And Then There's Me . . .

Humble:  Thinking lowly of one's self; claiming little for one's self; not proud, arrogant, or assuming; modest.

The topic at the meeting today was humility.  I should have been asked to lead the discussion since I'm internationally known for my humility.  Not that I get paid enough for being so fucking humble - apparently it's an honorary position.  Either that or I'm not on the humility payroll.  Maybe I'm more of an unpaid intern.  I'm getting screwed, I know that.  I'm always getting screwed.

Not that I could concentrate very well with all of the animated points being forcefully made by the dude who always shows up in mirror shades and a sock cap - summer or winter, makes no difference - wearing big noise-cancelling headphones.  I can sympathize - I don't always want to hear what's being said myself.  He was very animated today, though.

Humility is best shown by one's behavior - which I pay attention to - and not expressed by words - which are a dime a dozen, especially when a drunk is talking. I've heard the most amazingly arrogant people tell me how humble they are.  Kind of like what I'm doing now.

To wit:

Michael G was at the meeting today as he is every morning.  He has 50 years of continuous sobriety, not that he's ever mentioned it in a meeting.

I used to have coffee a couple of nights a week with a group of guys after meetings.  One of them was the Chief of Staff of the biggest hospital in our mid-sized city.  He never brought it up.  I didn't call him Doctor.  I can't even remember his name he was so unassuming.

Bob S picked me up for meetings when I was getting sober.  He was one of the few people who could stand my presence for more than a few minutes.  I moved away.  I learned after his death that he was dying of cancer the whole time.  He didn't talk about it with me.

The irascible Jack K, who I knew for 10 years, revealed as a three sport star at a major university at his wake.   Not one.  Not two.  Three.  He did not talk about it.

And then there's me: Little Stevie Seaweed.  I repeat the story of anonymously giving a sponsee a subscription to a recovery magazine that cost $1 a month at the time.  He eventually confided to me that he had figured out who the guy was who gave it to him, then mentioned not me.  I nearly bit my tongue it two holding my tongue.

$1 a month.

Little Stevie Seaweed strikes again.