Freedom From Bondage

Sometimes the content of one of the stories in The Big Book really resonates with me.  The thinking sounds eerily similar to my own.  Here's a tidbit from the story "Freedom from Bondage:" The amount of will power exercised to control my drinking during working hours, diverted into a constructive channel, would have made me President."   

I include a similar sentiment in my remarks on occasion, this sense that I was putting far more time into getting away with not working than I would have put into . . . you know . . . just doing the work.  I was in a General Motors factory once where a supervisor said that the company bought a bunch of bicycles to help the line workers move around the huge facility more quickly.  The assumption was that these were pretty big items that would be hard to steal and consequently didn't need any theft protection.  In short order that some of the employees figured out that if they dismantled the bike and smuggled the smaller parts out piece by piece they could get away with the theft and voila! free bike!  I marveled at the fact that if this kind of ingenuity would have been put to practical use the thieves would have been promoted to positions of greater responsibility where they would have made more money and would have been able to just easily buy a new bike.

"My egocentricity had reached such proportions that adjustment to anything outside my personal control was impossible for me."

Egocentrism is the cognitive, often subconscious, inability to differentiate one's own perspective, thoughts, and feelings from those of others, leading to asn assumption that others experience the world the same way. It is a normal developmental stage in children but can persist in adults, manifesting as selfish, self-centered behavior or a failure to consider alternative viewpoints. 

There's an old sitcom called "WKRP in Cincinnati" which centered around a small radio station that played classic rock and was staffed by a very committed group of rock and roller outcasts.  Because the station wasn't making enough money the owners decided to switch the format to easy listening.  This upset the staff immensely.  As they were in a turmoil, discussing possible plans of action, the sales guy came in, a dense and tremendously egocentric buffoon, and shouted over the din: "What a minute, wait a minute!  (Comedic pause.)  "How does this affect me?"  This scene has stayed with me over the years as an example of egocentrism run amok.  We all need to aware of our own needs and wants.  This is perfectly normal and a necessary survival instinct.  But we are higher beings - or we strive to be - and this means that we learn - or we should learn - about considering the needs and wants of others.  And, taken to a spiritual extreme, putting those needs and wants above our own.

Who the fuck does that?!

"With deep shame came the knowledge that I have lived with no sense of social obligation nor had I known the meaning of moral responsibility to my fellow man."

Another great realization.  I am proud to live an independent life.  It's part of the magic that makes me who I am.  But, in my drinking days (and occasionally, still, at this later date) I took this independance to an unhealthy extreme and slowly became a selfish dude who didn't give a shit about anyone else.  Our Book is peppered with reminders that a life spent in service to others is deeply satisfying.  It reminds us that our sobriety is dependant on passing along the gift - free of charge, with no expectation of any return - that was so freely given to us.  We are exhorted to live a life of service to others . . . at our own expense . . . and anything that we lose, or think we lose, will be returned to us in a larger measure.

There's That Hairy Monster Again

I had a long conversation yesterday with a young man who grew up in foster homes, and to this day doesn't know who is parents are.  Almost every time we speak he surprises me with some behavior that I should have known about - that it would have been healthy for him to tell me about, to tell someone about, anybody, some homeless dude just to hear himself talk - but that I did not, in fact, know about.  I don't think he's trying to hide anything or to deceive anyone - I think it doesn't occur to him to talk to another person about stuff that's going on.  For instance, he seems to have problems with a fear of abandonment.  No shit, right?  To be abandoned as a child, to feel unloved, to be raised in a chaotic environment, and then try to sustain a healthy relationship with other people?  I see him careen between taking hostages and continuing to pursue relationships that clearly aren't working.  None of this makes him a bad guy or a fatally flawed one but I'm continually surprised when he casually mentions spending time with someone who behaved in a way - not long ago - that convinced him the relationship was over.  I find myself saying: "Wait . . . what?  You did what?  With that person?"  I'm more surprised that he isn't keeping me in the loop over his behavior than with the behavior itself.  I understand why two incompatible people who are driving each other mental keep returning to their own conjoined, codependent mental institution but why he doesn't think to loop me in is the cipher.  I don't think he's worried that I'll tell him not to do something - I think it just doesn't occur to him to talk to someone else about what he's doing. 

I will occasionally shoot off a text to a young woman whose father is an intractable homeless dude, a man who has been homeless for a long time and doesn't seem interested in changing, a man who is uninterested in being part of her life.  So guess what?  She's a fiercely independent person, not at all needy, who manages her life just fine most of the time.  But, on occasion, I'll get a long reply full of drama and anger that shows me that she is not used to including anyone else in what's going on.  Not me, not anyone, and I see how this isolation can really be a hindrance to a calm, collected day.   

I'm convinced that we all get used to not having something and then if we get it we're surprised at how much we missed it and how satisfying it is to have it.

Misery: A condition of great wretchedness or suffering; extreme unhappiness.  It's not dropping your ice cream cone - it's having a hairy monster steal your ice cream cone, eat it in one bite, and then kidnap you and carry you off to his cave.   

Suffering: When painful emotions get activated in response to a difficult circumstance; the state of undergoing pain, stress, or hardship.

I read these two excellent words in The Big Book recently.  When I staggered into A.A. I was suffering in misery.  Misery is what I was enduring.  I believe the old aphorism which states: "Pain is inevitable - suffering is optional."  Today this kind of wisdom, hard-earned, often makes me immune to the suffering - for the most part or at least helps me manage it - when difficult things happen to me.  I can feel the pain but I have the tools to deal with it so I don't descend into long-term suffering.

Timing Is Everything

I've been attending meetings for a couple of years now with a man who I'm friends with . . . almost friends with . . . friendly with . . . some combination of all that.  He's a smart guy with a quick wit who likes to joke around but isn't quite as funny as he thinks he is and whose timing and content needs some work . . .  some serious work.  A gentle jibe spoken to the right person at the right time can add to the laughter in The Rooms while it might appear offensive written down on a sheet of paper with no context provided.  He always tends toward humor I find pretty juvenile, more suited to middle-school boys trying to find their way in the world and not to a grown-ass man.  This is okay, too, and not that unusual.

I think he's trying too hard.  When he's not in Show Time mode he comes across as a gentle, thoughtful man.  Case in point: we have a woman who attends our meeting from who is bursting with nervous energy.  She doesn't have ants in her pants - she has fire ants in her pants, pissed fire ants, pissed ravenously hungry fire ants.  Man, I get it, I really do.  I'm also an ants-in-my-pants kind of guy.  She's a little sporadic in her attendance so many of us can see that she would probably be happier if she could get some of her fire back in the fireplace instead of incinerating the kitchen curtains, but that's her call and I'm glad to see her in any case.  Anyway, my friend, trying to be funny, compared her to Granny on the Beverly Hillbillies.  Granny was a firecracker.  Granny blew the doors off everyone else in the show.  Granny was a burn-the-house down kind of firecracker.  I get the reference and I believe that - maybe - in the right circumstances and with exquisite timing our member would have laughed at this but the comment annoyed her.  My point: clever, witty, accurate joke that landed with a clang.

I've been telling this dude lately that I've really noticed a change in him, that I believe The Program is sinking in more deeply.  I'm seeing more of the kind, gentle man and less of the trying too hard, inappropriate man.

Here's a Seaweed analogy because my wife loves my analogies.  I can hear her rolling her eyes from the back of the house as I type this.  That, of course, never stops me so here's the analogy.  I was walking along the boardwalk yesterday during a spirited high tide.  There were places where the pavement was wet so I knew to keep an eye on the strength and the fury of the incoming surf.  A woman, clearly not a local, had strayed too close to the surf while she was trying to get some pictures of the big waves and did not notice a big one coming in which splashed over the  barrier and absolutely soaked her.  A water dripping off her hair soaking.  A number of us stopped and looked, some smiles because slipping on a banana peel and falling on your ass is kind of funny, but I approached her and asked if she was okay.  She was trying to laugh it off, more embarrassed than anything, calling herself an idiot over and over.  I assured her that she wasn't an idiot, that I had seen this happen many times over the years.  She handed over her dripping phone when I asked if I could dry off the salt water running off the screen.  After a few moments I told her: "Well .  .  . you made my day."  She laughed pretty hard.  But, if I had said this immediately, without coming over and being nice and helpful and sympathetic, I would have sounded like a major asshole.  My timing was spot on and it came after a burst of kindness.  I wanted her to know I was laughing with her and not at her.

Although I was kind of laughing at her.

Ha! Ha! I Mean . . . Do'h!

I'm asked from time to time why I continue to attend A.A. meetings when I'm no longer an active drunk?  I'm tempted to say: "Because I'm still an active asshole."  While that quip is meant mostly as a joke there's more than a touch of truth clinging to it.  To wit: the clerk at my grocery store who annoyed me over a trifle or the woman who brought her own personal boom box into my public pool, provoking me to behave in an incredibly childish and immature way by trying to splash water onto her audio equipment.  (Ed. Note: After I did this incredibly childish and immature thing I told on myself at a meeting.  Then . . . I've never seen her again.  Life is funny that way.  Not "ha-ha" funny but "D'oh!" funny.)  I'm grateful that I don't often pursue my minor grievances into such extremes of behavior but am aware that I'm aggrieved over minor things more stridently than I'd care to be.  

This has reminded me of a story a man told about a contentious relationship he had with a neighbor.  It was suggested that he might get some relief if he prayed for this guy every day for two weeks.  It worked - he felt some relief and was able to put the resentment behind him only to come home and see a For Sale sign in his neighbor's yard.  Do'h!  God is not a little funny - God is damned funny.

And I did share with my home group - out loud, when other people were in the room, in the language commonly spoken in the region - the story of the grocery store clerk who annoyed the holy shit out of me by doing something incredibly inconsequential.  Most of the time if I just chill and breathe and shake my internal head the pique flows away.  But I find that my community keeps me on the straight and narrow.

Art!!

 SuperK is the painter in the family.  I'm the writer.  I'm using those two terms generously.  She isn't selling $10,000 paintings in trendy SoHo galleries and I'm not super busy with book signings at this point.  But both of us are trying to tickle our creative sweet tooth - this is a good example of crashing parts of two totally distinct idioms together and ending up with an incomprehensible phrase - and staying engaged with our creative sides.  I think it's important to exercise all parts of our being, and creating something new, all by yourself, whether or not it's worthy of a book signing or a gallery opening is not really the point.   We learn to take care of our physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual lives.  We learn to nurture all aspects of our being.            

There's a new guy at my meeting who's a professional photographer.  I mean "professional" as in he traveled and took pictures for magazine publications, photographed weddings, took portraits, and had showings at galleries.  Today, trudging the early road of sobriety, he has a job taking pictures of newborns and their parents at a local hospital.  He's content doing this.  It cannot help but be satisfying being around people who are experiencing such a joyous moment.  I suspect, however, that at some point this kind of work won't be as satisfying as it is today.  I'm not a photographer but it sounds repetitive and not very challenging.  

I'm not sure where I'm going with this.  Maybe just a personal reminder that I have to take care of my whole being.  I don't sit in front of The TV all the time.  I think the average American has The TV on six or seven hours a day.   I don't know how you do that.  I couldn't do that when I was drinking and was too drunk to get up off the couch.  When I compose a post on my blog I usually do some initial writing and then come back to the page later to review what I've written, and I almost always change some phrases around so they're more to my liking.  To me they sound better and I'm really writing for me.  I so much appreciate that you're reading this - it fills my heart up tick-full - but the pleasure is rereading my final draft and thinking: "Hey, that's good - that's what I was trying to say."

SuperK's work as a painter has helped me understand art in a much more significant way.  She tells me often that I have a pretty good eye with a camera.  I believe that because of our talks about perspective and composition and subject I can now see - sometimes, anyway - why a photograph I've taken catches my eye in a way that most of them don't.  Any photographs I take that look good can be chalked up to dumb luck but it's gratifying to understand more fully why a picture is pleasing or why it doesn't grab my attention,         

Not Superior or an Authority of Any Sort

I find myself often talking to alcoholics who are not really All In with A.A.  I'm okay with this for the most part.  It's an odd philosophy, when you think about it, incorporating tons of different concepts and beliefs and practices that have been culled from ancient philosophies and religions and belief systems.  What strikes me is that if you don't have some kind of community to lean on then recovery is harder and sketchier.  I cannot imagine trying to recover all by myself.  I urge people to do something with other people - A.A., recovery groups, fraternal organizations, church, whatever.  There's nothing more suspicious than an alcoholic by himself, thinking.  With a lot of these people I find it's me reaching out to them and not the other way around even though the other way around is how it works best.  Why is it so hard to ask for help?  From people who have made such a mess of things that they clearly need help?

We try never to talk to newcomers from a position of superiority or authority.

I was at our local farmer's market today.  Normally, if my tab includes some change I wave it off, let the local farmer have it.  I don't want a quarter in my pocket.  I don't know what to do with change.  I think we should ban change.  I think everything should cost one dollar or multiples thereof.  Today, for reasons unknown to me, I went ahead and took the fifty cents in change, and as I was leaving the stand I walked by a little girl of ten or so who bent over and picked up a dime from the ground, and was obviously pleased at this found money.  As I walked by I held out my hand and said: "Here." and dropped the fifty cents on top of her dime, and just kept walking, not saying a word.  She was with a couple of adults when I did this and as I walked off the look of amazement on her face was just incredible.  Made my day.  Cost me a whole four bits.

I STILL Want to be God

"Sometimes we are told in A.A. not to try and learn the reasons for our drinking.  But such is my nature that I must know the reason for things, and I didn't stop until I had satisfied myself about the reasons for my drinking.  To my way of thinking, alcoholism is a state of being in which the motions have failed to grow to the stature of the intellect.  What is causing us to drink, therefore, is a sense of inadequacy, a childish vanity to be the most popular, the most sought after, the mostest of the most.  I wanted a cosmos, a universe all my own which I had created and where I resigned as chief top resigner and ruler over everyone else.  Okay, okay - I wanted to be God."

Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous P. 535  

Love this passage.  There is nothing like an emotionally immature and stunted child who believes he or she is too smart for this world.  I dunno . . .  I took a drink and I took a drug and it did something to me that it doesn't do to the vast majority of people.  I know this because I talk to other alcoholics and they report the exact same reaction.  It lights up some weird pleasure/pain center in my brain that makes me go back over and over even when I know that the effects are injurious.

"For me, A.A. is a synthesis of all the philosophy I've ever read, all of the positive, good philosophy, all of it based on love.  I don't care too much about personal fame or glory, and I want only enough money to enable me to do the work I feel I can perhaps do best.  (Ed. Note: Boy, sounds like bullshit to me . . . )  The more you give, the more you get.  The less you think of yourself the more of a person you become."

Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous P. 542-3