Horseface Steve, Legend

Today I am going to restrict my activities to those that bring me great fame. I can think of no better way to express my humility. I am available to deliver the keynote address at the final meeting of any international recovery convention. I would be happy to oversee the disbursement of millions of dollars of charitable funds, as long as everyone knows I'm in charge. I can positively effect the lives of impressionable young children with tales of wisdom and insight. In a not too distant future, thousands of people will sigh wistfully and say: "Do you remember when Horseface Steve came and spoke to us? That changed my life forever."

I doubt that I will have time today for small acts of kindness. I'm too important for that. I don't have time to think of others. I'm too busy wielding power. People like me aren't expected to greet newcomers at meetings or show up early to make coffee. It would be a tragic waste of the world's resources to restrict my energies to doing the little things. I'm simply destined for greatness.

The problem is that sometimes I believe this crap.

Twelve

Twelve: Proceeded by eleven others in a series.

I have to keep in mind that I am involved in a Twelve Step program. Hopefully I'm stating the obvious by pointing out the fact that it has twelve steps. Successful sobriety almost always revolves around working these twelve steps. They are all important and it is not always easy working them. They are in order -- numbered from one to twelve, with no numbers missing -- and are meant to be worked sequentially, starting at Step One. Once you make it to Step Twelve then you can start over again. It's not going to hurt anything.

There are a lot of components in a good recovery program. Attending meetings and talking on the phone are important components. Working on a relationship with a Higher Power is recommended. Service work helps us forget our own problems, at least for a few seconds. There is a lot of literature to read and there are inventories to be written. But, for many of us, this all comes to naught if we aren't working those damn Twelve Steps. We can hide out in meetings. We can talk it up, spin a lot of blather, but not do the work.

If you aren't staying sober you aren't doing the Steps.

The Solution

Solution: The act, method, or process of solving a problem.

When pondering our alcoholism, it can be helpful to consider the following three components. We usually limit our suggestions to a maximum of three because most of us can’t pay attention to more than two things at once – we suspect that we may be pushing it by adding that third thing:

1. The problem.
2. The solution.
3. Engaging the solution to solve the problem.

The Big Book explains that an alcoholic is stricken with a mental obsession and a physical allergy as far as alcohol is concerned. We find it extraordinarily difficult to evict thoughts of drinking from our minds; once we drink, we find it extraordinarily difficult to stop before the state of total intoxication. We are sick in our minds and sick in our bodies. This is the problem.

We propose that the solution is to stumble ass backward into a meaningful relationship with a Higher Power. This vaguely understood force will infuse us with the strength to quit drinking. Detailed instructions for Ass-Backward Stumbling can be found in the Twelve Steps. This is the solution.

Now comes the hard part for most of us. We have identified the problem, and we have developed a remarkably successful program to combat the problem. We do not profess that it is the only solution but it has worked for us. Will we pick up this simple kit of spiritual tools?

The ball is in your court.

That First Drink

Is there anything more amazing in the life of an alcoholic than the effect of that first drink? I remember more about that moment in time than anything else that has ever happened to me. There I was -- locked in a slow downward spiral of nagging fear and free floating anxiety, and I placed some alcohol into my system. It was like taking a punch to the gut. All of the fear whooshed out of my body with an audible sigh. The heavens opened, the sun shone down, angels sang, and the world was instantly a better place. I could feel that alcohol coarse through my veins like some kind of hot radioactive dye.

The world that I had been living in -- the one that made absolutely no sense to me -- sparkled with a crystal clarity. This is not a normal reaction to alcohol. People who don't have a drinking problem don't know what I'm talking about. Go ahead - ask one. They will tell you that alcohol relaxes them after a hard day or that it helps them feel a little more comfortable in a social situation. Alcohol for me was a burst of adrenaline. It launched me into outer space. I was at the wheel of a Ferrari, at full acceleration. It was a Happy Pill. It was a Very Happy Pill.

You know what I'm talking about, don't you?

Alone Again, Naturally

Isolate: To set apart from others; place alone.

When I find myself troubled by some problem or situation, I find it very helpful to lock the doors, pull the blinds, unplug the phone, and spend some time with myself. Do a lot of thinking and musing and pondering, preferably in the dark. The strength of my massive intellect and profound insights on life permit me this indulgence. I don't need to receive advice from others. My thinking is clear and correct, and it leads to perfectly balanced decisions.

Or not.

Alcoholism is a disease of isolation. My alcoholism nods its head when I'm alone, and this has been true even in my sobriety. I don't think well. Weird stuff comes up and makes sense to me. My thinking is better than it was with a brain full of drugs and alcohol but it still isn't all that sound. I need to talk to other recovering alcoholics on a daily basis. I need this counterpoint to myself.

If I'm alone I'm in a bad neighborhood.

Old Man River

Life is like a stream. There are long stretches of calm water and many deep pools. There are also some rocks. There are some big rocks. There are some big rocks with sharp edges hidden in fast moving rapids, festooned with the corpses of careless boaters.

All of us are issued a small canoe with which we are expected to navigate the river of life. All of us get some calm water and all of us get some rapids. Most people are OK with this. They get in their canoe and get on with the journey. They paddle away to the best of their ability and get where they need to go. They try to miss some of the rocks. They try to enjoy the shady pools.

Alcoholics, however, are immediately unhappy with the canoe. They don't like the color, the size, or the style. They install huge turbocharged motors and a fully stocked mini bar. They blast off down the stream at 100 MPH, in a blackout, at three in the morning. They hit a lot of rocks. Sometimes it seems like they are deliberately aiming for the rocks. They stop and carry the canoes through thickets of thorns and snakes, believing that the river is out to get them. They wake up the next day, bloody and stunned, wondering where they parked the canoe.

Get back in the canoe. Start paddling. Keep quiet.

Something Else

Reality: existing or happening as or in fact; actual, true, objectively so; not merely seeming, pretended, imagined, fictitious, nominal, or ostensible.

Today is it. Today is all that I have. One Day at a Time is one of our most profound slogans. It can be one of our most profoundly irritating slogans as well. I have never been all that comfortable in the here and now. I would prefer to be surfing on ahead to some strange and wondrous future where implausible things are happening. I labor under the sneaking suspicion that I'm not doing the right thing. I'm sure that if I was doing something else it would be better.

Life doesn't work very well for me when I'm living in an alternate reality. Sometimes I get to the end of a day, and I can barely remember how I've spent my time. I'm so engaged in thinking that I don't pay attention to what's happening. The truth of the matter is that I've done enough thinking to last a thousand lifetimes. I'm not even that good at it. My thinking is all weird and twisted and negative. You would think that if I was going to spend every waking hour thinking about stuff that is never going to happen that I would be better at it.

Take a deep breath and look around.

Little: Small in importance or power; trivial; trifling.

It is constantly amazing to me how often I get upset over unimportant things. I don't mean slightly unimportant -- I mean totally, completely, unbelievably unimportant. I can ruin an entire day over some perceived slight or lack of courtesy shown me by another person. Most of the time no disrespect is intended -- other people are thinking about me just about as often as I am thinking about them, which is not too often. It's actually a number rapidly approaching zero.

There are some great slogans to help me with this shortcoming, which I usually ignore as not worthy of my massive intellect and overwhelming persona. Take care of the little stuff and the big stuff will take care of itself. The two steps to permanent peace of mind are: 1. Don't let the small stuff upset you and 2. It's all small stuff.

It's such a short life. Don't let a rude driver live in your head all day.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Off to Trudge I Go

Trudge: A walk or tramp, especially a wearying, tedious one.

I don't feel like trudging today. I don't feel like suiting up and showing up and doing the work. I'd rather have a dump truck full of sex, power, and money dumped in my lap, as I doze in the sun. I want to be on a stage in the Roman Coliseum with tens of thousands of adoring fans screaming my name over and over: "Horseface Steve! Horseface Steve!' They can't get enough of me. Nobody can get enough of me.


I want everything to be easy. I want everything to come naturally and with little effort. I want everything to make sense right out of the chute. I don't want to learn from adversity. Struggling and growing is for all of the little, insignificant people in the world, not for major movers and shakers and power lunchers like me. I'm a Big Man on Campus. Someone or something should give me all that I desire.



After a long day at work I'll tell my sponsor that I'm tired. He reminds me that it's a "good tired." "Yes," I wearily respond. "It's a good tired." I want to scream that I don't want to be any kind of tired. I'll just end up having to do some writing or service work, so I keep my mouth shut.

Working It

Work: bodily or mental effort exerted to do or make something; purposeful activity; labor; toil.

It's somewhat surprising to me how often I resent the amount of work that I have to put into my recovery. It's actually quite time consuming. I wonder if there is a way to just get off drugs and alcohol and become a spiritual giant without having to expend any time or energy. Maybe there is a pill that I could take or some potion that I could drink that would magically whisk me away into spiritual heaven. This would sure be easier than getting up and having a quiet time. This would be a lot easier than thinking about other people or doing nice things for them.

God knows everything about me -- why can't he just strike me spiritual? God sure expects a lot out of me. He's actually quite demanding. What has he done for me except save me from a slow alcoholic death and shower me with an embarrassing wealth of riches? Big deal. That's it?

My disease is like a particularly invasive, metastasizing kind of awful cancer. I would never say: "Ah, the hell with it. I'm going to pass on my cancer treatment this week. I'll pick it up again later." Sometimes I have to lace up my work boots and get down to business.

Nobody said this was going to fun all the time.

Chemical Stevie

I'm basically made up of a lot of holes. Big holes. Big, big, really gigantic holes. If I peel back my T-shirt a hole is exposed that appears to be a portal into an endless galaxy millions of light years across. I could start to throw stuff into this space time continuum and never fill up the tiniest little corner. I'm not sure that the thing even has an end.

Actually, the truth of the matter is that there is no one-size-fits-all hole. I have nurtured and developed a lot of specialty holes. There are many templates available for easy installation. There are drug and alcohol holes. These, thankfully, I have sealed up with some really excellent quality cement. There are cigarette holes and coffee holes and food holes. Some of these I have tried to cleverly cover up with cement colored cheesecloth. It's pretty easy to peel back a corner and toss a couple of pots of coffee in. There are sex holes, exercise holes, and work holes. I have been actively engaged in making these holes bigger, for god's sake.

The thing is I'm uncomfortable with how I feel. I want to feel different. I don't really care if I feel better -- although that is preferable -- just as long as it's different. Caffeine, nicotine, endorphins, sugar. All of it reacts with my body to change how I feel.

Different is the thing. Different is good.

I'm Always Right

One of the great lessons that I have learned in The Fellowship is that I am not right all of the time. I don't really believe this, of course, but I feel better about myself if I at least pay lip service to the concept. It wasn't helping my inter-personal relationships to walk around crowing about my brilliance while simultaneously pointing out what an idiot you were unless you were in total agreement with my point of view. What was most egregious wasn't even that I told you that you were wrong, it was that I was vociferous about it. I was militant. I didn't listen at all. I attacked.


"We are people who normally would not mix." One of the real strengths of The Program is that all walks of life are represented. When I was drinking, I surrounded myself with people who drank like I did. Runaway alcoholism and rampant drug use seemed normal as long as all of my friends were doing the same thing. There was a very select group of people who were worthy of my companionship. Other vampires, criminals, ne'er do wells, and cellar dwellers, mostly.


Today I have learned how helpful it can be to listen to another's point of view, even if I find it unacceptable. Some of my greatest insights have come from people with whom I disagree on all kinds of topics. Sometimes they are right. There is almost always something true in what they say. I'm so engaged in trying to convert them to my way of thinking that I don't bother to hear what they have to say.

I'm not always right?

Pleasure

Today I vow to spend all of my energy on pursuing personal pleasure. If it feels good, I'm going to do it. I don't care about the long term consequences. I don't care about the short term consequences. I don't care about any consequences at all. And while I am going to expound at length on the selfish striving for personal comfort, you may infer that this does not preclude avoidance of all discomfort. You should assume that lack of pain is the crucial first step on the road to constant pleasure.

It is of no interest to me if my efforts to feel good turn out to be harmful or injurious to another person. If you somehow stand in the way of my headlong rush to pleasure, you should expect to feel the wrath of Khan. In fact, it may work out that I can selfishly use someone else to feel better about myself. I don't have any moral qualms about throwing someone under the bus. It's all about me, after all.


There is a mythical Nirvana somewhere. Shangri-La does exist. The Fountain of Youth is at an adults only club on the outskirts of Little Rock, Arkansas. If I can only manage everybody and everything to my exact specifications, I will feel fantastic all of the time.

Dude. Seriously, dude.

Me Me Me MEE!

I think that I am going to make it my goal today to think about myself exclusively. To the exclusion of everything else, especially any other people. If you want my opinion, I think that you should think about me, too. There is no one else alive as important to me as myself. This is clear to me and it should be clear to you. If I think about other people -- if I put other people ahead of myself -- even people I love and care about -- this will reduce the amount of time that I have available to think about myself. I don't see how this can be a good thing. I don't see how I will benefit from this.

I may not be much but I'm all I think about.

Well, enough about me. I'm tired of talking about myself. Tell me -- what do you think about me?

I'm Number 1!

"Self-righteous anger also can be very enjoyable. In a perverse way we can actually take satisfaction from the fact that many people annoy us, for it brings a comfortable feeling of superiority."

People are the worst.

Unless I can position myself in thought, word, or deed to feel superior to someone else -- anyone else -- EVERYONE else -- I'm not fulfilling my purpose in the world. Comfortable is too mild a word. It brings to mind a lounge chair and a glass of lemonade. I crave an overwhelming, expanding, world-beating feeling of superiority. When I'm drifting spiritually, everyone annoys me. I can find some aspect of my life -- often imagined and hallucinogenic -- where I'm better than you. You can be better than me. A lot, lot better than me -- it isn't that hard, honestly -- and I will still look down my nose at you. I can come up with something.

Our literature is packed with information that will help us learn tolerance and love of our fellow man. We don't have to like everyone. Believe you me, not everyone likes me. But we are not going to be happy if we lug around the Hubble Telescope trying to uncover any microscopic defect that we can find.

Look for the good, you knucklehead.

Open Your Eyes

Blessing: Anything that gives happiness or prevents misfortune.

Alcoholics have a deep-seated intrinsic fear of the present. I'm not sure why this is so. The present for someone in recovery is almost always pretty pleasant and, when it isn't, we have the tools to deal with whatever comes our way. I haven't been overwhelmed by anything yet. I mean really overwhelmed. I complain about having too many phone calls to make at work or having to choose between waxing one of my nice cars or cutting the grass in the yard of my nice house full of food in the United States of America. These are not problems. These are gifts. Only an alcoholic can turn a blessing into a tragedy. "Omigod, I'm not going to have enough time today to wax the car and cut the grass. Where's that fifth of whiskey?"

Today I vow to get my head out of my grass and take a look around. This is the good stuff. I've left the bad stuff behind. Stay out of the future, full of demons and termites. Stay out of the past, littered with throw-up and burning bridges. Prepare for what may come, to the best of my ability. Clean up my messes whenever I can. And quit ignoring all of the blessings that God showers right onto the top of my ungrateful head.