You Are Such An Asshole . . . .

The woman who led the meeting today has 20+ years of sobriety and is going through one of those "Alcoholics Anonymous is a big pain in the ass and I don't want to do anymore" periods of sobriety.  Look, I get it.  Recovery is inevitably going to get stale from time to time.  It is a big time suck and we can get resentful while remembering that the time commitment is a drop in the bucket compared to the time spent in maintaining active alcoholism.  I trust the process and soldier through it when these spells hit me.

My buddy Willy and I had a similar but more real-life discussion today.  He's in one of those "my job and my family are big pains in my ass and I don't want to do it anymore" periods of life.

"How old are you?  62, right?  You're not bored you're just getting old."

"You are such an asshole," he said.  More on that later.

One of my good friends shared after our leader kicked things off by talking about how he's in the "one is too many and a thousand aren't enough" club where I, too, am a member in good standing.  Anything that makes me feel good - hell, that makes me feel different - kicks in a need to keep doing it more and more.  Drugs, alcohol, nicotine, caffeine, sugar, salt, all obsessions of mine as are the endorphins released during exercise or sex or success at work.  I crave more.  This is why I don't think I'm cured of alcoholism or I can relax in my recovery.  If I can hold off on stuffing that first cookie in my mouth I have a chance but once I get started the whole bag is in peril.

After the meeting I took my beach walk and sat down for my fifteen minute "listen to the waves meditation."  About halfway through a very nice man commented on how beautiful the day was and then engaged me in conversation for a while.  He was dressed nicely so I knew a member of a religious organization that sets up a stand every day on the boardwalk.  After ten minutes or so he brought up the Bible and I smiled politely, held out my hand, and wished him a good day.  It was irritating enough that he took up some of my valuable free time chit-chatting but I wasn't going to let him intrude on my personal spiritual beliefs.  I talked with him and I enjoyed the talking because I was able to keep in my mind my daily prayer "to be shown how I can be of service to someone else today."  This rarely comes in the form of ways I want to be of service but then again who knows what tricks my kooky higher power has up his or her or its sleeve.  There's a guy who lives across from me who likes to stroll over when I'm meditating or reading on my front porch and this guy I don't like.  Again . . . har har de har says my H.P.

A woman shared today about trudging forward with a daughter who is in recovery from Stage Four breast cancer and a letter from the IRS sitting on her kitchen counter and a boss who "wants to talk to her today" in the queue.  

"Guess what?"  she said.  "I can have peace of mind even with a sick child and a possible tax bill and imagined conflict with my boss staring me in the face."

Again and again and again I say: there are no good things and no bad things . . . just things.  We often can't see far enough ahead to know why they're happening.

A friend of mine texted me last night about the possibility of a friend of his attending the  Keep It Complicated today and wondered if I could introduce myself.  This to the dude who tackles anyone he doesn't know.  The guy was there and I hope I made him feel welcome.  The miracle, of course, was that someone asked me to be the face of anything.  No one was asking me to represent anything when I was out there practicing my craft.

When the time for sharing was through today my buddy started to announce that we were now going to hear from the secretary about group matters.  Midstream I said loudly: "I'm Seaweed and I'm an alcoholic!" as if I had a need to share so urgent that we'd have to extend the meeting past its normal closing time.

"No you don't, Seaweed," she said.

"But I have a burning desire!" I said.  "I'm lonely and I'm shy and I really need to talk!"

"You are such an asshole," she quipped.

Twice I was an asshole before ten in the morning.