Failure

Failure: The state or fact of being lacking or insufficient; falling short.

I'm convinced that there is not a group of people in the world that enjoys failure as much as alcoholics. We think that we fail at everything, even when we are succeeding. We can turn a great accomplishment into a stinking cesspool of misery at the drop of a hat -- an iron hat with more iron taped to the bill. Normal achievements barely register on our Radar of Self-Worth, and we explode the inevitable shortcomings that pester everyone into gigantic, colossal problems.

We live in a world of Funhouse Mirrors -- everything takes on a spooky, surreal appearance. We exercise, take a shower, comb our hair, and get all dressed up in our best clothes, then check our appearance in a wavy, curvy, distorted surface. Our head is tiny but our lips are huge and our eyes bug out; we're bald, with ears that look like hot air balloons; our legs are short, our feet look like canoes, and we wobble and shimmer like Gumby. "Man, I look like crap," we think, as we blow by the regular human mirror.

Maybe today I can just try to do my best. Maybe today I can throw away those ridiculous, unattainable benchmarks that no one but me uses. We're never going to finish everything. We're lucky if we do a few things well, let alone succeed at every task we attempt.

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Then throw in the towel --there's no sense in being an idiot about it.

Poor Behavior

I have to be careful that I don't confuse the traits common to my alcoholism with what is simply poor behavior that all people exhibit from time to time. Our literature suggests that many alcoholics share common traits. We are prone to nurture resentments -- we build elaborate cathedrals where they can live in comfort and peace. We exhibit extreme self-centeredness. We make control of others a lifetime hobby. Our time in the 40 yard dash slows markedly after we drink a half bottle of Jack Daniels. The list is quite long.

This doesn't mean that other people can't act poorly. It just means that the remorse and regret that this behavior causes doesn't vanish when they drink. Alcoholics -- both in and out of recovery -- act like jerks sometimes. Good people act like jerks sometimes. Jerks act like jerks. If I don't like how I'm behaving I can start to change that behavior. It doesn't mean I'm acting alcoholically -- it means I'm acting poorly.

My sponsor reminds me: "You're the one with The Program." I'm the one that has to go the extra mile when the actions of others annoy and frustrate me. Many of them don't have the magnificent spiritual solution that we do.

Fear, fear, and more fear

FEAR:
False Events Appearing Real
Future Events Appearing Real
Screw Everything And Run

Fear must be an old friend. I must really enjoy fear. That's the only explanation I can come up with for lapsing into unpleasant reveries so effortlessly. I used to invite fear to come over and spend the evening. Just me and a few friends drinking rotgut whiskey and whiling away the time playing a little Bong 99.

Fear is a subtle foe. It is relentless and insistent. It whispers in your ear in the dead of night. It shrieks doom from rooftops. It sneaks in unnoticed and it roars in like a freight train. There is no technique that it will not try.

We can think hopeful and pleasant thoughts, or we can imagine pain and calamity. We can be optimistic, or we can shiver with anxiety. Most of the time the tragedies that we envision don't come to pass. Most of the time we just allow fear to waste our time and drain our spirit.

It isn't reasonable to expect a life without fear. Everyone gets afraid from time to time. And sometimes the fear is justified -- it keeps us out of scary situations and is an appropriate response to troubling life events. It's what we do with it. Do we work through the fear, banishing useless anxiety or motivating to solve difficult situations, or do we give in and drink? Pull the blinds, unplug the phone, and drink.

Easy choice, my friends.

Blame

Blame: To put the responsibility of, as an error, fault, etc. (on someone or something).

As a living saint with no discernible faults, I find it easier to go on the offensive when my behavior causes a problem than to take any responsibility for my actions. Much, much easier. The best defense is a good offense, and I come out with my six guns blazing. Unless, of course, things work out well -- then I'll take credit for the outcome, even if I have nothing to do with it, which is almost all of the time. The basic idea is this: if it's bad, you did it. If it's good, look no further for you have found the magical architect.

My ability to justify my behavior is Herculean. My capacity to spin a web of self-serving lies would put a Washington politician to shame. I get calls all the time from the capital from shadowy operatives looking for pointers. When something goes wrong I like to vanish into the fog, to blend in with the wallpaper. Sometimes I wear clothing with the same pattern as the wallpaper so I can suddenly disappear if this becomes expedient.

The police could find me passed out in my car, with the engine running, at 3AM in the middle of a busy intersection, alcohol on my breath and on my shirt, empty beer cans piled nearly to the roof, and a veritable pharmacy of illegal and fraudulently obtained legal drugs on the passenger seat, and still come up with a justification: "Ossifer, I can explain this."

How about I work on myself today?

More Praying

Here are some more musings about prayer and meditation:

1. Why can't I get my answers directly from God? I'm a spiritual giant with a highly developed God consciousness. I don't see why I have to check my motives with another human being. Maybe one of the lesser Gods, but not a person. I'm almost certain that they don't have unfettered access to God on their own personal hot line like I do.

2. Why do I fall asleep when I meditate? I'm lazy. I'm tired. It's easier to put my rambling mind in charge and let it roam wherever it wants. Maybe I shouldn't stay up until 3AM trying to save 84 cents on a pair of tennis shoes.

3. Why do I have elaborate sexual fantasies or fierce arguments with bitter enemies when I meditate? Meditation is work. My head has been in charge for a long time and it doesn't want to give up any of this hard-earned power. It doesn't want to shut down and listen to God. God is competition.

4. Why is it objectionable to refrain from praying for specific results for other people? Let's see -- there I was, living at home, 30 years old, in my jammies watching The Beverly Hillbillies at 10 in the morning, sucking on a bong or a beer. I think that qualifies me to give other people advice.

Buttons

Button: A small knob for operating a doorbell, electric lamp, alcoholic, etc.

Sometimes I think I'm all buttons or at least one giant button. It can't be very hard pushing my buttons -- they festoon the entire surface of my body. They're brightly colored and they operate with a satisfying tactile click. Many of them are made more attractive by the means of gentle backlighting and soft music. They flash on and off. They're brightly colored. A lot of them have cash back rewards and redeemable coupons. When pushed one hears an amusing sound effect or a short joke from a popular comedian.

Yet, when I look at myself in the mirror I don't detect any buttons at all. Not a single one. Yet, they have to be there. Thousands of people locate them without the slightest effort. In fact, they are drawn to them like bees to honey or moths to a flame. My buttons are so compelling that these moths are willing to perish in the fire simply to enjoy the sensation of one final, button push.

The recovery trick is to learn how to disconnect the electronics from the back of the buttons. We can learn how to behave differently. People will begin to leave our buttons alone when we quit reacting in ways that they enjoy.

Fantasy

Fantasy: An unreal mental image; illusion; phantasm.

The world of reality -- the real world where real people live -- can be such an unpleasant place. There are difficulties in the real world, and pain and challenges. People get sick. There is death and tragedy and traffic jams and bosses who are jerks. Bad things roam the horizon with slavering jaws.

Then there is the world of the practicing alcoholic. We take a drink and close our eyes. The girl says yes and we don't have to comb our hair or brush our teeth. The kids are no problem at all. The money and prestige at work roll in effortlessly -- we don't even have to have a job or do any work at the jobs we may hold. We're always on vacation and it never rains.

Ah, yes, I can drift off into a pleasant reverie at the drop of a hat. Then my sponsor delivers a stinging slap to my face: "Horse Face Steve! Snap out of it. You're late for work!"

Perspective

Perspective: A proper evaluation with proportional importance given to the component parts.

I have a problem with my espresso machine. This is not a situation that I'm going to share with my sponsor today because I have a pretty good idea that his advice will be a bit low in sympathy content. Any problem that includes the phrase "my espresso machine" is probably not going to be much of a problem at all. Problems with Porsche mechanics, stock portfolio managers, and Maui vacation home realtors are nice problems to have. Problems of prosperity, we call them. All of the problems I have today are a direct result of my sobriety. I didn't have an espresso machine when I was drunk. I didn't have a kitchen to put an espresso machine in, either.



I go to a weekly Big Book meeting at a local jail. It's often the best meeting that I attend -- those guys teach me more about my disease than almost anyone else. I learn what would have happened to me if I kept drinking and drugging, and didn't die. Often I'll interrupt a sponsee who is weaving a long tale of self-absorbed woe and suggest that they come on down to the jail and tell that story to the boys. No one has taken me up on it yet. I like to ask myself: "Can I share this with people who are going to sleep in a cell tonight?"

Wow, was that cup of espresso delicious this morning.

Not that important

Hard: causing pain or discomfort; specifically, a) difficult to endure; trying; exhausting. b) harsh; severe; stern.

I'm hard on myself. Whatever it is, it's not good enough. I could have done it better. If I get all of the questions right, I'm upset at my penmanship. If I sell a widget, I'm upset that I didn't sell two. I could solve world hunger and be depressed that I didn't provide any locally grown, organic fresh designer fruit in my twelve dessert selections. Everyone else is thrilled that I brought enough rice.

This self-flagellation can be relentless. If I met someone who treated me the way I treat myself, I would be tempted to smack his forehead, or glare at him in a nasty and intimidating manner. Probably the latter. I've been beat up enough times when I was drinking -- I see no need to continue this practice in sobriety. I only thought the alcohol made me stronger. The fact that women didn't find my extreme drunkenness alluring and sexually irresistible should have been the first clue.

I call this tendency "Setting the bar higher." If I run a mile, tomorrow I'll run two. After I run two, I might as well run five. We'll dispense with the more reasonable three mile run. I will take no satisfaction that I'm running at all. I'm not running enough; I should be running faster and there should be a lot of hills in my runs, all of them tilting upward at a sharp angle. The inevitable frustration I feel at my failed efforts make for a great reason to drink.

How about taking it easy on yourself today?

Prayer

Prayer: Any spiritual communion with God.

Long, long ago on a distant sea a missionary sailed up to a small tropical island. There he found a thriving community of believers established by one of his predecessors many years before. They had a church, a religious hierarchy, and seemed to be following all of the liturgy, rituals, and traditions very closely. There was, however, nary a mention of the Lord’s Prayer.

Our missionary friend asked the tribal leaders what prayer they used to close their services. The head guy jumps up and down and yells: “Ugga bugga flim flam BAM!”

“Why don’t you use the Lord’s Prayer?” he wondered. The tribal dudes were perplexed – never heard of it. So the missionary spends the next week eating coconuts and teaching them everything about the Lord’s Prayer. Satisfied that all is well, he boards his ship and sails away.

That night, the sky begins to glow with a weird yellow illumination. The light – which is originating in the direction of the desert island – becomes intensely bright. Suddenly, the crew spots the tribal leaders running like cheetahs right on top of the water. They catch up to the boat, obviously distressed.

“Teacher, teacher!” they shout. “Something terrible has happened. We have already forgotten that prayer!”

The priest furrows his brow, raises his finger, purses his lips, and says: “Uh, maybe you guys should keep using your own prayers.”

When we pray, we are doing well. Find something that you like and stick with it.

Diversity

Diverse: Different; dissimilar; varied; diversified.

One of the true strengths of The Fellowship revolves around the fact that we are such a diverse group of individuals. We are people who wouldn't ordinarily mix. As is the case so often in recovery, this is one of the great curses as well. We look around the room and think: "These are the people who are going to help me recover from a chronic, progressive, and potentially life-threatening disease? My choices are death, insanity, or a lifetime spent with these people? Man, I'm in a lot of trouble."

I spent my drinking years trying to surround myself with other hip, slick, and cool people. I was beyond cool. I was magnetic, electric, and profound. Police stuck to me and women bounced off. Everyone else treated me like a dart board. Still, I refused to sink so low as to associate with the vast legions of the UnCool.

In the Fellowship I get to meet folks of all different shapes, sizes, and flavors. It has helped me consider so many things from new and different perspectives. Perspectives that I may not agree with initially. Some of the older members have already walked through situations that are causing me so much angst -- they show me that age is no barrier to a happy, vibrant life. And what a blessing it is to be able to pass along my experience, strength, and hope to someone younger. No one was asking my advice when I was drinking.

I have many fathers in The Program and many sons.

We have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that there is a solution. The bad news is that it's us.

Silence

Restraint: Control of emotions, impulses, etc.

First of all, the concept of "control" is going to cause some problems for me. I have perfected a system of spinning out of control. I can control you, of course, if you have the inclination to let a drunken boob run your life. Sometimes I have been known to control the entire universe, including family, friends, and our legal system. And quite well, to be honest about it.

Then, restraining my mouth is going to be a Herculean task. When I want to say something, I'm damn well going to say it, and I'm not going to think, pause, or ponder before letting it rip. Rash emails are another specialty, as are impetuous letters, notes, and sticky post-its. I'm not going to think before I act -- my initial reaction is always appropriate.

It is written that "Nothing pays off like restraint of tongue and pen." I struggled with this phrase initially; I wanted to achieve a full intellectual grasp of the concept. Finally, I went to my sponsor for clarification: "It means that you should shut the hell up, " he said. Now that I got. That was pretty specific. No gray areas or blurred lines with that comment.

To prove that he was wrong, I made two lists: one was all of the times that I got in trouble by keeping quiet when I should have spoken up; the other contained the times that speaking before thinking caused problems. In 20 years of sobriety, I managed to come up with three things in Category One. There were five examples in the second category before lunch today.

Maybe my sponsor is on to something.

Fear

Fear: A feeling of anxiety and agitation caused by the presence or nearness of danger, evil, pain, etc.



I have a lot of complicated problems. These have been exacerbated by the all of the difficult and annoying people that populate my crazy little world. I can't figure out why it is that I attract so many nut-jobs; it can't have anything to do with my personality or how I interact with the general population in my daily life.



I like to put fancy labels on everything. Jealousy, resentments, anger, depression. The fact of the matter is that my difficulties can almost always be boiled down to fear. Pure, undistilled, naked fear. I would much rather say that I'm pissed at my boss or I'm envious that my neighbor has a faster car than I do. It sounds better than saying: " I'm afraid." Most alcoholics and drug addicts have trouble admitting to fear, but we men have elevated it to an art form. We would rather take a swing at someone with a pool cue that admit that we were afraid that we looked bad in front of the woman we are trying to impress.



That wacky Fourth Step inventory list in the Big Book helps shed some illumination on the process. The fourth column -- the "affects my" column -- always seems to end up with FEAR. I'm afraid that my cash, my personal prestige, or my sex life is going to be affected. I'm afraid that my I'm not going to get something that I want or lose something that I already have.

Do that inventory.

Today

Today: The present day; this day.

I'm not sure what it is about the present that I find so distasteful. I surely expend a great deal of energy avoiding it.

I prefer living out in the future, walking a bleak, desolate landscape where wild animals and vicious assassins lurk. Bad things are going to happen. Or I whipsaw backwards into the past, where I can indulge delicious regrets and inspect burned bridges. Bad things happened.

God isn't interested at all in helping me cope with imagined disasters. God doesn't time travel to 1972 or 1981. God is live, on the other end of the phone. He's tech support and He's at his desk. I'm on my own when I move out of today. I am given the tools to handle whatever will come my way and I have a Program to help me clean up past messes.

I have plenty to eat, clean water to drink, and a warm, safe, dry place to sleep at night. Those are my needs and they're being met. I am blessed in this world of 6 billion people to have those things -- many of my fellows aren't so lucky. Everything else falls into the category of wants, or desires. And a close analysis shows that I have a lot of that stuff as well.

Service

Service: Work done or duty performed for another or others.

I want anything nice that I do in my recovery to receive world wide notoriety. I don't want to make coffee for my home group -- for any group. I don't want to make coffee for anybody. I want someone to make coffee for me. And if the coffee isn't really, really good, then my annoyance is perfectly justified and I owe it to the slacker coffee maker to point out his defects of character, even if they don't have anything to do with coffee making. If I am going to engage in any service work I want it to be important and profound. I want to be famous and loved.

So it follows that if I don't want to do anything nice for an organization that has quite literally saved my life, I am going to struggle to be of service to the world at large. I don't see how being nice to the lady making my sandwich at the local deli is going to bring me fame and fortune. I don't want to listen to a sponsee if I don't find what he is saying interesting, which is most of the time, unless he is talking about me, at which point I find the dialogue fascinating. I want to talk to the cool people after the meeting, not the new guy with bugs crawling all over his skin.

Just do the little things today. A lot of little things add up in a hurry.

Weirdness

Sometimes we alcoholics pretend that we are normal people. At least we think that we have some normal characteristics. Eventually, we grudgingly come to realize that there isn't very much normal about our reaction to the world around us but take solace in the fact that we now understand the difference between appropriate behavior and how we behave. We still don't change our behavior, of course, but we are full of a glowing self-awareness of our cool outsider, contrarian, quirky, dufus hipsterness. Then ... we start talking to Earth People. We notice that they get a wary look in their eyes or start to slowly edge away.

For instance, I talk to myself. In a normal human voice, in public, and with barely concealed enthusiasm. I'm the most fascinating individual on earth so why wouldn't I hold an animated conversation with myself? When I was drinking I talked to people who weren't there and weren't real, like reporters from Rolling Stone who wondered how I could be such an incredible rock star or ESPN anchors asking how it felt to hit the winning shot, score the winning touchdown, or blast the winning home run to secure the Championship of the World. I wasn't the guy making the pass to the guy who hit the winning shot -- I was the big tamale. I was the star attraction. The fact that I was too drunk to get off the couch and change the channel didn't slow me down for a second. I couldn't jog down the block let alone bowl over some charging linebacker.

Eventually I migrated to talking to real people who weren't actually physically present. Giving leads in front of large crowds of adoring recovery groupies, whose lives I would save with my insightful and profound remarks. I was involved in a fair number of arguments as well, where I sliced up a rival with my rapier wit and razor sharp tongue. Everybody seemed interested in what I had to say.

My wife disabused me of the notion that this is appropriate behavior: "Normal people don't talk out loud to themselves."
Now she has taken to yelling unhelpful little comments when she catches me babbling away: "I hear you in there!" or "Who are you talking to in the bathroom?" It has gotten quite embarrassing. No one likes to hear: "We are the only two people in the house and you aren't talking to me."

I still talk to myself, of course. I can't help it.

Criticism

Criticism: A general term for finding fault with or disapproving of a person or thing.

None of us needs to be told what a mess we have made of our lives. Actually, we do need to be reminded of this from time to time; especially when our own inflated sense of self-importance blinds us to our defects and liabilities, which is often and with great intensity. But we do believe that someone who has been thrashed for years by alcohol is going to grow more enthusiastically when they are being praised and encouraged.

Many of us grew up in environments that were difficult. We may have had to endure a lot of criticism as children. When some adult authority figure tells you that you aren’t worth much, and they repeat this day after day, it is inevitable that we are going to accept what they say as fact.

We need to spend our time filling each other with hope. We need to look for what is good and what is improving. All of us have many great qualities – they may be buried deep inside and they are almost certainly not very well developed – but they are present.

Take care of each other. You are responsible for your own actions and for the well being of your fellows. Quit viewing life as a free-for-all where you try to win at the expense of everyone else. This self-absorption guarantees a life of deep futility and profound misery.

Expectations

Expect: To assume with a considerable degree of confidence that an event will happen.

I don't expect much out of life. My requirements are simple, humble, and beyond reproach. These basic needs encompass only the following:

1. A mound of money the size of a Buick -- a full-sized Buick, not one of those stripped-down, gas-sipping, sub-compacts -- that no one can get at and that will never diminish by one red cent even though I get to spend as much money as I want for the rest of my life.

2. Access to a different, willing sexual partner at the time and place of my choosing, who is completely understanding of any shortcomings that I may possess in technique or performance, as impossible to believe as this may be.

3. The unwavering respect and undying love of the masses. I would like my greatness to be recognized and my astounding humility unchallenged. Actual good behavior is not required -- if my intentions are good I want full credit even though my actions may be those of a self-centered jerk.

The quality of my life can be directly linked to how I manage my expectations. When my acceptance is up and my expectations are down, I do well. When the reverse is true, storm clouds gather and my days are long.

Excitement

Exciting: Causing excitement; arousing keen interest, agitation, etc; stirring; thrilling.

One of the hardest lessons I have had to learn in my sobriety is that life can be boring. Not kind of boring but really stupefying. Say what you want about active alcoholism and rampant drug use, but boring it is not. Driving a car at a high rate of speed, lost, head hanging out the window to get some fresh air (ten degrees, driving rainstorm, hail the size of golf balls, we don't notice), covering one eye with a large swizzle stick or used crack pipe to try to manage the number of center lines we are seeing -- exciting. Going to work -- boring. Risky sexual behavior versus a committed relationship? LSD at the annual fireworks celebration or visiting your grandmother in the nursing home? Cutting the grass versus just about anything else in the world?

Life is the little choo-choo slowly moving around a flat landscape with a few gentle curves and maybe a tiny descent at the end, with your kids sitting next to you. The big rush comes when they toot the little choo-choo horn. I want to be at the top of the big hill on a roller coaster called The Lobotomizer or The Widow Maker. I want to be stimulated right up to the point of heart failure. I want life to be a dangerous, fantastic, thrill a minute.

All of this is the normal thought process for a middle aged adult with the emotional make-up of a 15 year old. It can be distressing to learn that we need to sleep, work, eat, and practice some minimal personal hygiene. It is very time consuming behaving responsibly. We like it easy and fast. We don't like things that take time or effort.

Today I will brush my teeth three times, and floss, just like the dentist said.

Serenity Deux

I always wanted to have a cool recovery nickname. You know, like Chicago Steve or Big Book Steve or Horse Face Steve. People would know who I was instantly: "Hey, you'll never guess who I ran into at the ballgame. Horse Face Steve!" "No way -- I love that guy!" Ego is a rampant virus with alcoholics. Good attention, bad attention, attention paid by judges or angry ex-spouses, we don't care as long as someone is paying attention.

My wife -- who is also in recovery -- and I were trying to come up with a name that I could use to post entries. We tried on a few for size but nothing seemed to fit. "How about Serenity Steve?" she asked. There was a brief pause -- our eyes locked -- and we both doubled over in laughter. Sometimes I look serene. I have the looking good down, sometimes, when I remember to comb my hair and take the occasional shower. Deep down inside, however, the forces of good and evil are locked in mortal combat. Good is barely holding off evil most of the time. It could go either way.

Today I will listen to the good little man on my right shoulder. I will try to ignore the bad little man on my left shoulder. Who am I kidding? There are like fifty bad little men who have built permanent structures on most of the exposed surfaces on my body. The good little man has a tent in sand tilting at a 30 degree angle between ice and slick rock. The good little man -- brave as he is -- has his work cut out for him.

Serenity

Serenity -- "The quality or state of being serene; calmness; tranquility; repose."



For this alcoholic, Webster's dictionary might as well define that word in Swahili or electronic beeps and twitters. Maybe they could use cave drawings from before the dawn of time or ancient Egyptian hieroglypics. It might be easier for me to figure out what the word serenity means.



My natural state does not tend to calmness. My life was not characterized by tranquil rest when I was drinking and drugging. I default to chaos. I must like trouble and problems considering all of the energy I expend trying to create them. It has been an amazing revelation to discover that it is easier avoiding a problem in the first place than trying to clean up the mess afterwards.



Thanks for visiting. The idea here is to try to laugh about recovery. Alcoholism can be funny, but only after we begin to extract ourselves from the downward spiral. It is decidedly not funny when we are in the midst of it. Not ha-ha funny; not tee-hee funny; no gentle chuckling or knowing chortling. It is funny to talk about losing track of the location of my car after a long night of drinking. It was not funny trying to explain to the cops what I was doing wandering around a residential neighborhood at 3AM without any shoes on. They wondered why I was trying to locate a car when I didn't have any car keys with me.



I'm a little sarcastic and a little irreverent. I think we can be too pious and too serious and too emotionally overwrought in our recovery. I need to be able to laugh at myself. I spent all my time trying to find other people to laugh at until I reached the bitter end and no one was in worse shape than I was.