Horseface Steve and Chuck

Take Advantage Of: To make use of for one's own benefit or for a selfish purpose.


Sometimes I need to have other people tell me when I'm behaving well.  I marvel at how hard it is to pay myself a compliment.  I marvel at how easy it is to dwell on the negative when I review my actions at the end of each day and at how easy it is to dismiss my achievements, mostly because my Buick-sized ego thinks achievements should be large and dramatic.  My ego doesn't think much of a simple life well lived.


Recently I decided to buy a new car.  This, of course, falls squarely in the camp of "things I didn't have to worry about when I was drinking."  I fondly remember the car I was driving when I got sober: a 1965 Plymouth Belvedere station wagon that my grandfather gave me.  It ran just fine unless it was too hot or too cold or it was raining or I hadn't started it in the last 3 hours.  It had one headlight and no radio and the heater didn't work too well.  The brakes were shot, and so were the tires.  Maybe "fondly" isn't the right word.  As you can imagine, it was a terrifying experience to get in that thing.


Anyway, I stopped by a car dealer and spoke with one of the salesmen, grateful that I'm in a position to afford a new car.  I used to take the stance of Me Versus Them when I was trying to buy something.  Today I'm relaxed, less paranoid,  and I understand that everyone is trying to make a living.  I don't naturally assume that people are trying to take advantage of me, to cheat me.  I told this guy, who seemed to be a perfectly decent man, that I wasn't going to run all over town to try to get the absolute lowest price imaginable and that what I expected from him was a fair proposal right out of the chute.  I'm lucky to be in a position where I have a little cushion in my finances; I realize that not everyone can do this, and I'm grateful for that.


Now, I went home and did some homework, of course.  I'm not that trusting.  I found that the guy was being more than fair with me.  I'm going to assume that if I did run all over town, being marginally honest and totally manipulative, trying to play every dealer off of each other that I probably could have saved a few more dollars.   My experience is that when I've behaved this way people have been know to  mutter "what a jerk" when I walk out of the place.


The next day I went back in with SuperK to choose the specific model.  Chuck, the salesman, stopped us before we took a test drive and spoke to my wife: "I want to say something here.  I'm going to call this guy out before we go.  He's a man of his word.  He told me what he was going to do yesterday and that's what he did, and I appreciate that."  This was not scripted and I could tell Chuck was being honest.  I was able to say: "Thanks, I appreciate that."  


I assume that a lot of people tell him what they're going to do and then they don't do it.  Some of them probably lie outright and some of them are probably afraid, so they say whatever they want to get themselves out of an uncomfortable situation.  So instead of thinking only of myself I try to think of the other person.  How easy it would be to become jaded and defensive if you had to deal with people like that all day long.


It's a damn nice car.

Beat Around the Bush

I like the fact that my friends in The Program call me on my nonsense.  They speak to me directly.  They don't beat around the bush.  They beat ON the bush, and I'm the bush.  I believe that their motives are usually good although I don't always like to hear what they have to say.  I was offended and shocked at their bluntness early on.  


When I'm not doing well I tend to give answers that gloss over the truth about how I'm really doing and to have the people I'm talking to patronize me with their response.  I don't want to expend the energy to really listen to anyone else and I don't want anyone else to really get to know me.  I have an impressive front to maintain and any honesty about setbacks or problems would sully my surface.


I think my friends want to know how I'm doing.  Really.  I think they really want to hear the truth when they ask me a question.  I don't think they want to hear me bitch on and on about something forever but I also think they don't like it when I try to gloss over my problems.  My favorite response to any inquiries after my well being used to be: "Fine."  Some of us think this is an acronym for Screwed-Up, Insecure, Neurotic, and Evasive.  It can be a good answer if you indeed are feeling fine.  It's dishonest if you aren't.  No one can be helped if they refuse to admit they have a problem.


When things didn't go well my dad would get angry and go out, and my mom would assure me that everything was OK.  So I learned to get mad and run away or to pretend that everything was fine.  My first sponsor told the story of coming inside with a cut knee, crying, when he was a little boy.  His father said: "You're OK" and his mother said: "It doesn't hurt."  Maybe it was the other way around.  The point is that it did hurt and he wasn't OK.  


People are listening when you speak.

Horseface Steve -- Controller

Controller: A person who controls; one who governs, manages, or restrains.


I'm trying to help out my elderly parents as their health begins to worsen.  The problem is that they don't want my help, which is too bad because I always know what is best for everyone.  If my parents took all of my suggestions then their lives would be a wondrous thing to behold.  They don't seem to think so, apparently, because they're taking approximately none of my suggestions.


Personally, I never listen to anyone when they try to give me any advice.  I don't even listen to close and trusted friends who give me advice on matters that I have specifically asked for advice on.  You can imagine how it goes when I don't want the advice, or I don't like the person dispensing the advice.


More lessons in powerlessness.  

Spooky

Here's the minor Buddhist again, trying to convince practical German peasants like me that meditation is worth my time: "Suddenly the solution is there.  It just pops out of the deep mind and you say, 'Ah ha!' and the whole thing is solved."  When I first read the famous Promises of AA lore I marveled at how empty and indistinct they seemed.  Today I marvel at how utterly profound they are.  One of the great Promises suggests that "we will intuitively know how to handle situations that used to baffle us."  I was skeptical of this dubious idea at first.  


Some of us think these solutions are god-centered and come from a place not of this world.  Some of us think that the mind is an amazing thing if we can only stop letting the superficial parts run the show, the parts that clamor for more pleasure and less pain, for more money, sex, and power.  Like most people who have worked away at this I have a thick ledger full of situations where I prayed and meditated and made a decision, sometimes on weighty matters, that seemed to run counter to logical reasoning and had the whole thing turn out wonderfully.  The Xs and the Os seemed to suggest something, and the deep circuitry led me to something else.


I don't know what to call this anymore.  Frankly, I don't care.  I don't know why I make the choices I do some of the time but it's nice not always blowing everything up while I try to talk with my foot in my mouth.  I go with the Little Man on my shoulder.  I do what he says.  All I know is that the information is coming from someplace that I don't fully understand.  It trumps my logic; it supplements my conscious mind without replacing it.


Well, I don't meditate because I LIKE meditating.

Appearances

Appearance:  Generally refers to the outward impression of a thing while often implying mere show or pretense.


I do a great job of quickly sizing up someone based solely on their appearance, placing them in a category with strict qualifications, then loving them or despising them accordingly.  This happens fast. The funny thing -- not ha ha funny but sad pathetic funny -- is that I'm almost never right in my judgment.  I put people in a Box.  It's very difficult to get out of my Boxes.  I assume everyone else does it to me so I've developed a lot of mere show and pretense to fake out the competition.  Look left and go right with a head fake thrown in for good measure.


In the Old City I had a guy ask me to be his sponsor.  He looked like a Hell's Angel.  I mean, really: shaved head, goatee, tattoos, Harley cycle, the whole bit.  Really one of the nicest guys I've worked with in The Program: smart, kind, good sense of humor, a real pleasure to know.  Now, I'm not saying he didn't do some damage with a belly full of beer when he was in his day but I never got to see that.  All I know is that he looked like a Hell's Angel but acted like a social worker.

I've learned today to set aside the impressions that I form based on someone's appearance or the type of car they drive or what kind of work they do or where they live and go over and talk to the person.  It's not natural.  This is an acquired taste.  I've found that the people I put in the Cool Box turn out to be not so cool and the people that I don't think are going to be worth my precious, precious, precious time end up being so worth my precious, precious time.  You used to be Better Than Me and I resented you, or you were Worse Than Me, and I scorned your very existence.


This has to be more control.

The Conundrum

Compliment:  Something said in admiration or praise.


The only thing that irritates me more than being criticized is trying to figure out what to do with a compliment.  Compliments make me really, really uncomfortable.  In a surprisingly substantial way I enjoy the criticism more than the praise.  I know what to do with the criticism.  I feel shitty about myself anyhow so I secretly believe that the criticism is justified; in fact, I'm just lucky the criticizer doesn't really know all about me.  They're merely scratching the surface; it would be a blood bath if they knew my deep, dark secrets (Ed note: by "deep, dark secrets" I mean "fairly ordinary things that I've blown way out of proportion).  And when someone says something that isn't complimentary I get to fight back, which I love to do, or I get to run away, which I love to do even more.


I've come to believe that this is not only unfair to myself, it's unfair to the person who is trying to be nice.  Today I think the right answer to a compliment should fall along the lines of: "Thank you.  I appreciate that.  What a nice thing to say."  Today I personally enjoy dispensing compliments; it makes me feel good to say something nice to someone else.  It's fairly disappointing when the other person tries to fight off my kind words with excuses or sarcasm, even though I understand the impulse.  As an Egomaniac with an Inferiority Complex I crave your praise at the same time it's making me uncomfortable.


I can take a blow.  I can't take a pat on the back.

People, Can We All Just Get Along?

Society: Any organized group of people joined together because of some interest in common.


I'm repeating myself here, saying the same things over and over because I can't remember what I did 20 minutes ago let alone last week, but I think often of the time early in my sobriety when I tried to refuse a service position by explaining that I didn't drink coffee at night.  Why would I come to a meeting early to make coffee for other people, especially when I wasn't going to be paid or at least lavishly praised?  Never mind the criticizing about the bad coffee that I endured; I'm glad I didn't know that was coming.  


This was how I perceived the world: as a Zero Sum Game.  There was a certain amount of everything and my goal was to accumulate as large a pile as possible.  I was vaguely aware that this would come at the expense of the piles of other people, but I didn't care about other people at that point.  I certainly wasn't going to take anything off of my pile to give to anyone else.  I had done a lot of work to build that pile.


More from the minor Buddhist: "You've got to see your own place in society and your function as a social being.  You've got to see your duties and obligations to your fellow human beings, and above all, your responsibility to yourself as an individual living with other individuals."


Man, does that sound like The Fellowship.  That's nothing more than a fancy rewording of the First Tradition, which cautions us that the individual is never more important than the organization as a whole.


And I don't want to harp on the Buddhist tradition, either.  The Bible is filled with examples of Jesus serving others.  I can almost hear him muttering under his breath as he washed the feet of the disciples: "Do I have to show these idiots everything?  MY feet are killing me, my bunions need a good massaging, and I could use a new pair of sandals from Columbia."  He knew the showing was better than the telling.


Those damn disciples, anyway.

To Dream the Impossible Dream

Impossible:  Not capable of being, being done, or happening.


In case you're under the impression that The Program is based on some type of new and undiscovered spirituality take a gander at these words found in a book written by a Buddhist dude of no special import: "No matter how much you just gained, you are either going to lose some of it or spend the rest of your days guarding what you have got and scheming how to get more."


This concept can be found, almost word for word,  at the end of Step Seven.  Bill reminds us that the result of this type of life philosophy is that we will be "living upon a basis of unsatisfied demands in a state of continual disturbance and frustration."  That sounds like me when I staggered into the rooms.  That sounds like me from time to time in my sobriety.  My main accomplishment today is that I'm not disturbed and frustrated all of the time, or even most of the time.  That may not sound like much but for a guy who was afraid and upset 24/7 it's not a bad place to be.


Today I understand that I'm not going to get everything I want.  It's impossible.  It doesn't mean that I can't desire something but rather that I'm not compelled to chase after it.  It doesn't mean that I'm not going to fear something else but rather that I'm not condemned to quake in fear.

By Meditation I Mean . . .

Intuition:  The immediate knowing or learning of something without the conscious use of reasoning; instantaneous apprehension.


I have started supplementing my morning prayer and meditation (editors note: by "meditation I mean "falling asleep, daydreaming, or fantasizing") with about 20 minutes of afternoon meditation.  As a morning person my mood is usually pretty good at the start of the day; I have the most trouble with my attitude from about 3 to 6 PM.  This is the time of day that I start to worry that I haven't accomplished enough.  There is often no direct correlation between what I have done and how I feel about it.  It's almost never enough.  I could always have done more.


Often when I meditate I try to concentrate on my breathing, on the sensation of air moving in and out of my body.  One of the theories as to why this is so effective is that taking in O2 is something that connects me to all living things, from the lowly newt to the mighty aardvark.  I have to remember that I'm trying to be a part of things.  I'm trying to override my tendency to feel different, apart, other.


In the afternoon I have been playing around with the visualization thing.  Sometimes I imagine that I'm in a conveyance moving forward quietly -- a canoe on a river, an elevated log flume, an electric train.  I'm in the first seat so I can watch everything glide by.  I can see my things go by but I don't have to do anything about it.  Sometimes I imagine that I'm flying -- which is pretty cool; I have big bird wings that I can flap -- or drifting in a hot air balloon, or hang gliding.  I'm looking down on everything.  I can see it down there, passing slowly by, but I can't do anything about it.  It's quiet.


Meditation has gotten easier for me but it still isn't easy.  My gibbering mind likes to get in there and make a lot of noise, to distract me for what reason I do not know.  The amazing thing is that the more I do this the more the world quiets down and makes sense.  Not always right then, when I'm meditating, either, but I feel good at the end of the day.  I've been in the moment, not worrying about things that I can't fix or change.


It's pretty cool.


It's pretty cool.  I have no idea how it works.

The Big Picture

Roughly 24 years ago today I quit smoking dope and began a run of continuous sobriety.  That continuous part is really critical.  Farmer Bill used to interrupt me when I was announcing my anniversary in the Old Town: "Is that continuous sobriety?" he'd ask.  "Oh, continuous?" I'd say.  "I didn't realize it had to be continuous."  I had quit drinking about 6 months before I finally quit using.  Apparently, my interpretation of The Program at the start didn't require that I give up weed.  I was vaguely uneasy taking 30, 60, and 90 day chips but not uneasy enough to mention that I was smoking dope.  I decided to try the Marijuana Maintenance Plan to ease into recovery, even though it was no recovery at all.


Anyway, if there's one thing I've learned in sobriety it's this: Everything works out in the long run.  There aren't many promises in the short term; we eat some shit sandwiches in the short term, but The Big Picture is rosy and earns good money at the box office.


As a great example, about this time in 2006 The Evil Corporation bought the company I worked for.  I could see the handwriting on the wall: Things were bad and they were going to get worse.  A lot worse, and quickly.  I was upset for a period of time.  Not a little upset, either, but quite upset.  Today I see that I was somewhat off on my prediction of how long this awful cataclysm would take to ruin my life, believing "quickly" to be 5 weeks, maybe 5 months, not 5 years.


Whoever sold me my crystal ball screwed me to the wall, that's for sure.

Horseface Steve is in Control.

Control:  To exercise authority over; direct; command.


I had a dream last night.  I'm sure I had many dreams last night but I remember this one, which is unusual because usually I sleep like I'm dead.  Anyway, I was in a play and I was running late; I was dressed in some clothing that would be appropriate for a Shakespearean play -- leggings and high necked collars and little slippers.  Maybe I was Hamlet or Macbeth or King Henry!  Certainly someone very important and absolutely crucial to the production.  I doubt I would have bothered to show up at all unless I was the center of attention.


The play was in a big, open, airy church.  It was an old church, with lots of stained glass windows and transepts and soaring stone arches.  There were dinner tables set up all around, decked out with linen tablecloths and fine crystal and floral centerpieces.  OK, I made that last part up so that I can embellish this not very interesting story.  The tables were round and covered with white tablecloths.  They could have been cotton or some cheap synthetic material.  I can't speak with any knowledge about the quality of the dinnerware, either.  But there were a lot of dressed up people sitting down or milling about the space, and they were nicely dressed.


I was running around asking where I should go.  "I'm in the play," I explained.  I hadn't practiced.    I didn't know anything about anything.  I didn't know shit.  I felt anxious, which seems reasonable considering I was getting ready to perform in a play that I hadn't practiced for.


There are no hidden cues in this fairly literal dream.  I'm in a church, which ain't going to happen even if I am cast as Hamlet.  And I'm in a play and I don't know where to go.  Certainly this reminds me of the characterization in our Book about The Director.  You know the guy: the one who will be happy if he can just arrange all of the scenery and get everyone to go where he wants them to go and behave as he sees fit.


I guess I'm lucky I wasn't naked.  I also have a recurring set of dreams where I'm in a university type setting and I have no clothes on and I'm trying to find the room where the final exam is being administered for a class I have yet to attend.


Control?  Me, control?

Running Shoes

Generalize:  To emphasize the general character rather than specific details of; make vague.


Most of my conversations with newish alcoholics end up with this characterization: "Egomaniac with an inferiority complex."  Then, I think: "This dude believes he's relaxed."  I hate to generalize . . . well, not really as it's a convenient way to place the world into tidy little boxes that I find comforting . . . but when I'm in a meeting I believe that I'm surrounded by hard-charging overachievers.  I don't see too much relaxed in the chairs around me.  I see some people who have managed to take their foot off the accelerator but not too many who think that slow is a good speed.


The difference for me today is that when I don't achieve the absurdly high levels of accomplishment that I think are my responsibility I have a way to handle the frustration and disappointment that can well up.  I have been able to lower the bar, but not too much.  It's still way up there.  I can hardly see it most of the time.  I still compile a hefty list of tasks to complete when I start my day and I still look at the tasks that were left undone with a critical and judgmental eye.  The difference in my world view today is that I can laugh at what I think I can accomplish, even as I try to accomplish it all, and I don't beat myself up with too large of a club when I fail to accomplish everything, which I do because the list is too long, and I am human after all.


Early on I heard a woman with a lot of sobriety say: "If you want to keep up with me you better put on your running shoes."  She was busy; she was active, and I liked that about her.

Enough Already!

Enough:    As much or as often as necessary;  to the required degree or amount; adequate.


This is a GREAT word for an alcoholic to ponder.  We use the idea to our advantage most of the time; we take the concept and wield it as a club to beat the world over the head, and we're not shy about bending the meaning to our selfish purpose.


For example, I may say that I don't have enough money or that my wife isn't nice enough or that the car I drive isn't luxurious enough, and my boss sure doesn't show me enough respect.  Then I think about my Program: it's good enough.  I go to enough meetings and make enough phone calls and spend enough time on my prayer and meditation.  


See how that works?  When I want something the meaning of the word seems a little dark and nefarious.  I'm getting Screwed out of something.  I'm not getting my due; not even close, not even in the ballpark.  Enough seems to be a bare minimum, far, far below what I should have.  Think enough oxygen to barely sustain life.  I'd be alive but I probably wouldn't be too comfortable.  Adequate! in other words.  I hate adequate.


Then, in the circumstances where I should be doing some work or giving something back, then enough seems to be kind and generous and perfectly acceptable.  I feel like I've climbed a great mountain and I'm looking down at the valley thousands of feet below: "I'm high enough here," I think.  The word seems to be imply that I've overcome great obstacles to get to enough, not that I'm just a tick over barely adequate.  I've given enough of my time, I've helped enough people, and I've been of enough service.


I'm good at twisting things around.  I can start an argument from a certain point of view and end up defending the exact opposite viewpoint.  This is why people don't like to argue with me.  It's not that I don't fight fair, it's that I'm barely coherent.  It's an argument with an insane person.


It's kind of fun, sometimes, though.

Long Lines and Small Rooms and Confidence Builders

Opinion:  Applies to a conclusion or judgment which, while it remains open to dispute, seems true or probable to one's own mind.


I was asked this question yesterday by a friend in The Program: "How can I get to the place where I don't care so much about what people think of me?"  
I pondered my response carefully, thoughtfully.  "Good question," I replied.  "First, let me tell you how you can walk on water."  
It's quite a challenge for people pleasers with lousy self-esteem to disregard the opinions of others, real or imagined.


His question did make me think about how much of recovery and life itself is simply going through things a few times.  As SuperK is known to say: "Time takes time."  For most of us the process of learning how to live takes some repetitions.  Every time I worked through something I had a little more experience about how to live through it the next time.  I'm not always thrilled with this process.  I prefer to be struck; as in, struck patient, struck tolerant, struck confident.  I want to think it and have it be so.  I'm not interested in the steady, unspectacular work that leads to good outcomes.


I played basketball in high school and was very good at making my free throws.  This was an important part of my game because I couldn't score reliably from more than 2 or 3 feet when no one was around, and those opportunities didn't come too often.  So I figured if they were going to let me directly in front of the basket, all by myself, and try to score some points I was damn well going to make the shots.  The point is that I shot a hell of a lot more free throws in practice than I ever did in games.


If you pray for patience, god puts you in long lines.  If you pray for tolerance, god puts you in a room with someone who irritates the hell out of you.  If you pray for confidence, god puts you in situations where your confidence is tested.  I see good outcomes and want to be placed there by a magic hand.  I was never able to see all of the work that went into getting to that good place.


What other people think of me is none of my business.

A Ton

Heft:  Weight; heaviness, hence: importance, influence.


I chaired a meeting yesterday.  In this part of the country, the chairperson shares for a few minutes to establish a topic and then calls on people.  When I was done, mightily impressed with myself, of course, I looked around the room for a minute.  I couldn't help but think of this old joke: "The good news is that there's a solution.  The bad new is that it's us."  Mostly, I was impressed with the caliber of people I saw.  There were a lot of folks out there with real substance.  I don't run into too much fluff and air in AA.  I run into a lot of strength and weight.  There seems to be some thoughtfulness and purpose behind the fear and insecurity that so often floats on the surface.


I'm under the impression that most alcoholics fall in the Type A personality category.  I know a lot of us protest that we're cool and calm and relaxed but I still respectfully disagree.  We take things seriously.  I don't mean to suggest that we can't laugh and have fun and enjoy life but I do believe that when it looks like the enemy is going to breach the ramparts, I'd like to have a crowd of drunks around me.  


I think we'd get the job done.  I think we'd rise to the occasion.  

Risk. Not the Game.

Risk:  The chance of injury, damage, or loss; dangerous chance; hazard.


It has been definitively proven by someone that successful risk takers in our society share some of the attributes, the mental and emotional make-up, of alcoholics and drug addicts.  I read that somewhere so it could be true.  It's not like I saw it on The Television, though.  That's a guarantee of the accuracy of a statement, but I'm going to have to go with what I've got at this point: the written word in a reputable newspaper crediting legitimate researchers who have run rigorously honest studies.


The idea is that some of us are drawn to the thrill of living on the knife edge of experience and once we get used to being there, then we find it hard to draw back.  It seems to be in our genes.  


I hope this is true.  I like the idea that I'm behaving so erratically because I just can't help myself.

Adventure

Adventure:     The encountering of danger; an exciting and dangerous undertaking; an unusual, stirring experience, often of romantic nature; a liking for danger, excitement, etc.: as, he is full of adventure.


When I was drinking my life revolved around a series of dark bars with no windows, late at night, or dark apartments, with the blinds drawn, mesmerized by the flickering images on The TV.  If it was light outside, I was often asleep or suffering from the effects of too much alcohol and drugs.  It was quite surprising to find out there was a whole world out there.  It was quite stressful, too.  I didn't know how to do normal things.  I was very fearful of normal things.  Part of me wanted to be enveloped in the comforting dark, by myself or alone in a crowd, alone, alone, alone.


There's a story in our literature about a man who suffered a complete nervous breakdown because of his alcoholism.  He was literally so terrified he was unable to leave his house.  As he sobered up, he started to take little baby steps in the big, bad world.  He began by walking to the end of the block and back - that was all he could take at first.  Gradually, he took more and more chances until he was reintegrated back into sobriety.  He talked about how through a happy combination of time and some extra money he was able to start traveling again.  He confessed to getting into a huge uproar before he left, afraid, not wanting to leave, but always enjoyed himself once he got under way.


I like this story.  It seems to encourage me to take some chances.  Not get drunk and jump off the top of a bridge into a fast moving river on a dare kind of chances, but good, get out there and live a full life kind of chances.  I still wish I could get some kind of upfront guarantee before I try something new or go somewhere I've never been but I wish for all kinds of stuff that I don't get.  


I say: Go take the plunge.  It's worth it.


On one of my many adventures, I flew from Istanbul into Damascus, Syria in the middle of the night.  My buddy and I took a taxi from the airport into the city; the driver didn't speak any English and drove his Mercedes cab about 90 MPH right down the middle of the deserted freeway, with his lights out.  I thought: "WTF?  I'm going to die here."  It was beyond stressful.


Of course, it ended up being a vacation that I treasure more than just about any vacation I've ever taken.  I admit that I may . . . MAY . . . have pushed my comfort level a little too far on this one, but what an adventure!  What a trip!  I got to sit in the middle of the full boil of one of the oldest cities in the world, smoking a hookah and drinking tea, watching the world stream by.  Wouldn't change it for anything.  Was it fun?  Absolutely.  Was it stressful?  That's not a strong enough word to describe what it was like.