How am I Acting?

Consistent: Holding to the same principles or practice.

One major goal in my sobriety has been to act in a consistent manner. This is in direct contrast to the wildly inconsistent and thoroughly bizarre life that I used to lead when I was drinking. I was a ticking time bomb. Everybody but me knew that I was a bomb. Everyone knew it was inevitable that I was going to blow; the only questions were when would I detonate and how big was the boom going to be. I wasn't even a fancy bomb. I was one of those black balls with a lit fuse coming out of it. It said "Bomb" on the side. I wasn't fooling anyone.

The Program has provided me with a lot of great friends. And I mean friends, not drinking buddies using me for their own selfish purposes. Over the years, these guys have gotten to know me very well. A little too well some of the time. I can't get away with very much any more. These guys aren't afraid to piss me off. A real friend knows that there are going to be some ups and downs in any relationship so they don't care if my delicate sensibilities get hurt from time to time. They're more interested in snuffing the fuse.

A Simple Prayer

God, please keep me clean and sober today. Help me never rely on my knowledge of my disease or my willpower, but on you and your mercy. Help me to never take my disease for granted. I know that I need to do the work today. I don't know what specific actions are going to keep me sober today so help me do a little bit of everything. Help me never to take my disease for granted. Help me never to relax or let down my guard.

Pain? Or Pleasure?

Rhetorical Question: A question asked, as in oratory or writing, only for rhetorical effect, to emphasize a point, introduce a topic, etc., no answer being expected.


We live in world full of perplexing questions. What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around, does it make a sound? Which came first: the chicken or the egg? Why did the chicken cross the road? Why do so many rhetorical questions use chickens to emphasize their point?


The truly profound question, of course, is this: Does my hatred for pain exceed my love of pleasure? I'm not sure that there is a good answer to this. I spend virtually all of my time either fleeing from pain or endlessly pursuing pleasure. I can't get enough of either. I'm the kid in agony with a stomach ache, reaching for one more piece of candy. I'm the guy nursing a throbbing tooth, avoiding the needle-wielding dentist.


Basically, I'm a three year old trapped in an adult body. I'm still under the impression that I can skate through life avoiding all problems. I don't see why problems have to be part of the equation. This is the great attraction of alcohol for an alcoholic. It makes the pain go away. It fixes what ails me. It's an effective short term solution for everything.

We take the Long View here.

Present: Existing or happening now; in process.

Today I will try to live in the present. I will fail a lot of the time if my past performance is any indicator of future events. It is a profoundly difficult thing for me to do. I'm always trying to peak around the corner to see what's coming next. I'm trying to position myself so that things work out the way that I want them to work out. It can be frustrating to let the future unwind naturally and of its own accord. I'm frantically trying to keep things moving along quickly and with great force.

I waste a lot of time ignoring the here and now. I brush aside all of the wonderful things in my life as I try to manipulate what has not yet occurred. It may never occur. And when it does occur according to my specifications, half of the time it doesn't work out the way I had anticipated, at which point I'm forced to start to work on the future again. It's a real hamster cage. It's a real treadmill.

They're Out to Get Me

Paranoia: A mental disorder characterized by systematized delusions, as of grandeur, or, especially, persecution.

Today I am going to assume that everyone is out to get me. It's a big conspiracy. They're all sitting around, plotting, planning, figuring out the best techniques to get in my way and frustrate all of my dreams and ambitions. Their heads are so full of schemes that they have trouble falling asleep at night. There are stadiums packed with people taking seminars on how to drive me to the brink of insanity. Seminars with names like "Slow Driving" and "How to Be Unhelpful at Work."

The fact of the matter is that most people are thinking about me just about as much as I'm thinking about them, which is almost never. I don't pay attention to anyone unless I see how it will benefit me . Thinking of someone else is a waste of my time. It gets in the way of my thinking about myself, a full time job in its own right.

Remember: it's not paranoia if someone really is out to get you.

From Pain Shall Come Pleasure

Ouch: An exclamation expressing sudden pain.

I know what I want. I know how to go about getting what I want. I am definitely dialed in to what I don't want. Avoiding pain and pursuing pleasure is a trait that I share with other highly developed life forms like shrimp and moths and horseshoe crabs. It doesn't differentiate me from the rabble. It isn't something to be proud of. I don't walk around shouting: "Hey! Today I'm not going to stick my hand in the fire." That isn't impressive recognition of the known facts.

The trick is turning the adversity into an advantage. I don't have the mindset to see that a difficulty may lead to something better. I can't seem to get by the difficulty part. I'm sure that if I let even the smallest difficulty get by my armed guards that a veritable avalanche of really awful difficulties will overwhelm my defenses.

Pain is part of the equation. Don't focus on it.

Against All Odds

Today I will try to keep my head out of my ass. This is not as easy as it sounds, despite all of the yoga and stretching that I have to do to contort my body into this seemingly impossible physical position. I will try not to be such a dumb ass. I will strive to act in a non-dumb ass manner as often as I can. Since I have a natural tendency to do and say things that are usually reserved for individuals of the dumb ass persuasion, this will take all of the mental strength that I can muster.

There is a lot of beauty in the world around us. Nature is an amazing thing. People that can paint or sing or play music are quite nice. Poetry is unbelievable. Try reading some poetry some time. God -- who is definitely not a dumb ass -- expresses him/her self through the physical world and through the acts of spiritual people. Turn off the TV. The TV is a breeder of dumb asses and not the pinnacle of spiritual expression. I don't feel closer to God after watching TV.

I read a poem this morning by John Keats so I'm feeling pretty full of myself.

The Future is Now

Future: The prospective or potential condition of a person or thing.

Things are going to work out. They're going to work out in their own time. The fact that I try to make them happen at a time and place of my choosing doesn't make them work out faster or improve the outcome at all. This doesn't please me, my inability to pull the future into my own evil workshop where I can tinker with all the gears and cogs. I want to speed the machine up. I'm so busy trying to get into my future that I don't pay enough attention to my present.

Our Promises imply that when we take it easy, when we quit struggling, that we begin to make good decisions. We relax. Our intuition begins to function properly. It's OK to have our eyes on the corner office or a new house or a non-insane spouse; it's when we work so hard at getting those things NOW that we get into trouble. If we're supposed to have them, we'll know when the time is right. If we're not, then we won't fritter away our lives waiting for them to happen.

"Non-insane spouse" is an oxymoron.

The Sweet Nectar of Anger

Today I am going to indulge my sweet tooth for that most delicious of treats: anger. I am going to pay special attention to justified anger, the dessert served up in the best dysfunctional recovery restaurants in the world. If I'm unhappy about something, I'm going to lash out. I will not pause when agitated. I will not practice restraint of tongue and pen. I will react immediately. And because the best defense is a good offense, my strategy will be Shock and Awe. I plan on starting the argument aggressively and ending it quickly with a decisive and overwhelming victory.

My experience with anger is that it almost always works out well for me. When I'm upset, when my emotions are running high, when my sex, security, or ego is threatened, I make fair and balanced decisions. I swing at cops. I curse my parents. I never, ever say anything that I regret.


The best advice I ever got concerning my recovery was this: Don't talk. Don't say anything. Just keep your mouth shut unless it is absolutely, positively necessary. Whatever comes out is invariably going to make things worse.

It has actually been pretty good advice.

We Are Family

Family: all the people living in the same house.

Family. The installer of our buttons. The dasher of our dreams. The source of all of our defects. A group who has conspired since the dawn of time to make our lives as miserable as possible. People who can present a perfectly ordinary front to the general public, then turn into a horrific group of blood sucking monsters with really big teeth behind closed doors.

Yes, maybe. It isn't unheard of -- there are some crappy families out there. But mostly we find ourselves dealing with an average group of folks who have an average collection of character defects. Defects aggravated by alcoholics, active or in recovery. Face it: alcoholics can bring tears of frustration to the eyes of saints and heroes.

The trick is to stop looking for the defects in other people. We're going to find them. Everybody has defects. The trick is to start working on ourselves. Leave those other people alone.

I See a Hurricane A-Coming

Bad: not good; not as it should be; unfavorable; unpleasant; disagreeable.

Most of us have it pretty good. Most of us have it quite good, actually. We're lucky we have what we have in light of our atrocious behavior. We're lucky that we haven't gotten what we deserve. If we were reaping the just rewards of our actions most of us would be in prison or keeping company with the undead. It would probably be hot where we ended up. There wouldn't be a lot of baby-faced cherubs strumming lutes. Things have worked out for us much better than we could have hoped.

So what is it with all of the complaining? We can be a pretty bitchy lot. Personally, I wake up in the morning ready to complain. I can see what's wrong or what might possibly go wrong at a thousand paces, in heavy fog, during a driving rainstorm. I'm not naturally grateful -- I'm naturally on edge. To make matters worse, I can't keep this angst to myself. I have to inform everyone within earshot how bad I have it.

It isn't that bad. It isn't as bad as you are making it out to be.

I Can Make You Better

Critical: Tending to find fault; censorious.

Today I am going to be critical. By that I mean Good Critical. I'm going to offer up heaps and loads of constructive criticism, an unending stream of commentary on how you could improve your life. Who would be better to point out all of your flaws and defects than me? I'm joking, of course, because I'm the most qualified. There is no one more qualified than me.

The outstanding success of my own life has given me the experience necessary to critique yours. I have nothing personal to work on. I'm pretty much a polished, finished product. All of my rigorous self-analysis has lead to the magnificent personal specimen standing before you, virtually, in cyberspace.

Deep down inside you crave this commentary. You want to hear what I think of you. You are eager to change yourself to meet my exacting specifications. Get the cotton out of your ears, stuff it in your mouth, and listen closely to what I have to say about you. Then take these suggestions and get to work.

Advice about Advice

Advice: opinion given as to what to do or how to handle a situation.

Today I will take advice from no man, woman, or beast of the forest. I will consider advice from domesticated barnyard animals under extreme emotional distress, but not just from any creature with cloven hooves. I will not listen to others. I will not reach out when I have a problem. I simply need to do some thinking, alone, all by myself, and everything will work out well.

Advice is for chumps. Counsel is for the weak. Mining the experience, strength, and hope of wiser souls who have gone before me will benefit me not at all. Who knows better than me? Who is wiser than I am? People, I implore you! I will shout my answer to the Heavens: No one! No one is wiser than me!

I’m fine on my own. My thinking is crystal clear. It is objective and insightful and error free. I have years of good, successful living to back up this contention. Things will work out for the best as long as I follow my own advice.

Alone and thinking spells trouble.

I'm The One

Today I have decided to assume the responsibilities of God. And I'm not talking about a God of rock and roll or Big Time Wrestling, and I'm certainly not going to be a god with a small "g." I'm talking God as in Supreme Ruler of the Universe. I'm simply going to force God out of his position and take charge of the whole situation. I can't think of anyone who could do a better job of running the world than me. I say this with a straight face and a great deal of humility.

It has come to my attention that there have been hundreds of instances over the last few years where I have been denied pleasure that was rightfully mine. Even worse, I have experienced pain and loss and general discomfort far too often. Sometimes I get constipated and depressed and have shooting pains right between my eyes. This doesn't seem right to me. This seems to be a correctable situation.

God seems to be distracted most of the time. He doesn't seem to be paying attention to my wants and needs. He isn't often accessible. He ignores my requests or takes his time responding. Sometimes he gets things all twisted up and the whole situation blows up in my face.

Horseface Steve -- God. I like the sound of that.

Thinking Machine

Think: To form or have in the mind; conceive; as, I am thinking black thoughts.

Today I am going to indulge my craving for isolation. It is a scratch that must be itched. I am going to steal away by myself and think. I'm quite the thinker. I'm quite good at it. My thoughts are clear and sharp and correct. I have practiced this ancient art for years and years. I can't really come up with any relevant instances where my thinking has not been sound.

I don't need the counsel of others. People are annoying. People are the worst. All too often they try to convince me that some of my thoughts are not so good. They poke holes in my conclusions. They draw analogies between my thinking and the thinking of insane people. I have never liked it when someone calls me insane. It hurts my self-esteem.

Maybe I'll do some reading this morning. I hear there's a good chapter in the Big Book called "Into Thinking."

Let's Keep It Complicated

When I was starting out in recovery and chafing under the yoke of having to live a spiritual life -- this didn't sound like as much fun as accumulating a lot of material stuff and avoiding as much pain as possible -- I decided to shed the heavy chains of my religious upbringing and devote some time to studying a bunch of the world's other, cooler religions and spiritual schools of thought. What a shock to discover that, in their essence, when all of the dogma and rules and funny priestly outfits are tossed out, there isn't that much difference between them. And our beloved Twelve Step Program didn't come up with anything new, either. It just made these concepts palatable to drunks and drug addicts.

Every day I try to get my arms around what it means to live in the minute and be of service to others and seek God. I think that other people should be of service to me. I think that they should be thinking of me and how they can make my life easier. The present is boring. There's nothing interesting going on right now. If I could only arrange the world to my exact specifications, then I'd be happy. And why should I have to seek God? I'm right here. If he's God, then he shouldn't have any trouble finding me. He can Google me up -- I'm in the book, for god's sake.

It's not as easy as it sounds

Tower of Power

Powerless: Without power; weak, feeble, impotent, unable, not empowered, etc.

I'm not sure that I had any idea what the concept of powerlessness was when I first came into The Program. It's not that I didn't agree with the fact that I was powerless or didn't understand what the word meant. I just wasn't capable of thinking about anything very clearly. I couldn't connect the concept of powerlessness with the moving, burning, exploding train wreck that my life had become.

I didn't stop drinking because I was powerless over alcohol or that my life had become unmanageable. I quit because the alcohol didn't work any more. I didn't say: "I'm going to stop drinking because I'm powerless." I quit because I was in as much pain as I could stand. The alcohol no longer gave me any relief from the devils that were sticking pitchforks into my flanks. I drank and drank and couldn't get drunk, in my mind. My body was certainly drunk but that sense of peace and well-being that the alcohol used to provide had vanished like a thief in the night.

I didn't think about the rationale behind the Twelve Step recovery program at the outset. I simply attended meetings every day. I woke up every morning with my hair on fire and my friends were well equipped with fire extinguishers. I went so that some kind soul could spray fire retardant onto the top of my head, not because I was powerless.

Ouch

Pain: The sensations one feels when hurt, mentally or physically, especially distress, suffering, great anxiety, anguish, grief, etc,: opposed to pleasure.

That is one lousy definition. I mean, that is a really very bad set of sensations. I don't want to have to experience any of that stuff. I am going to try to organize the rest of my life so that I can avoid anything remotely associated with pain. I don't see the point of physical or mental discomfort. It may be OK for you. You may gain some benefit from suffering. You may learn by overcoming adversity but it just isn't going to work for me.

I believe that I can manage well if I am fed a straight diet of pleasure. I promise that I will not overdue it. I promise that I will learn some of life's lessons that are normally learned by living through difficult times. The problem with pain is that it doesn't feel very good. And I'm all about the feeling good.

Slippery Pete

Slippery: Evasive; shifty; deceitful; not reliable or trustworthy.

Relapse is not a part of recovery. That doesn't mean that some of us don't relapse. Such a nice word, relapse, don't you think? Slip is even nicer. It reminds me of a filmy lady's undergarment, or an amusing misstep on a patch of ice. Whoops, I slipped. Tee Hee!

Maybe we should call it Fall into Darkness, or Return to a Hellish Nightmare. Maybe we should say that we "put our hand back into the meat grinder." That sounds quite a bit harsher and a lot more accurate. It doesn't sound like too much fun. That doesn't sound like something that I want to do.

People that slip aren't doing something right. They may be saying the right things. They may be going through the motions. But they are probably not working the Twelve Steps. They probably aren't embracing a spiritual solution.