Relate! Don't Obfuscate.

Last night I listened to a lead given by a man who took a more -- ahem -- colorful route to recovery than I did. My tendency is to concentrate on the differences that I have with other alcoholics. My disease encourages me to feel special. I'm not like that guy; he's an alcoholic; ergo, I'm not. Tricky dude, my alcoholism. Skilled at Wedge Politics. Skilled at getting me alone. My alcoholism is like a pack of wolves trying to separate the sick, elderly, blind, crippled moose from the pack. I'm the sick moose.


One of the things that I can always identify with is the sense of not caring what happens to me or anyone else when I'm drinking. The guy last night talked about sitting in a bar, broke, and deciding to go rob a bank. He didn't want to rob a bank but he needed money to drink. He didn't consider the consequences. To the best of my knowledge I never did that. But I did things all of the time with potentially severe consequences to me, to my loved ones, and to the general public, and I just didn't care as long as I got to drink and take drugs. Most of us can remember sitting in a car, too drunk to walk, and turning the ignition key. We didn't care.


I can also relate to the sense of purpose that comes when I try to pass along the message of recovery. Our founders were really on to something when they foisted that Twelfth Step on us. They perceived that we would stay sober if we tried to help other people stay sober. My friend from last night had spent a number of years in jail. He had just given a talk to a group of law students at a local university, and the professor asked him to come back. I bet he didn't imagine on his last day drinking that he would one day be an instructor at a law school.