working in their lives have much greater success far quicker than those who don’t. Those who work on having conscious contact with their higher power, their lives go better. It’s just one of those things.
We do have to do our part. We can’t sit there in our homes thinking ‘God will save us’ from our disease. We have to take action, do what we can do. God finds those who seek, not those who sit around on their asses.
The author repeated an old story that I like a lot, about a man who becomes trapped in a flood. He decides to make this his chance test whether God really does exist or not. He prays, deeply, and asks God to come and save him.
As the rain pours down, he hears a warning on the radio that everyone needs to get to higher ground. But he ignores it, thinking God will save him. A firefighter comes to his door, telling him he needs to evacuate, but the man declines, telling the firefighter that God will save him. The waters rise and the man climbs higher in his house, up to the second floor. Before long, the Coast Guard comes by in a boat, but the man declines to get in. He tells the serviceman that God will save him. Finally, the floodwaters force him to the roof. A helicopter comes by to save any last survivors. But once again, the man shouts at the top of his lungs, refusing help, that he is waiting for God to save him.
The rising waters envelop him and the man drowns. He wakes up in Heaven, face to face with the almighty. He stutters at first, then says to God, “why didn’t you save me?” To which God replies, “Are you fucking kidding?! I warned you on the radio. I sent a fireman. I sent the Coast Guard. I sent a goddamned helicopter, for crise sakes!”
Yeah, okay, I added the profanity, just cause I think the story’s funnier that way.
Seriously, though, I like this story because it is such a great example of the way so many misunderstand how the spiritual works in our lives. It also highlights a very important principle: we need to do our part. When we do our part, and let our higher power take care of the rest, amazing things happen.
I’ve known people in Recovery who were adamant about their atheism. And it’s true that you don’t have to achieve any kind of special ‘God-consciousness’ for the Program to work for you. But of those who I have seen have success in the program, they tend—far more often than not—to be connected with the spiritual. People who learn to rely on a higher power working in their lives have much greater success far quicker than those who don’t. Those who work on having conscious contact with their higher power, their lives go better. It’s just one of those things.
We do have to do our part. We can’t sit there in our homes thinking ‘God will save us’ from our disease. We have to take action, do what we can do. God finds those who seek, not those who sit around on their asses.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
"Permission To Be Selfish"
So... is 12-steps a selfish program or a program where we learn to be less selfish? Both. Stay with me on this.
My Social Psychology class is right after my Statistics class and it is full. Full, as in, not enough chairs to go around, people stitting in the aisles, standing against the walls. It'll thin out as the semester goes on, but for now there's always a rush to find a seat. Today, I found myself standing until someone pointed out a chair with a backpack in it across the room. I walked over and moved the backpack. A woman in the chair next to me tried to stop me, tell me that someone was already sitting there--a girl (a comment to which my Issues of Diverse Populations professor would have replied, 'what difference does that make?'). I just said, "yeah--me," and sat down. The girl whose backpack it was ended up being late back to class, but was in time to hear the professor remind everyone that the class is crowded and that just putting your backpack in a chair doesn't necessarily save you a seat.
As all this was going on, in my mind I thought of something I'd been working on with my therapist--being more selfish. We talked about it in general, but also specifically in areas like relationships. If you settle, all you get is what you settle for. Or, as a friend of mine likes to say, "settle for the best." Maybe it would have been more 'gentlemanly' of me to allow the girl her seat. Or maybe she and I both have the same worth and value as individual people, and I was there and she wasn't.
Those of us (like myself) who have issues with codependence have a hard time being selfish. It's more commonly phrased like this: we have difficulty or don't know how to say, "No." It's probably the one thing I spent more time on than any other in my therapy sessions. For me, this issue really comes to the forefront when I'm in a romantic relationship. And I get why, too. It's a fear thing. Fear of rejection, fear of loss. It's heavy, emotionally, because it triggers all those experiences from childhood of not getting the love I needed from family, friends, etc. Something my therapist said to me is that I'll know I'm making progress when I hear someone else (specifically, someone else who suffers from these codependence issues) tell me I'm being selfish.
It took me a while to get my head wrapped around this idea, but it has started happening. The key for my understanding this good kind of selfishness has been the idea of being selfish enough to work the 12-step program. To decide, within myself, that I am worth it. I am not a waste of skin, I am a human being and my life has value. I am worth getting better, being happy and healthy. I do deserve for good things to happen to me and to have good people in my life. It's about believing in myself. It's also about deciding I'm important and that I matter.
There is a lot of Helping that goes on in the 12-step rooms. Taking service positions is a way to help ensure the meetings continue so that those who still suffer have a place to go. The Twelfth step itself--sponsorship--is about guiding someone new through the steps. But all of those things are not means unto themselves, they are means to an end. We help others with a very specific purpose--it helps us to stay sober. We have to decide that our sobriety, our Recovery, is worth it enough to us to do the things suggested to us. We have to decide that we are worth it.
The 12 steps are full of self-examining tools. I think it might even be the original self-help program. Focusing on others helps to take us out of ourselves, to get us out of a rut, or off the pity-pot. But we can end up focusing too much attention on others and neglecting our own spiritual health. We learn to take care of ourselves so that we can be available to truly be of service to others. If we spend all our thoughts and emotions on helping other people, so much so that we become ill or hurt or even relapse, what good have we really done? How can we take someone to the hospital if we're already there, checked into the Intensive Care Unit? How can we help someone to back away from their suicide plans if we've landed ourselves in our own padded cell?
The program is both a selfish and a selfless one. We learn to take care of ourselves so that we can be available to help others. We learn to love ourselves so that we can truly love others. We help other addicts to stay sober because it helps us to stay sober.
Be selfish.
My Social Psychology class is right after my Statistics class and it is full. Full, as in, not enough chairs to go around, people stitting in the aisles, standing against the walls. It'll thin out as the semester goes on, but for now there's always a rush to find a seat. Today, I found myself standing until someone pointed out a chair with a backpack in it across the room. I walked over and moved the backpack. A woman in the chair next to me tried to stop me, tell me that someone was already sitting there--a girl (a comment to which my Issues of Diverse Populations professor would have replied, 'what difference does that make?'). I just said, "yeah--me," and sat down. The girl whose backpack it was ended up being late back to class, but was in time to hear the professor remind everyone that the class is crowded and that just putting your backpack in a chair doesn't necessarily save you a seat.
As all this was going on, in my mind I thought of something I'd been working on with my therapist--being more selfish. We talked about it in general, but also specifically in areas like relationships. If you settle, all you get is what you settle for. Or, as a friend of mine likes to say, "settle for the best." Maybe it would have been more 'gentlemanly' of me to allow the girl her seat. Or maybe she and I both have the same worth and value as individual people, and I was there and she wasn't.
Those of us (like myself) who have issues with codependence have a hard time being selfish. It's more commonly phrased like this: we have difficulty or don't know how to say, "No." It's probably the one thing I spent more time on than any other in my therapy sessions. For me, this issue really comes to the forefront when I'm in a romantic relationship. And I get why, too. It's a fear thing. Fear of rejection, fear of loss. It's heavy, emotionally, because it triggers all those experiences from childhood of not getting the love I needed from family, friends, etc. Something my therapist said to me is that I'll know I'm making progress when I hear someone else (specifically, someone else who suffers from these codependence issues) tell me I'm being selfish.
It took me a while to get my head wrapped around this idea, but it has started happening. The key for my understanding this good kind of selfishness has been the idea of being selfish enough to work the 12-step program. To decide, within myself, that I am worth it. I am not a waste of skin, I am a human being and my life has value. I am worth getting better, being happy and healthy. I do deserve for good things to happen to me and to have good people in my life. It's about believing in myself. It's also about deciding I'm important and that I matter.
There is a lot of Helping that goes on in the 12-step rooms. Taking service positions is a way to help ensure the meetings continue so that those who still suffer have a place to go. The Twelfth step itself--sponsorship--is about guiding someone new through the steps. But all of those things are not means unto themselves, they are means to an end. We help others with a very specific purpose--it helps us to stay sober. We have to decide that our sobriety, our Recovery, is worth it enough to us to do the things suggested to us. We have to decide that we are worth it.
The 12 steps are full of self-examining tools. I think it might even be the original self-help program. Focusing on others helps to take us out of ourselves, to get us out of a rut, or off the pity-pot. But we can end up focusing too much attention on others and neglecting our own spiritual health. We learn to take care of ourselves so that we can be available to truly be of service to others. If we spend all our thoughts and emotions on helping other people, so much so that we become ill or hurt or even relapse, what good have we really done? How can we take someone to the hospital if we're already there, checked into the Intensive Care Unit? How can we help someone to back away from their suicide plans if we've landed ourselves in our own padded cell?
The program is both a selfish and a selfless one. We learn to take care of ourselves so that we can be available to help others. We learn to love ourselves so that we can truly love others. We help other addicts to stay sober because it helps us to stay sober.
Be selfish.
Monday, January 24, 2011
"Relapse Is A Part Of Recovery"
You don't have to be coming around to 12-step rooms long before you hear that relapse is a part of Recovery. I tend to add a little mental note that it doesn't have to be. I have an old-timer friend who thinks it best if this particular slogan isn't broadcast too loudly because it's almost like giving newcomers an excuse to go back out and get loaded. I've heard it said, too, that you can't truly relapse if you haven't worked all the steps. I'm not sure I buy that.
My personal experience is that, no, relapse does not have to be a part of Recovery. I've been in plenty of meetings across the different fellowships where members have talked about how relapse isn't a part of their story. It's not part of mine either, but I don't talk very often about that. For starters, it could become part of my story at any point. For another, just because I haven't relapsed doesn't mean I'm better than anyone else in the program. It doesn't mean I'm less of an addict, or ordained by God, or anything else. It just is.
I have the disease. I'm always going to have it; I am never cured. What I get is a daily reprieve, based solely on how much I work to maintain my spiritual condition. Each day, I get exactly as much Recovery as I need to get through without getting loaded. I work the program one day at a time, staying in the moment as best I can. But I still have the disease, which means (among other things) that I am not supposed to be clean and sober. Everything we know about addiction tells us that addicts can't stop themselves from getting loaded--it's the definition of being addicted. We can't just stop. We can't 'just say no'.
Relapse IS a part of Recovery for many of us. And when we do relapse, it is so tempting to just give up, to say 'fuck it' and to hell with it all. Finding the courage to walk back into the rooms after a relapse is one of the most difficult things in the world. When we do, though, we aren't shunned. No one looks down their noses. We receive the same loving support we got when we first stepped in. A fellow member of my homegroup likes to say that we don't shoot our wounded. When someone relapses and then comes back to meetings, it's a miracle in and of itself because so many don't make it back. Their disease takes over. They fall back into the old patterns with a vengeance. And then they die.
If you've relapsed, it doesn't mean the program can't work for you, it just means that you're still an addict or alcoholic. No more, no less. You're supposed to get loaded. So the disease won for a day? So what? It doesn't mean you can't win today, or tomorrow or the day after that. Relapse doesn't have to be part of Recovery, but it is for a lot of us. We're human beings, perfectly imperfect.
In Recovery, every day is a new day.
My personal experience is that, no, relapse does not have to be a part of Recovery. I've been in plenty of meetings across the different fellowships where members have talked about how relapse isn't a part of their story. It's not part of mine either, but I don't talk very often about that. For starters, it could become part of my story at any point. For another, just because I haven't relapsed doesn't mean I'm better than anyone else in the program. It doesn't mean I'm less of an addict, or ordained by God, or anything else. It just is.
I have the disease. I'm always going to have it; I am never cured. What I get is a daily reprieve, based solely on how much I work to maintain my spiritual condition. Each day, I get exactly as much Recovery as I need to get through without getting loaded. I work the program one day at a time, staying in the moment as best I can. But I still have the disease, which means (among other things) that I am not supposed to be clean and sober. Everything we know about addiction tells us that addicts can't stop themselves from getting loaded--it's the definition of being addicted. We can't just stop. We can't 'just say no'.
Relapse IS a part of Recovery for many of us. And when we do relapse, it is so tempting to just give up, to say 'fuck it' and to hell with it all. Finding the courage to walk back into the rooms after a relapse is one of the most difficult things in the world. When we do, though, we aren't shunned. No one looks down their noses. We receive the same loving support we got when we first stepped in. A fellow member of my homegroup likes to say that we don't shoot our wounded. When someone relapses and then comes back to meetings, it's a miracle in and of itself because so many don't make it back. Their disease takes over. They fall back into the old patterns with a vengeance. And then they die.
If you've relapsed, it doesn't mean the program can't work for you, it just means that you're still an addict or alcoholic. No more, no less. You're supposed to get loaded. So the disease won for a day? So what? It doesn't mean you can't win today, or tomorrow or the day after that. Relapse doesn't have to be part of Recovery, but it is for a lot of us. We're human beings, perfectly imperfect.
In Recovery, every day is a new day.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
"Life Isn't Always Exciting"
I'm having a cup of joe at my favorite coffee shop, sitting outside on the patio, and listening to my brain. I'm listening to the world around me, too. It's a Sunday afternoon. Traffic on the street is light. The occasional cyclist flows by. Music drifts out from the open door of the cafe.
I've had several conversations lately with friends and family about how things are going. I keep coming up with the same answer, that things are mostly just fine. I could find reasons to complain--still being out of work, missing an ex, or the fear that I might not ever find a woman to be with for the long-term. There are good things, too. I'm pleased with my recent redecorating of my bedroom, I continue to get better at shooting pool, and I am excited about the music projects I'm working on with other artists.
All those things feel like mere blips on the radar, occasional spikes in an overall even line. One thing about doing the work to create a calm life for myself is that life is now calm. It sounds a little silly, doesn't it? I worked so hard to reduce and remove chaos from my life, but I'm still not used to a life without drama. I am grateful for my new life, for the lack of insanity, but there's still this holdover that somehow I'm not living life to the fullest if things aren't bonkers. Thankfully, I can recognize that as the disease speaking to me, never ceasing in its constant quest to take me out of the moment and make me focus not on what is but what isn't.
It's so easy to forget that life is good. I know some people in Recovery become totally filled with an amazing sense of peace and contentment. I do feel that way at times, but there are also lots of times where I'm sitting in the middle; things are neither good nor bad, they just are. I can look at the whole of my life, focus on the bad or the good, but overall there is a balance. A metaphor comes to my mind--a balanced see-saw doesn't rock.
My Recovery is a powerful force in my mind, though. It kicks in automatically when situations call for it, definitely, but it also shows up in other less urgent moments. When I think about being lonely, that I'll never find a woman to share my life with, it asks me questions back: "is that really so bad? Do you really need a woman in your life in order to be happy?" And I know the answer is 'no'. I think about this desire I have to do something great with my life, and my Recovery plays back a whole list of great things I have already done, people whose lives I have touched. And I know that my time here on the planet hasn't been wasted.
Even right now, in this moment. I was feeling a little down about how even, perhaps boring, life often can be, and what happens? A blog comes out of me and I feel better. Recovery has created in me a force for feeling better. Call it God whispering in my heart, call it the improving skill of practicing the spiritual life, call it nothing more than improved self-esteem. It is all of those things, and more. It is self-love, continuing to grow and well up within me. My skill at recognizing when I am not centered, and then centering myself, gets better and better as time continues to pass.
I think I'll go home and mix.
I've had several conversations lately with friends and family about how things are going. I keep coming up with the same answer, that things are mostly just fine. I could find reasons to complain--still being out of work, missing an ex, or the fear that I might not ever find a woman to be with for the long-term. There are good things, too. I'm pleased with my recent redecorating of my bedroom, I continue to get better at shooting pool, and I am excited about the music projects I'm working on with other artists.
All those things feel like mere blips on the radar, occasional spikes in an overall even line. One thing about doing the work to create a calm life for myself is that life is now calm. It sounds a little silly, doesn't it? I worked so hard to reduce and remove chaos from my life, but I'm still not used to a life without drama. I am grateful for my new life, for the lack of insanity, but there's still this holdover that somehow I'm not living life to the fullest if things aren't bonkers. Thankfully, I can recognize that as the disease speaking to me, never ceasing in its constant quest to take me out of the moment and make me focus not on what is but what isn't.
It's so easy to forget that life is good. I know some people in Recovery become totally filled with an amazing sense of peace and contentment. I do feel that way at times, but there are also lots of times where I'm sitting in the middle; things are neither good nor bad, they just are. I can look at the whole of my life, focus on the bad or the good, but overall there is a balance. A metaphor comes to my mind--a balanced see-saw doesn't rock.
My Recovery is a powerful force in my mind, though. It kicks in automatically when situations call for it, definitely, but it also shows up in other less urgent moments. When I think about being lonely, that I'll never find a woman to share my life with, it asks me questions back: "is that really so bad? Do you really need a woman in your life in order to be happy?" And I know the answer is 'no'. I think about this desire I have to do something great with my life, and my Recovery plays back a whole list of great things I have already done, people whose lives I have touched. And I know that my time here on the planet hasn't been wasted.
Even right now, in this moment. I was feeling a little down about how even, perhaps boring, life often can be, and what happens? A blog comes out of me and I feel better. Recovery has created in me a force for feeling better. Call it God whispering in my heart, call it the improving skill of practicing the spiritual life, call it nothing more than improved self-esteem. It is all of those things, and more. It is self-love, continuing to grow and well up within me. My skill at recognizing when I am not centered, and then centering myself, gets better and better as time continues to pass.
I think I'll go home and mix.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
"No Frontsies"
I’ve heard people in Recovery talk about the need to approach others with an unconditional positive regard. This subject (in a way) came up in my social psychology class this week. The class was talking about the movement in education and child-rearing toward showering children with positive comments: “you're the greatest”, “you can do anything”, etc. The professor said that this can help a child’s self-esteem, but most of the time what happens instead is the kids get this positive message at home, then go out into the world and discover that it isn’t true. Instead of learning good self-esteem, what they learn is that their parents are liars.
I heard this comment and thought, “welcome to my world.”
With the best of intentions, my parents told me all sorts of things along those lines. I got the distinct message that I was special. Then I went out into the world and couldn’t understand why the world didn’t recognize my special-ness. I mean, fuck, didn’t they know who I am?!
It took some time and some hard knocks for life to beat into me how only people who actually ARE special are lifted up, not just those who think they are or whose mommy’s told them so. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not shitting on the idea of supporting your kids. Praising them for their success is important. So is telling them you’re proud of their achievements. No, what I object to is lavish praise and reward without merit. Why? Long-time readers... all together now...
It’s dishonest.
Why do so many people think the world owes them something? Because they’ve learned that they will receive rewards for doing nothing, or at least very little. Some people think that folks pull harder when they’re part of a team (the psych analogy talks about a tug-of-war) but the real truth is that people don’t work as hard when part of a team, not the other way around. But I digress.
I’m usually of the opinion that honesty is the best policy--regardless. Even if it’s your kids. If I ever am fortunate enough to have children of my own, their mother and I will no doubt have some seriously heated debates about Santa Claus. Honesty is hard, of course it is, but I truly believe that it is always possible to be honest. We don’t have to sugarcoat things. We can find a way to speak truths to each other in love. Telling kids that they’re the best? Not good, in my book. Telling them that if they work hard they can be the best? Also not the greatest idea. So how about telling your children that all they can do is their best, and that that is the ideal to strive for.
I was talking with one of my sponsees the other day about this idea of perfection, and he made the comment about how, growing up, he was taught that he should always do his best, but that his best was expected to be ‘perfect’. I told him there is only one ‘perfect’ of which I am aware--his higher power.
When I was a kid, I was terrible at sports. I played soccer during the summers, and no matter what our team placed in competition, we all ended up with trophies at the end of the season. Everyone on the team got the same trophy, which meant that I got the same trophy as the kid who had scored the most goals even though I never scored a single one. I hated those damn trophies.
In the rooms of Recovery, we don’t get trophies. We get keychains and sobriety tokens. And we get them only when we have done the hard work and achieved the actual goal. I’m a firm believer in ‘no frontsies’. If someone announces they have a sobriety birthday coming up in the next few days, I nod politely but I don’t clap. When their birthday has passed, when they have reached that milestone and walk up to receive the small token of reward, then I praise them.
I heard this comment and thought, “welcome to my world.”
With the best of intentions, my parents told me all sorts of things along those lines. I got the distinct message that I was special. Then I went out into the world and couldn’t understand why the world didn’t recognize my special-ness. I mean, fuck, didn’t they know who I am?!
It took some time and some hard knocks for life to beat into me how only people who actually ARE special are lifted up, not just those who think they are or whose mommy’s told them so. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not shitting on the idea of supporting your kids. Praising them for their success is important. So is telling them you’re proud of their achievements. No, what I object to is lavish praise and reward without merit. Why? Long-time readers... all together now...
It’s dishonest.
Why do so many people think the world owes them something? Because they’ve learned that they will receive rewards for doing nothing, or at least very little. Some people think that folks pull harder when they’re part of a team (the psych analogy talks about a tug-of-war) but the real truth is that people don’t work as hard when part of a team, not the other way around. But I digress.
I’m usually of the opinion that honesty is the best policy--regardless. Even if it’s your kids. If I ever am fortunate enough to have children of my own, their mother and I will no doubt have some seriously heated debates about Santa Claus. Honesty is hard, of course it is, but I truly believe that it is always possible to be honest. We don’t have to sugarcoat things. We can find a way to speak truths to each other in love. Telling kids that they’re the best? Not good, in my book. Telling them that if they work hard they can be the best? Also not the greatest idea. So how about telling your children that all they can do is their best, and that that is the ideal to strive for.
I was talking with one of my sponsees the other day about this idea of perfection, and he made the comment about how, growing up, he was taught that he should always do his best, but that his best was expected to be ‘perfect’. I told him there is only one ‘perfect’ of which I am aware--his higher power.
When I was a kid, I was terrible at sports. I played soccer during the summers, and no matter what our team placed in competition, we all ended up with trophies at the end of the season. Everyone on the team got the same trophy, which meant that I got the same trophy as the kid who had scored the most goals even though I never scored a single one. I hated those damn trophies.
In the rooms of Recovery, we don’t get trophies. We get keychains and sobriety tokens. And we get them only when we have done the hard work and achieved the actual goal. I’m a firm believer in ‘no frontsies’. If someone announces they have a sobriety birthday coming up in the next few days, I nod politely but I don’t clap. When their birthday has passed, when they have reached that milestone and walk up to receive the small token of reward, then I praise them.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
"Back At School"
It's about 8:30 am. I'm back at school, starting today, with a full day ahead of me. It's the next step in the long-term goal of becomming a therapist. This semester it's three classes--Statistics, Social Psychology, and Issues of Diverse populations. First class starts at nine. The parking here in the morning can be a real zoo, but I hauled my lazy-ass out of bed and made it here by a little after eight. Not bad for a jobless recovering addict.
I'm feeling alright. I took some meditation/prayer time this morning to check in and discovered I was feeling pretty good, centered. It feels good to have something of a schedule, even if rising from my bed this early tends to put me on the cranky side of things. I'm hopeful that I'll have some better teachers this time around, and am a bit more optimistic and my subjects. It's back to just Psychology.
I think I'll update throughout the day here. Mainly cause my brain isn't quite up and running yet. And it's pretty cold right now.
***
Two classes down, one to go. I've got a two-hour break right now and I'm trying to decide if it's worth it to me to go home and come back. Probably not. I was waitlisted for these first two classes and got into both. I like both the teachers and I feel myself cheering up at being back to studying psychology. I really enjoy it a lot. Having good teachers leads me to a big 'thankyoujesus' sigh as well. It's frustrating as hell to sit through a bad instructor.
Not much to say about the second class--Social Psych. It was packed, but the instructor said he's going to add everyone. I'll have to be sure to get there early enough to get a seat. The first class, Statistcs, that one was interesting. Not because of the class.
Waiting outside, I bumped into an ex-girlfriend. Haven't seen her in a while. Maybe a year. And we didn't part on good terms. But we were friendly to each other, polite. The conversation wasn't terribly deep, and that's okay. Nice to see that I continue to grow and mature. It occured to me to ask her if she was still seing my ex-best friend, but I just let that idea pass out of my mind as soon as it came in. It doesn't really matter anyway. Things in the past can stay in the past. Maybe time has healed that wound better than I thought it had.
When I sat down, I noticed the girl in front of me. Not because she was good looking (she was okay) but because I spotted her as a cutter. She was dressed very... I don't know, average. Slightly dumpy. With a gray knit hat on her head. On her arms though, were elaborate, laced braces. Black, a few items of silver jewelery attached. I didn't stare or speak to her or anything, just noticed them. I suppose it's always possible that she wears them to cover up scars, maybe even suicide attempt scars, or maybe some other reason entirely, but the energy I felt was very much that of a cutter. I wonder how many other people out there would recognize it? Other cutters, I'm sure, would pick it up. Normal folks, people who've never harmed themselves, wouldn't have the faintest clue.
It's been a long time since I burned cigarettes against my legs, but I still understand that self-mutilation impulse. I still have about a dozen scars, with more which have faded. I've talked to others who harm themselves about it. I tell them how I hope the scars never fully go away. They are a reminder to me of what it used to be like and how far I've come. And they show others who do the same, that they aren't alone and that someone else understands.
I'm feeling alright. I took some meditation/prayer time this morning to check in and discovered I was feeling pretty good, centered. It feels good to have something of a schedule, even if rising from my bed this early tends to put me on the cranky side of things. I'm hopeful that I'll have some better teachers this time around, and am a bit more optimistic and my subjects. It's back to just Psychology.
I think I'll update throughout the day here. Mainly cause my brain isn't quite up and running yet. And it's pretty cold right now.
***
Two classes down, one to go. I've got a two-hour break right now and I'm trying to decide if it's worth it to me to go home and come back. Probably not. I was waitlisted for these first two classes and got into both. I like both the teachers and I feel myself cheering up at being back to studying psychology. I really enjoy it a lot. Having good teachers leads me to a big 'thankyoujesus' sigh as well. It's frustrating as hell to sit through a bad instructor.
Not much to say about the second class--Social Psych. It was packed, but the instructor said he's going to add everyone. I'll have to be sure to get there early enough to get a seat. The first class, Statistcs, that one was interesting. Not because of the class.
Waiting outside, I bumped into an ex-girlfriend. Haven't seen her in a while. Maybe a year. And we didn't part on good terms. But we were friendly to each other, polite. The conversation wasn't terribly deep, and that's okay. Nice to see that I continue to grow and mature. It occured to me to ask her if she was still seing my ex-best friend, but I just let that idea pass out of my mind as soon as it came in. It doesn't really matter anyway. Things in the past can stay in the past. Maybe time has healed that wound better than I thought it had.
When I sat down, I noticed the girl in front of me. Not because she was good looking (she was okay) but because I spotted her as a cutter. She was dressed very... I don't know, average. Slightly dumpy. With a gray knit hat on her head. On her arms though, were elaborate, laced braces. Black, a few items of silver jewelery attached. I didn't stare or speak to her or anything, just noticed them. I suppose it's always possible that she wears them to cover up scars, maybe even suicide attempt scars, or maybe some other reason entirely, but the energy I felt was very much that of a cutter. I wonder how many other people out there would recognize it? Other cutters, I'm sure, would pick it up. Normal folks, people who've never harmed themselves, wouldn't have the faintest clue.
It's been a long time since I burned cigarettes against my legs, but I still understand that self-mutilation impulse. I still have about a dozen scars, with more which have faded. I've talked to others who harm themselves about it. I tell them how I hope the scars never fully go away. They are a reminder to me of what it used to be like and how far I've come. And they show others who do the same, that they aren't alone and that someone else understands.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
“My God Does Not Have A Penis”
Hehe. Yep, that really is my blog title for this entry.
For those who don’t read this blog often enough to know, I am what some would describe as a hippie commie pinko liberal. Fortunately, my political beliefs have been tempered by a strong spiritual practice and I no longer go around telling others what morons they are for believing differently than I do. I’ve even managed to ascend to the wizened level of someone who can accept others’ beliefs and allow myself discourse and debate about ideas I hold precious. I can even do it with those who feel the opposite as I do, all without feeling the need to convince them they’re wrong or feeling my own beliefs threatened.
In other words, I am free to be me and others are free to be themselves. It is the strength I gain from letting others be themselves that gives me the confidence to be myself.
One thing I disagree with is those who refer to God as a ‘him’. I know that for many people, the image of a God-The-Father is a deeply held perspective. To them, He is their true Father, the highest authority in their life. They must obey Him, follow His word, do as He says to do, etc. I suppose, for the record, I need to say that I don‘t like referring to God as a woman either. If I were to call God a woman, I’d be making exactly the same mistake. I’d be attributing human characteristics to something that I don't think of as merely human.
For some, the image of a male God, a God-The-Father, is offensive. I think most often of women who were raped, molested, or abused by their own fathers. To a lesser extent, some reject the idea of an authority figure who hands down instructions from on high. I tend to fall into this category; I’m not fond of authority figures in general. I tend to believe we are all equal and that no one person is better than another for any reason. This includes: wealth, power, spiritual advanced-ness, and so on. I feel very strongly that a lot of the problems in the world stem from the idea of rankism--that “I am better than you because [reason]”.
My higher power is not male. My higher power isn’t even really both male and female. The God I believe in doesn’t exist up in Heaven. The God I believe in is in me, in you, in the trees, the sky, the chair, the carpet, and the air circling around us and through our lungs. We are in God and God is in us. My higher power is a God that is everywhere, always, in all things.
I still feel that one of the most amazing and powerful aspects of the 12-step program is that it doesn’t simply allow for but in fact encourages us to discover a God of our own understanding. That’s just plain genius, in my opinion. And, ironically enough, in learning the history of Alcoholics Anonymous, I’ve discovered that it was the atheist members in the early days that insisted on that language.
My higher power is an Infinite All. It works for me. What someone else believes is of little consequence. I have a higher power working in my life. I enjoy sharing with others about what each of our relationships with our higher power is like. I’ve no need to force anyone else to believe as I do. If it works for you to have a God with a penis, then fine. As long as it works for you, that’s the point: to allow ourselves to be guided by a loving higher power. Our relationship with that higher power is going to be as individualized as we are.
For those who don’t read this blog often enough to know, I am what some would describe as a hippie commie pinko liberal. Fortunately, my political beliefs have been tempered by a strong spiritual practice and I no longer go around telling others what morons they are for believing differently than I do. I’ve even managed to ascend to the wizened level of someone who can accept others’ beliefs and allow myself discourse and debate about ideas I hold precious. I can even do it with those who feel the opposite as I do, all without feeling the need to convince them they’re wrong or feeling my own beliefs threatened.
In other words, I am free to be me and others are free to be themselves. It is the strength I gain from letting others be themselves that gives me the confidence to be myself.
One thing I disagree with is those who refer to God as a ‘him’. I know that for many people, the image of a God-The-Father is a deeply held perspective. To them, He is their true Father, the highest authority in their life. They must obey Him, follow His word, do as He says to do, etc. I suppose, for the record, I need to say that I don‘t like referring to God as a woman either. If I were to call God a woman, I’d be making exactly the same mistake. I’d be attributing human characteristics to something that I don't think of as merely human.
For some, the image of a male God, a God-The-Father, is offensive. I think most often of women who were raped, molested, or abused by their own fathers. To a lesser extent, some reject the idea of an authority figure who hands down instructions from on high. I tend to fall into this category; I’m not fond of authority figures in general. I tend to believe we are all equal and that no one person is better than another for any reason. This includes: wealth, power, spiritual advanced-ness, and so on. I feel very strongly that a lot of the problems in the world stem from the idea of rankism--that “I am better than you because [reason]”.
My higher power is not male. My higher power isn’t even really both male and female. The God I believe in doesn’t exist up in Heaven. The God I believe in is in me, in you, in the trees, the sky, the chair, the carpet, and the air circling around us and through our lungs. We are in God and God is in us. My higher power is a God that is everywhere, always, in all things.
I still feel that one of the most amazing and powerful aspects of the 12-step program is that it doesn’t simply allow for but in fact encourages us to discover a God of our own understanding. That’s just plain genius, in my opinion. And, ironically enough, in learning the history of Alcoholics Anonymous, I’ve discovered that it was the atheist members in the early days that insisted on that language.
My higher power is an Infinite All. It works for me. What someone else believes is of little consequence. I have a higher power working in my life. I enjoy sharing with others about what each of our relationships with our higher power is like. I’ve no need to force anyone else to believe as I do. If it works for you to have a God with a penis, then fine. As long as it works for you, that’s the point: to allow ourselves to be guided by a loving higher power. Our relationship with that higher power is going to be as individualized as we are.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
“Lil’ Pink Cloud”
My sister likes this comic strip called ‘Mutts’. It’s about a pet dog and cat. I’ve seen it and I admit, it is pretty darn cute. One of the recurring themes in it is the cat’s favorite toy--a little pink sock. Maybe readers of the strip will know the history of why the sock is special or where it comes from. I don’t, but I’ve certainly seen a cat go crazy about a special sock. Way too cute. Anyway, whenever the cat plays with it, it sings this song about “Lil’ Pink Sock”. The cat is happy, filled with deep purpose, totally consumed and content with its sock.
It reminds me a little of a saying we have in Recovery about being on a “Pink Cloud”. It’s the phrase we use to describe how it feels to be new in Recovery, on fire for the program, and jazzed beyond words for how it feels to be living clean and sober for the first time. It's kind of like being in love.
I don’t remember too much of my pink cloud. I won’t pretend that I didn’t have one, it’s just that in those early days, I was still detoxing. The world was still much of a haze to me until all the stuff had finally worked its way out of my system. I do remember being quick to point out others’ faults and having the amazing ability to tell when someone else was an addict/alcoholic. Which is to say, I thought everyone was one and needed to work a 12-step program. Ah, hubris. Thank God for other people in the program who were there to teach me not to take others’ inventory. Thank God for the patience of those in my life who were patient with me until I’d calmed down into a more balanced perspective.
The pink cloud isn’t dangerous, per se, but it can be. Until we have worked through the steps, we still haven’t been restored to sanity. We don’t have enough experience dealing with life on life’s terms, with a sober perspective, to have good judgment yet. We are looking at the world through rose colored glasses. The disease is still in us, shaping our thoughts. We've only just begun to practice the principles of the program. But a little Recovery can set us on fire to the point that we think we know everything--or even just a few little things--for certain.
I’ve heard newcomers share about the excitement they feel, how great it is to be sober, how grateful they are for the program and all it has done for them. Which cracks me up. It’s awesome to hear someone talk about how on fire they are for Recovery, but when they talk about how they’re so on fire for it that they’re in it for life, I have to make sure I don’t laugh. Because if someone is talking about how they’re in it for life, they’re totally missing the point. This is a one day at a time program. Period. We don’t try to stay sober for life; we don’t try to work the program ‘til the end of our days.
We work the program on a daily basis. The program teaches us how to be in the moment, how to live in the now. It teaches us, too, that it’s not our place to proselytize. It’s not our job to determine what’s right for anyone else--just for ourselves. The Big Book of AA is very clear on this. We have not found ‘the’ way, only ‘a’ way. Our approach to others who suffer from the disease is not to say to them, “hey, you need to work the program!” It’s to say, “you know, I tried this thing and it worked for me. If you’re interested, I’d be happy to talk to you about it.”
The pink cloud doesn’t last (nothing does--‘this, too, shall pass’). Coming down from the pink cloud can be every bit as rough as coming down from a high, or having a wretched hangover. That’s when the real difficulty comes; that’s when we truly need the program. The newness fades, and we start putting the teachings of the program into practice. That’s when we find ourselves tested. We learn that we must reaffirm our commitment to the sober lifestyle on a daily basis.
Recovery is a journey. It’s a path that one walks, a path full of discovery. It is the path of the full range of human emotions and experiences. We can feel the highest highs, the deepest lows, and get through all of it without getting loaded. When the pink cloud fades, we discover that it is damn hard. And then it gets worse. Then it gets a little better. Then it gets a whole lot worse. Eventually, we start the slow climb of getting better. And if we stay on the path, we will keep climbing.
It reminds me a little of a saying we have in Recovery about being on a “Pink Cloud”. It’s the phrase we use to describe how it feels to be new in Recovery, on fire for the program, and jazzed beyond words for how it feels to be living clean and sober for the first time. It's kind of like being in love.
I don’t remember too much of my pink cloud. I won’t pretend that I didn’t have one, it’s just that in those early days, I was still detoxing. The world was still much of a haze to me until all the stuff had finally worked its way out of my system. I do remember being quick to point out others’ faults and having the amazing ability to tell when someone else was an addict/alcoholic. Which is to say, I thought everyone was one and needed to work a 12-step program. Ah, hubris. Thank God for other people in the program who were there to teach me not to take others’ inventory. Thank God for the patience of those in my life who were patient with me until I’d calmed down into a more balanced perspective.
The pink cloud isn’t dangerous, per se, but it can be. Until we have worked through the steps, we still haven’t been restored to sanity. We don’t have enough experience dealing with life on life’s terms, with a sober perspective, to have good judgment yet. We are looking at the world through rose colored glasses. The disease is still in us, shaping our thoughts. We've only just begun to practice the principles of the program. But a little Recovery can set us on fire to the point that we think we know everything--or even just a few little things--for certain.
I’ve heard newcomers share about the excitement they feel, how great it is to be sober, how grateful they are for the program and all it has done for them. Which cracks me up. It’s awesome to hear someone talk about how on fire they are for Recovery, but when they talk about how they’re so on fire for it that they’re in it for life, I have to make sure I don’t laugh. Because if someone is talking about how they’re in it for life, they’re totally missing the point. This is a one day at a time program. Period. We don’t try to stay sober for life; we don’t try to work the program ‘til the end of our days.
We work the program on a daily basis. The program teaches us how to be in the moment, how to live in the now. It teaches us, too, that it’s not our place to proselytize. It’s not our job to determine what’s right for anyone else--just for ourselves. The Big Book of AA is very clear on this. We have not found ‘the’ way, only ‘a’ way. Our approach to others who suffer from the disease is not to say to them, “hey, you need to work the program!” It’s to say, “you know, I tried this thing and it worked for me. If you’re interested, I’d be happy to talk to you about it.”
The pink cloud doesn’t last (nothing does--‘this, too, shall pass’). Coming down from the pink cloud can be every bit as rough as coming down from a high, or having a wretched hangover. That’s when the real difficulty comes; that’s when we truly need the program. The newness fades, and we start putting the teachings of the program into practice. That’s when we find ourselves tested. We learn that we must reaffirm our commitment to the sober lifestyle on a daily basis.
Recovery is a journey. It’s a path that one walks, a path full of discovery. It is the path of the full range of human emotions and experiences. We can feel the highest highs, the deepest lows, and get through all of it without getting loaded. When the pink cloud fades, we discover that it is damn hard. And then it gets worse. Then it gets a little better. Then it gets a whole lot worse. Eventually, we start the slow climb of getting better. And if we stay on the path, we will keep climbing.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
"Powerless vs. Powerful"
A friend of mine has a great quote on their facebook page. It’s been around a while, and I’ve seen it before. It talks about how our deepest fear isn't that we aren’t good enough, but that we are in fact powerful beyond our wildest dreams. I’ve seen different versions of this. My friend’s talks about how each of us has a light that shines with infinite brightness and how it doesn't do us or the world around us any good to hide our brilliance. And when we embrace the fullness of our beings, we inspire others to do the same.
At a recent book study meeting, we went over Step Seven. I talked about being right-sized before God and how, for me, that has meant not only giving up my character defects, but also embracing my strengths. For me, these two things don’t just go hand in hand, but are one and the same. My greatest defect is still my own sense of low self-worth.
I do believe very strongly in this idea that we all have the light of our higher power shining through us. It is the brightness of our true being--our spiritual selves. One of the things I love so much about Christian Gnosticism is they had the same concept. We are all spiritual beings experiencing reality as humans. “The kingdom of God is within you and all around you,” to quote the Gospel of Thomas. God (or whatever word you choose to talk about your higher power) is not something separate from us, nor us from it. God is a part of us and we are a part of God.
We have free will. We can choose to live our lives in any way we wish. To me, that’s the ultimate proof of God’s love for us. We can chose to live in the world on our own, doing it our way. For those of us with this disease, well, as the old saying goes, “That way lay madness.” We’ve learned too well that living life according to our own will can have disastrous consequences. Orienting ourselves with the power greater than ourselves, that’s when our spiritual energy flows. Instead of discord, there is harmony. Instead of chaos, there is peace and serenity.
Personally, I don’t always enjoy being reminded that I’m a child of God and deserve all the best. I spent many, many years considering myself the lowest of the low. I had some serious indoctrination when I was growing up that it’s bad to think good things about myself. And I’m not just talking about the religious influence, either. A lot of it came from being teased so much by other kids, from being different and not being able to relate. Giving up the idea that I’m not worth the air I breathe is still a struggle for me. Thanks to the program, it’s light-years better than it was, of course, but I won’t sit here and act like it’s not still an issue.
My sponsor is a big believer in balance, and that is what works best for me. Stay away from indulging the ego, keep trying to live according to God’s will and not my own. But also remember that I am a child of the Infinite All, that I am loved, precious, distinct and unique, with a value no one else shares. There is no other me in the world, and if I don’t let the light of my soul shine, it won’t be seen.
I am still powerless over my addiction; I still have the spiritual malady. I cannot be cured of the disease, but I can align myself with my higher power. I have the choice to live by spiritual principles and allow the brightness of my true self to shine. As do we all.
At a recent book study meeting, we went over Step Seven. I talked about being right-sized before God and how, for me, that has meant not only giving up my character defects, but also embracing my strengths. For me, these two things don’t just go hand in hand, but are one and the same. My greatest defect is still my own sense of low self-worth.
I do believe very strongly in this idea that we all have the light of our higher power shining through us. It is the brightness of our true being--our spiritual selves. One of the things I love so much about Christian Gnosticism is they had the same concept. We are all spiritual beings experiencing reality as humans. “The kingdom of God is within you and all around you,” to quote the Gospel of Thomas. God (or whatever word you choose to talk about your higher power) is not something separate from us, nor us from it. God is a part of us and we are a part of God.
We have free will. We can choose to live our lives in any way we wish. To me, that’s the ultimate proof of God’s love for us. We can chose to live in the world on our own, doing it our way. For those of us with this disease, well, as the old saying goes, “That way lay madness.” We’ve learned too well that living life according to our own will can have disastrous consequences. Orienting ourselves with the power greater than ourselves, that’s when our spiritual energy flows. Instead of discord, there is harmony. Instead of chaos, there is peace and serenity.
Personally, I don’t always enjoy being reminded that I’m a child of God and deserve all the best. I spent many, many years considering myself the lowest of the low. I had some serious indoctrination when I was growing up that it’s bad to think good things about myself. And I’m not just talking about the religious influence, either. A lot of it came from being teased so much by other kids, from being different and not being able to relate. Giving up the idea that I’m not worth the air I breathe is still a struggle for me. Thanks to the program, it’s light-years better than it was, of course, but I won’t sit here and act like it’s not still an issue.
My sponsor is a big believer in balance, and that is what works best for me. Stay away from indulging the ego, keep trying to live according to God’s will and not my own. But also remember that I am a child of the Infinite All, that I am loved, precious, distinct and unique, with a value no one else shares. There is no other me in the world, and if I don’t let the light of my soul shine, it won’t be seen.
I am still powerless over my addiction; I still have the spiritual malady. I cannot be cured of the disease, but I can align myself with my higher power. I have the choice to live by spiritual principles and allow the brightness of my true self to shine. As do we all.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
"Different Truths"
Yesterday, I was listening to a radio show. The guest was talking about different kinds of truths. One thing she said really struck me. I don't remember exactly how she put it, so I won't try to quote her, but she was saying that for artists the truth is more squirrelly. For some people the truth is clear-cut, simple, crystal clear. For artistic types (yes, I include myself in this group) it's more malleable. It reminded me of a line from one of my favorite movies, 'V For Vendetta'--artists tell lies to express the truth while politicians tell lies to cover it up.
Something I've learned in my life is that there isn't 'one' truth. What we consider to be 'true' depends so much on our own perspective. As a writer, I express in this blog the truths I discover in my life on a day to day basis. Undoubtedly, there are any number of people who disagree with me on any given point. We all have our own perspective on life; we all see the world in different ways. Sometimes this difference is small, sometimes enormous. But I tend to keep this idea in mind, that what is true for me might not be true for others. I'm not out to beat anyone over the head with what I think is right. The thoughts I write here are what I think, and if they are helpful to others, if other people enjoy reading them and find wisdom in these words, that is enough for me.
In my music, the idea of truth doesn't come up so much. Lately, my music has been instrumental--no words--but there is an emotional truth that I attempt to express. It's a different kind of truth, one of feeling instead of knowledge. I'm not a painter, but it seems to me that the visual artists have lots of choice when it comes to expressing truth. They can paint a picture of something real, or from something imaginary in their mind. They can paint a realistic portrait of someone who doesn't exist, or they can paint a distorted image of something real. I have written some fiction. Short stories, a couple novels. And it's in those times where the whole 'truth' idea gets twisted up in a fascinating way.
If you think about it for a moment, a fictional story is nothing more than a pack of lies. It's a story totally made up. Now, the author may draw from their own experiences to populate the pages of their work, but it's still exactly what it claims to be--a work of fiction. And yet, from those fictional words and sentences can emerge amazing truths. Truths about who we are, what it means to be human, about the world around us, and on and on. I've known many people who've cried at the death of a beloved character. Movies and TV can do the same thing to us. We are moved on intellectual and emotional levels by the 'truth' of what we've read or seen.
In the program, our path to discovering truth begins with Honesty. I remember, when still active in my addiction, one of the few times I went dry. I only made it a few days. Without the numbing effects of my substances, I was faced with several overwhelming truths I did not want to look at. I was miserable. I hated life. I hated the world. I didn't want to be with my wife. I hated myself. One of the reasons I was always loaded was specifically so I didn't have to face those truths. I didn't know how to deal with any of them. It was a relief to go back to the abyss of being numb.
I'm not going to say that it's comfortable bliss to fold myself up into truth and honesty. Sometimes it feels great. Sometimes it hurts like hell. I will say, though, that it does beat the alternative. There are no lasting truths to be found in being loaded all the time. As I've said before, the deep insights I had when getting high, I'm pretty sure now that I was just high. And in any event, I don't remember any of them.
When we work the steps, we start applying spiritual principles to our lives and truths are revealed to us. The first is that we have the disease. We admit to our deepest selves a fundamental truth about ourselves. We take more steps and learn more principles. We learn hope and faith and courage, and we learn more about the truth of who we are, how we have treated others and let them treat us. We practice integrity, willingness, love, justice, and forgiveness, and we learn that it is possible for people to change. We keep working the program and we discover the truth of how it feels to be free.
Something I've learned in my life is that there isn't 'one' truth. What we consider to be 'true' depends so much on our own perspective. As a writer, I express in this blog the truths I discover in my life on a day to day basis. Undoubtedly, there are any number of people who disagree with me on any given point. We all have our own perspective on life; we all see the world in different ways. Sometimes this difference is small, sometimes enormous. But I tend to keep this idea in mind, that what is true for me might not be true for others. I'm not out to beat anyone over the head with what I think is right. The thoughts I write here are what I think, and if they are helpful to others, if other people enjoy reading them and find wisdom in these words, that is enough for me.
In my music, the idea of truth doesn't come up so much. Lately, my music has been instrumental--no words--but there is an emotional truth that I attempt to express. It's a different kind of truth, one of feeling instead of knowledge. I'm not a painter, but it seems to me that the visual artists have lots of choice when it comes to expressing truth. They can paint a picture of something real, or from something imaginary in their mind. They can paint a realistic portrait of someone who doesn't exist, or they can paint a distorted image of something real. I have written some fiction. Short stories, a couple novels. And it's in those times where the whole 'truth' idea gets twisted up in a fascinating way.
If you think about it for a moment, a fictional story is nothing more than a pack of lies. It's a story totally made up. Now, the author may draw from their own experiences to populate the pages of their work, but it's still exactly what it claims to be--a work of fiction. And yet, from those fictional words and sentences can emerge amazing truths. Truths about who we are, what it means to be human, about the world around us, and on and on. I've known many people who've cried at the death of a beloved character. Movies and TV can do the same thing to us. We are moved on intellectual and emotional levels by the 'truth' of what we've read or seen.
In the program, our path to discovering truth begins with Honesty. I remember, when still active in my addiction, one of the few times I went dry. I only made it a few days. Without the numbing effects of my substances, I was faced with several overwhelming truths I did not want to look at. I was miserable. I hated life. I hated the world. I didn't want to be with my wife. I hated myself. One of the reasons I was always loaded was specifically so I didn't have to face those truths. I didn't know how to deal with any of them. It was a relief to go back to the abyss of being numb.
I'm not going to say that it's comfortable bliss to fold myself up into truth and honesty. Sometimes it feels great. Sometimes it hurts like hell. I will say, though, that it does beat the alternative. There are no lasting truths to be found in being loaded all the time. As I've said before, the deep insights I had when getting high, I'm pretty sure now that I was just high. And in any event, I don't remember any of them.
When we work the steps, we start applying spiritual principles to our lives and truths are revealed to us. The first is that we have the disease. We admit to our deepest selves a fundamental truth about ourselves. We take more steps and learn more principles. We learn hope and faith and courage, and we learn more about the truth of who we are, how we have treated others and let them treat us. We practice integrity, willingness, love, justice, and forgiveness, and we learn that it is possible for people to change. We keep working the program and we discover the truth of how it feels to be free.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
"Thoughts And Action"
Happy new year, all, and welcome to 2011. It's kind of crazy to me, seeing those numbers clock over. It makes me think of that joke about how if this is the future, where's my flying car? I'm down in Pacific Grove this weekend, getting ready to play piano for church services this morning. It's a rainy weekend, not just here, but for much of California. I'm staying at my friend's house, which is a short walk from the beach. I even took a moment last night to go down there and say hello to the ocean. There wasn't a car or another person in sight, just the inky blackness of the water, crested by pale waves. I thought of how nice the silence was, then chuckled at how, with the constant crashing ocean tides, it wasn't really silent at all.
Being the only human around is a good thing for me, from time to time, and something I don't get to enjoy very often. I'm someone who really needs time alone with his thoughts, time to examine what's happening on the inside. If I don't, the inner chatter doesn't stop, it just increases. Moments like the one from last night are a little like clearing off a cluttered desk. I sit down at a spot I sit at often, but instead of just doing the paperwork I normally do, instead of just getting done what needs done, I take the time to actually sort through things. I can see scraps left over I don't need anymore, finally give my attention to details I've been putting off, and throw out old unneeded and unwanted junk.
I'm reading a great book right now--"Fire In The Belly" by Sam Keen. It's about men and masculinity, both today and throughout history. The author has a great sense of humor and seems to me to have a wonderful grasp of the real. His book is well-researched and thoughtful, and it's been awhile since I've so many times recognized the 'truth' of someone's writing while reading. For any man who's ever wondered about what it means to be a man, I highly recommend it. For any woman, too, for that matter. From almost the first moment I started reading, I found myself liking the author, feeling that he understood not just me as a man, but knew the questions I asked inside, knew what drove me, understood my search inside. I've said to others that--if I still drank--this would be a guy I'd love to sit down and have a beer with.
He talks about so many subjects, so many different ways men have defined themselves and how they have found meaning in that old question of just what does it mean to be a man. One of them is the idea of a man as someone who looks inward, who examines himself. He takes the time to think about himself, who he is and why he does what he does. This part really spoke to me; that's a big part of my own manhood. I'm not materially successful; I'm flat-out terrible at sports (with one or two exceptions). But I have found great strength and courage from leading the examined life.
Men aren't necessarily supposed to be thinking creatures. Some of us have great difficulty in working the program because it asks us to do some major introspection. My sponsor likes to say (and I agree) that working the fourth step and taking the fifth is what really separates the men from the boys in Recovery. Sure, you're willing to admit you're powerless, ask for help and turn your life over to a higher power, but are you willing to look with a cold eye at your own shit? Are you willing to say, "yeah, there's some parts of me, who I am and how I live, that probably need to change"? Are you man enough to go on to the eighth and ninth steps, to admit the times you were wrong and try to make it up to those you've harmed?
All of the above requires thinking. Acting without thinking? That's the old way. Thinking without acting? Also no good anymore. Thinking, and then taking action--that's what it's like now. Not always, not every moment, but more often than not. To me, that's a big part of what it means to be a man: thoughtful action.
Being the only human around is a good thing for me, from time to time, and something I don't get to enjoy very often. I'm someone who really needs time alone with his thoughts, time to examine what's happening on the inside. If I don't, the inner chatter doesn't stop, it just increases. Moments like the one from last night are a little like clearing off a cluttered desk. I sit down at a spot I sit at often, but instead of just doing the paperwork I normally do, instead of just getting done what needs done, I take the time to actually sort through things. I can see scraps left over I don't need anymore, finally give my attention to details I've been putting off, and throw out old unneeded and unwanted junk.
I'm reading a great book right now--"Fire In The Belly" by Sam Keen. It's about men and masculinity, both today and throughout history. The author has a great sense of humor and seems to me to have a wonderful grasp of the real. His book is well-researched and thoughtful, and it's been awhile since I've so many times recognized the 'truth' of someone's writing while reading. For any man who's ever wondered about what it means to be a man, I highly recommend it. For any woman, too, for that matter. From almost the first moment I started reading, I found myself liking the author, feeling that he understood not just me as a man, but knew the questions I asked inside, knew what drove me, understood my search inside. I've said to others that--if I still drank--this would be a guy I'd love to sit down and have a beer with.
He talks about so many subjects, so many different ways men have defined themselves and how they have found meaning in that old question of just what does it mean to be a man. One of them is the idea of a man as someone who looks inward, who examines himself. He takes the time to think about himself, who he is and why he does what he does. This part really spoke to me; that's a big part of my own manhood. I'm not materially successful; I'm flat-out terrible at sports (with one or two exceptions). But I have found great strength and courage from leading the examined life.
Men aren't necessarily supposed to be thinking creatures. Some of us have great difficulty in working the program because it asks us to do some major introspection. My sponsor likes to say (and I agree) that working the fourth step and taking the fifth is what really separates the men from the boys in Recovery. Sure, you're willing to admit you're powerless, ask for help and turn your life over to a higher power, but are you willing to look with a cold eye at your own shit? Are you willing to say, "yeah, there's some parts of me, who I am and how I live, that probably need to change"? Are you man enough to go on to the eighth and ninth steps, to admit the times you were wrong and try to make it up to those you've harmed?
All of the above requires thinking. Acting without thinking? That's the old way. Thinking without acting? Also no good anymore. Thinking, and then taking action--that's what it's like now. Not always, not every moment, but more often than not. To me, that's a big part of what it means to be a man: thoughtful action.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)