It's All Good

Loose:  Not restrained or confined; free; unbound.

One of my favorite spiritual concepts suggests that I should try to wear the world like a loose garment.  I was not familiar with the idea of "loose" when I was drinking.  I wore the world like an extremely tight garment.  This garment did have the advantage of displaying my equipment for the whole world to see, like a band member from Spinal Tap, but that was about it.  I can honestly say today that the tightness of the garment was an impediment and not an advantage.  The beauty of hindsight.

When I try to sum up what my sobriety means, what my halting pursuit of spiritual principles has brought to the table, I can say with some small amount of honesty that I don't take things so seriously anymore.  Everything works out, more or less, as long as I don't try to get in there and tinker with the outcomes so what exactly am I getting so exercised about?

I took a vacation once to Belize.  The crappy hotel we stayed at had a go-fer named George.  George was not going to discover the cure to cancer.  He mostly puttered around, slowly, raking the sand, straightening up, and the like.  I liked George.  

"Morning, George," I'd say.

"It's all good," he'd reply. 

This acceptance is the result of a desire to seek a higher power and to try to listen to what the higher power has to say.  And I still get confused as to what this entails.  So I don't think about it much.  I give it my best shot.  I move forward, slowly, and try to get a feel for where I should head.  I take some wrong turns, I get lost, I fall in holes, but mostly I make a little progress each day.

It's all good.

Comfortable

Comfortable:   In a state of comfort; at ease in body or mind; contented.


I am able to say this with a good deal of certainty: I'm comfortable in my own skin.  This is not something I was able to say when I was drinking, a time of my life characterized by a jumping out of my own skin or of battling hordes of stinging insects that were tormenting my skin surface.  I couldn't see how all of my insides, bones and blood and whatnot, could be stuffed inside a skin that was clearly inadequate to the task of holding everything in one place.


My behavior fluctuated wildly.  It was not very consistent.  Well, I had no idea who I was inside all of that skin so I had no idea how to behave.  That's not the case anymore.  I'm an example of What You See Is What You Get, and I don't say that with any conceit or arrogance, or not much anyway.  I have a good idea who I am and I act accordingly.  I don't think it's too objectionable to the general public but I don't care that much.  Love it or hate it, I'm consistent.


"We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness."

Surging Rashly Ahead

Wait:  To be ready or at hand.


Ah, yes.  The alcoholic conundrum: to balance the springing into action part of life with the patient waiting part.  Actually, screw the "patient" part; that's beyond my abilities as a human being.  If I'm able to wait impatiently that's a big improvement over my usual course of action -- the surging ahead rashly technique.  Alcoholics are famous for this.  Male alcoholics are legendary.  We see a problem that needs to be solved and we begin to solve it, even though we don't know what the solution is and we don't have the tools to do the work and our history is to make virtually every problem that needs to be solved much, much worse.  Honestly, we're terrible and understanding what the problem even is.  We conjure problems out of thin air.


"We may not be able to determine which course to take.  Here we ask God for inspiration, an intuitive thought or a decision.   We relax and take it easy.  We don't struggle.  We are often surprised how the right answers come after we have tried this for a while."


If I don't see a course of action right in front of me, right now, I get ants in my pants.  I figure I need to do something, anything.  The reality of the matter is that sometimes the solution is hidden to me for a while.  Sometimes I have to wait for the solution to be revealed.   I can't tell you how many times in my life an answer has been presented to me, custom-made and gift-wrapped, and often an answer that I didn't see coming.  If I had forced the issue earlier, I would have missed that opportunity later on.


Reveal:  To make known (something hidden or kept secret); disclose; divulge.
From the Latin revelare, to draw back the veil.


Surging ahead rashly v quaking in fear.

More Eel, Dear?

I wonder what was really served at the first Thanksgiving, in Massachusetts, in the freezing cold middle of the winter?  I bet it wasn't turkey, possibly the driest, most tasteless and unappetizing of all of the dead fowl meats.  Maybe turkeys aren't even fowl; they don't fly after all.  Maybe they're some kind of giant rodent or a feathered reptile.  If the Indians brought the meat I bet they didn't waste any time or precious arrows hunting in the snow for a smallish bird when there were huge moose and deer around.  There were probably fish and beans and squash.  I don't think potatoes were being cultivated in North America yet.  There certainly weren't any swine or cattle because the Pilgrims would have eaten them already.


I confess to disliking this kind of food.  Several years ago SuperK and I decided we could kill 2 birds with one stone and go someplace warm for Thanksgiving and Christmas both.  That way we got out of the cold while simultaneously managing to evade annoying family responsibilities.  One Christmas we drove to New Orleans.  As we were checking in to our hotel on Christmas Eve we asked the valet whether any restaurants would be open the next day.   He fixed us with a blank stare.


"All of them will be open," he said.


We had spent so many years in our conservative town that we forgot there were other ways to do things.  The roads were always eerily vacant when we drove to my parents.  It looked like the aftermath of some catastrophic virus or a neutron bomb.  In New Orleans we ended up in a jazz bar at noon, dressed in jeans and sweatshirts, for our Christmas dinner.  We ordered a dozen oysters, soaked them in hot sauce and horseradish, and looked at each other across the table.  We each raised one of the mollusks and tapped the shells together like they were crystal goblets full of some rare sparkling beverage.


"Best Christmas dinner ever," I said.
"Slurp," SuperK replied.


Ed. note: I did some research.  Foods at the first Thanksgiving in all likelihood included the following: deer, duck, seafood (including eels, seal, and shellfish), corn, and squash (including pumpkin).  Turkey maybe.  No potatoes, cranberries, dressing, or pies (no butter or wheat flour to make a crust.)  Lots of nuts and seeds.

Thanks-taking.

Thank:  To give one's thanks to; express appreciation or gratitude to.


I don't know where I got my ideas about what Thanksgiving is supposed to be like.  Probably from a magazine or a schmaltzy movie I've seen.  Maybe its an elaborate reconstruct from a bad acid trip.  I don't think it's a very accurate picture.  I don't think very many people have a Thanksgiving celebration that corresponds to my mental image.  I don't know very many, I'll tell you that, and I didn't have very many of them myself.  And I don't think that alcoholics as a general rule have families that are that much better or that much worse than most people.  We just bitch about them more.


Expectations are the bane of normal men and they can be a deadly curse for the drunk.  I embrace the idea that as my expectations increase my serenity drops, and vice versa.  To complicate things there can't be many times when my expectations grow more monstrous, more gruesome, more larger than life than around the holidays.  The idea that we need to dedicate a day to be thankful makes it sound like we're given a pass to act like asses all year long, then we're expected to cram all of our gratitude into one day.  I think this isn't as unusual as it sounds for many people.  Ignore the small blessings and then get together with people we don't treat very well or don't like very much and be totally fucking thankful.


I was in a small company once where the boss -- who I disliked immensely -- made everyone exchange names for Christmas gifts.  He got my name one year, of course.
"What do you want for Christmas?" he asked.  "Give me some ideas."
"How about you don't act like such an asshole?" I suggested.
He didn't have much to say to that, although his face reddened considerably, like a nice glaze on a Christmas ham.
"No good?"  I said, pressing my point.  "How about you leave me alone for the rest of the year?  How about you take this scrap of paper with my name on it and stick it where the sun don't shine?  


I didn't say those things.  I wanted to.  I also wanted to keep my job and vaguely remembered some crap about "restraint of tongue and pen."  The point is that it did feel very unnatural to try to manufacture good will and hale cheer like a trained seal.  If I can't be happy and grateful, sometimes, every now and then, once a week or so, then I really shouldn't attend special celebrations dedicated to the topic.


I really wish that there were White Castle restaurants in the New City.  That would be a good place to celebrate Thanksgiving.

Mr. Puzzlewit

Puzzle:    To exercise one's mind, as over the solution of a problem.


I used to think that life was a problem that needed to be solved.  Such a great concept on which to base my life: a never-ending series of problems.  I'm a problem person so I guess it makes sense that I took something lovely and made it a distasteful chore.


Today I try to think of life as a puzzle that needs to be put together.  A somewhat complicated puzzle.  Sure, there are some easy areas with a lot of detail and recognizable figures but there's also a lot of nondescript blue sky as well.  Have you ever seen one of those puzzles that's nothing more than a black canvas, all the pieces about the same shape and size?  That was my life before I got sober.  I sat there and looked at the pieces all day.  I was lost.  I never got anywhere.  The only time I made any progress was when I got out the pinking shears and glue, and made pieces fit.


Every day I get up and sit down at my puzzle table and get to work.  Some days I put together a whole section and some days I can't figure out where one $#!! piece fits.  Every now and then my consigliere comes over and whispers in my ear, and I have to tear out a whole section that I put together incorrectly.


But over the long run I make progress.  I can look back and see progress.  I've managed to ratchet down my expectations so that I don't insist on making a pre-determined unit of progress each day.  I do my best and I usually go forward.  Sometimes I sit still, idling, and sometimes I go back, but I take my place at the table each day.

Will Smith or Will Rogers or Will Farrell

Will:  The power of self-direction or self-control; the power of conscious and deliberate action or choice.


More from our basic text: "It is when we try to make our will conform with God's that we begin to use it rightly.  Our whole trouble had been the misuse of willpower.  We had tried to bombard our problems with it instead of attempting to bring it into agreement with God's intention for us."


Our literature points out that there is a proper use of the will.  I was confused about this for the longest time.  We have a will and we're expected to use it.  The problems occur when we try to force outcomes to conform to our vision of the future, and it doesn't matter if our vision and kind and giving or totally self-serving.  I believe that our Higher Power expects us to get up and make some plans for the day, then point our hovercraft in that general direction.  Our Higher Power is not too thrilled when we ascribe this plan to him, her, or it.  Our Higher Power is perfectly capable of devising his, her, or its plan for the day.  No input from us is required.


Once again, I see the beauty of the middle ground.  Move forward.  Move forward aggressively and enthusiastically and with great purpose if you want.  But don't predetermine the outcome.  That's the improper use of the will.  The will is there.  The will is always going to be there.  We can't scrub away the will.  We can try to align it with god's purpose for us as best we can.

Free Range Chicken

More from the minor Buddha . . . 


"The fact is that we are more selfish than we know.  The ego has a way of turning the loftiest activities into trash if it is allowed free range."


You've probably heard of free range chicken.  I'm certainly no farmer; in fact, I'm forbidden by law to step onto a farm, for my own safety.  And I'm not talking about bulls and bucking broncos, either.  I'm the guy who would make the news for being trampled half to death by a herd of lambs.  No telling what the chickens would do to me, either, with the beaks and claw-like feet.  


Anyway, my understanding is that free range chicken get to ramble anywhere they want to, doing what they want, eating what they want, going totally ape-shit if they want.  That's my ego.  My ego is going ape-shit.  It runs the show unless I'm very, very careful.  It justifies anything that it wants for itself, no matter how destructive it is.  This is why I drank for so many years.  My ego said it was just fine.

Adaptation

Adapt:  To change (oneself) so that one's behavior, attitudes, etc. will conform to new or changed circumstances.


More problems of prosperity . . .


Sponsor materializing out of the haze and fog. . . "Again with the problems of prosperity?  Weren't you going to come up with a list of your other kinds of problems?  Like 5 years ago?"  This is one of the main reasons why I don't call him as often as I should.  He can be a real dick when he starts to point out the inconsistencies in my story telling.  (Ed. note: "inconsistencies in my story telling" =  lying).


SuperK and I have been looking for a place to settle down in a more permanent fashion (alcoholic permanence = anything over 98 minutes) in The New City.  The Big Move was a little sudden and we didn't know the city very well so we plopped down as best we could, in the rain and gloom and dark of a New City winter night.  And we're grateful-ish; we found a nice place to rent in a nice neighborhood.  Because it's too big and too expensive we've spent some time trying to find something more permanent.  Not an obsessive, got-to-get-this-done, find something absolutely, completely, positively perfect search, but a search nonetheless.


Every few weeks we would look at a home or two.  We didn't know if we would continue to rent or buy something but we knew we wanted to settle down in a place for a while.  Moving is for the birds or for the young.  We usually walked out discouraged; things were too pricey or we didn't like the space or the neighborhood.  It was hard on the psyche, to get your hopes up and then have them dashed on the rocks.  We did find places that we could make work and we tried to ratchet down our expectations.  We could "see" ourselves living here or there.


Those damned expectations.  The bane of acceptance.


We got a call from our real estate lady after we decided to throw in the towel on the buying option. One more place, recently discounted, in an area of town we fancied.  We walked in and knew it was right.  Being cautious, we wanted to sleep on it, aware that the discounting might make the place attractive to other buyers and cost us are chance.  But we are plodding, German peasants, after all.   We don't leap at very many things anymore.  There have been too many leaps into brick walls or over the edges of steep cliffs, towering above jagged rocks being lashed with freezing waves.


"So, I guess we need to put together an offer on this place?" I said the next morning, walking down the stairs to where SuperK was working on her computer.


"Pfffff!?!" she said, spitting a mouthful of coffee onto the wall.


Didn't see that coming.  We offered to buy the condo; the offer was accepted; whole thing took about 36 hours.


The whole point of the story is that I need to keep focusing on what's in front of me.  I can't get too high or too low -- steady as we go, Mr. Bosun.  I need to move forward and adapt, adapt, adapt.  I can't say: "Well, this is how it MUST be."


The condo is one bedroom.  That is a few bedrooms less than we have ever had.

"Someone's going to die after we move," SuperK said, as I walked out of my little office, done bellowing into my cell phone to a friend.
"Yeah, you're probably right," I replied, eyeing her less than organized living room.


You know, it'll be fine.  We're happy and grateful. I wasn't buying anything when I was drinking

Saturday, 8 AM

At 8AM today, Saturday, I was at a meeting listening to the chairman read out of The Doctor's Opinion from our basic text.  The section he read suggests that people drink because they like the effect it produces on them.  It makes them feel good and people like to feel good, so they drink alcohol.  OK, fair enough. The text continues on with a description of the alcoholic, the abnormal drinker, and the description becomes a little less flattering.  We are characterized as people who begin to realize that the drinking is harmful but can't manage to stop.  Then, we lose all sane perspective about what we're doing.  We take the knowledge that we're harming ourselves and stuff it way, way down inside, where the sun don't shine.  At that point we're officially insane, a fact pointed out in Step Two.


The text continues: our problems pile up and become "astonishingly difficult to solve."  Still, we keep drinking.


The chairman described the mental and physical release he got when he drank and used.  I knew exactly what he was talking about.  The drugs and alcohol made me feel that way, too: that burst of release and adrenalin.  Alcohol doesn't make non-alcoholics feel that way.  It may make them feel better for a while but it doesn't make them whole.  I was in pieces, as a person, and the alcohol put me together.  It wasn't better: it was nirvana.


I share, once again, the truth that I liked to drink and drug.  I liked how I felt.  I liked everything about it.  Trying new substances, out late at night, excited, on the edge, wallowing in the instant camaraderie so common among drunks drinking together.  Have you walked down the beer aisle at your local grocery store lately?  Holy shit, it's as beautiful to me as the most gloriously decorated holiday scene.


When I think about alcohol today my first reaction is positive.  I remember drinking in a favorable light.  Now, I don't dwell on this.  My training in The Program takes over and I think through the drink to the inevitable misery.  But that's why I was in a meeting at 8AM on a Saturday.  Because after 24 years my reaction to alcohol is still wistful and quaint.  I need to keep working on the spiritual solution to my disease that will help me resist something that I have no ability to resist on my own.

Mouths

Yesterday I said something to SuperK that I shouldn't have said.  This isn't the first time that this has happened.  I have a bit of a track record saying things I shouldn't say.  I knew I shouldn't have said it as soon as it left my mouth.  In fact, as it was coming out of my mouth I knew it.


"Why are you saying this, mouth?" my brain asked.  "This is a terrible thing to say."  You'd think that the brain would have more control over the mouth but it doesn't seem to work that way with me.  The mouth is firmly in control.


It's not productive at all to know I shouldn't be talking after I've finished talking or while I'm still talking.  The critical juncture is before I start talking.  This isn't a new revelation for me.  I've had this problem in the past.  You'd think that I would have learned by now what with all the broken bones and lacerations I've suffered because of it.


When I tell my friends: "Do yourself a favor -- try not to talk today" there's a method to my madness.  I mean, what do I care if someone else runs their mouth and gets in trouble?  Frankly, if it's not about me I don't care that much.  The idea is that I need to hear this advice.


Anyway, I was pointing out to her that she finishes most of my sentences for me.  She's not particularly good at it.  You'd think after 23 years she'd be a little better at it but what can you do?  Honestly, I could care less that she does this.  It's kind of endearing.  It's not like I do that great a job finishing my remarks myself.  Her finishes usually improve the conversation.


Funny thing is that she was upset about the thing I said before I said the thing I thought I was in trouble for.  I merely followed up the worst stupid thing with a less stupid thing.  This is not unusual for me, either, a whole string of stupid things.


"Oh, that?" she said, nonplussed.   "I don't care about that.  I'm going to keep doing that."


This is why it's important for me to talk to people.  I have no idea what's going on with other people.  They baffle me.  I have no idea what's going on in the world.  It baffles me.

Homer and Seinfeld

Baffle:  To frustrate or balk by puzzling or bewildering; confound.


An important thing to remember about The Promises is that they fall into the solution category when we're discussing recovery.  God knows I love the problem category more.  If I could dwell in the problem for the rest of my life I would be in my element.  If I could earn a living creating problems or making problems worse I would be a very, very wealthy man.  The Program, however, keeps forcing me into the solution business.  As a general rule, this is not where I want to go, preferring an endless review of my problems and how bad they are and why they're getting worse and speculating on why they're never going to end.


The formative part of my early sobriety was spent in a city where the bulk of the meetings were based directly on The 12 Steps & 12 Traditions.  A service position lasted 12 weeks; each week was dedicated to a particular Step, taken one by one and in sequence.  We did not skip any Steps but we did not dwell on any of them, either.  Deliberately, carefully, we marched through The Steps one by one.  When we were done with a circuit, we started over.  There were very few discussion meetings which can so easily begin to concentrate on the problem.


This was very annoying for me.  I had many problems that were mesmerizing me.  I couldn't see past these problems.  I never considered that there could be solutions to them and I didn't want to do any work to solve them.  I wanted to wallow in them.  Wallow, wallow, wallow.


Wallow:  To roll about or flounder as in mud, dust, water, slime, etc.; as, pigs wallow in filth.


The Step technique forced me to figure out how to apply the solution to whatever problem I was currently bitching about.  Sometimes I couldn't figure out how to relate the current problem to whatever Step we were on so I was forced to work on the solution only.  Sometimes I could really stretch my story problem to fit into the solution, sort of, like when you take a big sledgehammer and you pound the holy #!&!! out of that little square peg until it fits in the #!&!! round hole.  And sometimes, sometimes, rarely, I glimpsed how the solution might somehow solve the problem.  


What I saw in The Program was a group of Problem People who were more often than not making the right decision when confronted with a decision that needed to be made, even when the decision seemed counter-intuitive.  When I concentrate on the problem it grows bigger.  When I concentrate on the solution, the problem loses its strength.


I bring up again the famous Seinfeld episode where the loser character George starts to do the exact opposite of whatever his instinct is telling him to do, and is amazed when his life begins to really click.  He turns down sex, abuses job interviewers, etc, and the results are fantastic.  That was me when I was getting sober.  If I felt like I should do something I didn't do it.  If I felt like I shouldn't do something, I got busy and did it.  My intuition was almost invariably completely wrong at that point.


I also like the famous Simpson's episode where Homer is in a canoe floating down a river, pondering which side of a fork he should choose.  On the right the sun is shining, there's a rainbow and birds are chirping away in flower filled fields; on the left it's raining, the rapids are roaring, skeletons hang from skeletal trees.


"Hmm," Homer says brightly.  "I wonder which way I should go?"


Today I get up and enter the door filled hallway.  Some of the doors are wide open and some are tightly shut.  Some of the closed doors are made of thick iron and are fastened with many heavy locks and chains.  Goddam, but I want to go through those locked doors.  I figure there must be something really, really cool behind them.   

Those Damn Slogans

More one day at a time.  How brilliant is that concept?  The whole essence of a good life well-lived boiled down to trying to BE where you are AT!


The big question to fire out in the Horseface household right now is: "What can you do about it RIGHT NOW."  If the answer is "nothing" then the follow-up comment is: "Then it's NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!  Get on with your life.  Go do something else."


Eat breakfast.  Go to work.  Pick up the kids.  Quit wasting time trying to do what can't be done.  Pay attention to what you're doing .  I was the guy who would miss two highway exits -- not one, two -- because I was furiously accomplishing something in my mind which was none of my business.  I missed half of my life because I was out in the future trying to solve problems which weren't in my power to solve.


Now sometimes there's something that needs to be done.  Then it's important to do it.  We can't let fear freeze us in our tracks when we need to take some action.  But my experience is that I get into most of my trouble messing around in things I shouldn't be messing around in.

Intuition 101

Prosperity:  Prosperous condition; good fortune; wealth; success.


More problems of prosperity.  More demonstration of the power of prayer and meditation.  I still don't understand how prayer and meditation works.  Life gets simpler and simpler and makes more and more sense if I work away it.  That's all I know.  It seems like such a waste of time when I'm fumbling around with my technique and practice but life just gets better and better.  My decision making gets better and this from a guy who was LEGENDARY at making the wrong decisions.


There is a Promise that says: "We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us."  In my case that was all situations.  They all baffled me and I handled exactly none of them well. The expression on my face in old photographs was the definition of perplexed.  "That guy has no idea what's going on," people must have thought.


Today my intuition has two arenas in which to joust.  One is the Quit Trying To Walk Through Closed Doors arena.  This has been a good area to improve my intuition.  It has greatly reduced the number of face wounds I used to sustain, leading with my face as I tried to walk through doors that were clearly closed.  I still try to go through a lot of those doors but now at least I walk with an outstretched hand.  I still mess up my face but I know it's coming.


Then there is the Get Moving When The Doors Are CLEARLY Open arena.  There are always things going on that I'm getting the green light to do but I'm frankly afraid to move forward sometimes.  It's easier to stay rooted in one spot, warm and familiar.  If I move forward there is the chance that I may fail or that I may end up someplace that, while it may be the place I need to be, I don't like because it reduces my pile of money, power, and sex.


Go!  Go!  Go!! No, wait, Stop!  Stop!  Stop!!

More Sports

Back to the football analogy. Why?  Because it amuses me and because the imagery is so warlike and vivid. It's full of conflict and obstacles that need to be overcome, much like life.


Analogy:  an explaining of something by comparing it point by point with something else.


Anyway, SuperK and I are renting a place to live and the end of our lease is coming up.  We'd like to spend less money so we've started an apartment search.  Its not going very well.  The places we like we can't afford and the places we can afford we don't like.  It's on the frustrating side.  (Ed. note: we've only looked at two places, actually.  From my description it sounds like we've looked at hundreds.  I'm moving into the future and pre-scuttling things).


We're like a football team playing offense.  We're a running team, mostly, with an ordinary but spirited defense and an excellent kicking game.  It's not that exciting to watch but we usually get the job done in a plodding, deliberate manner.  We're trying to execute our solid game plan which is based on a lot of conservative runs off tackle.  But . . . it's not going very well.  The defense knows we can't throw the ball so they're "stuffing the box" as Al DeRogatis would say.  I will point out that a few months ago we burned the defense for 3 very long touchdown passes, but that was the exception rather than the rule.


We want to stick to our game plan, exploit our strengths, our beefy, physical running backs but we're not generating much offense.


Now we're huddled on the sideline pondering options.  We're not panicking; we're not flinging ill-advised 50 yard passes into double coverage but it's obvious that we need to tweak the play calling a little.  The short runs aren't working.  They may work later but they're not working right now.  We're thinking about some end runs or short screen passes; anything to get the defense all discombobulated.  


Probing, probing, probing.  Looking for a crack, a hole, an opening, anything.  Trying to remain patient but realizing that we need to keep our minds open to new things.


Ooo.  We sent the fullback off tackle again, and he got leveled again.

I Promise to Take a Vow

Promise:  Vow.
Vow:  To make a solemn resolution to do, get, etc.


I confess this morning to being a little disappointed in the definition of promise.  I was hoping it would be more along the lines of: "You WILL get this."  Something a little punchier and more forceful.  I guess I could have made something up.  It's not like I've ever told a lie or anything or that anyone is checking my definition with Mr. Webster.


Anyway, I've been dispensing to a captive Herr Luber little bits and pieces of the wisdom that I've gained by a diligent and assiduous application of the Steps.  He's polite so he listens, sometimes, or he says he does, at least.  I feel a little like a storefront preacher: cheap suit, sweaty brow, thumping on a well-worn black book, or a blue one, maybe.  It is amazing how simple the whole Program sounds when I try to dispense it in little bite sized nuggets.  I keep thinking: "Well, this is bullshit.  The guy has some complicated problems that he's trying to solve and all I can come up with is this crap?"  


I believe I will always think that a complicated problem requires a complicated solution.  This is why The Program keeps steering me back to all of those irritating 3 or 4 word slogans.  A spiritual life -- Program, religion, philosophy, wherever you can find it -- is not a complicated thing.  There's not a lot to it.


I have been doing some musing on The Promises.  I will never forget my initial stupefaction when I heard them.  I couldn't believe it.  Talk about bullshit.  Talk about vague bullshit.  Talk about a bunch of stuff that I was definitely not aspiring to.  Peace of mind as a goal, or a supermodel in a Porsche with a million dollars.  Not a difficult decision for me at the beginning.  (Ed. Note: I'd have to think about it today, too).


"This is what you people have?" I thought.  Actually, I probably said it to someone.  I hadn't yet developed the ability to stop a thought from exiting my mouth.


Today I read those Promises and I'm amazed at how profound they are and at how they have come true, each and every one of them.

Alone Again, Naturally

Isolate:  To set apart from others; place alone.


Alcoholics are pretty surprised when we find out that The Rooms are full of people who think like we do.  I always suspected that I was insane, which I found pretty discouraging.  It wasn't like insanity was something that I aspired to.  And it's not like The Program refuted this suspicion; it simply showed me that I had a pretty common form of insanity and that there were places where I could hang out with other insane people.


For instance, I frequently held arguments in my head with people who weren't actually there.  The arguments started out politely enough but started to get heated, eventually leading to violent physical confrontations.  I usually won the fights despite the fact that I've never won a fight in my life.  I argued brilliantly, leaving my tormentor tongue-tied.  I thought I was the only person in the world who did this.


"Oh, yeah," a friend said.  "I do that all the time."
"Whew," I thought.


Recovery means an end to that awful isolation that plagues most of us.  We never felt like we belonged anywhere despite our ceaseless efforts to fit in.  We would assume the appropriate persona that would help us fit in wherever we happened to be.  We felt alone when we were alone and we felt alone when we were in a throng.  It was an awful kind of isolation.


Awful.

Aspire to the Halfback

Direction:  The line in which or the point toward which a moving person goes.
Outcome:   Result; consequence; aftermath.


How about an early morning football analogy?  Sorry, ladies and wimpy horseface types.


When a football team playing offense decides to run the ball the two most common choices are to give the ball to the halfback or tailback, which for some reason are two different names given to a player who does the same thing, or to the fullback, who only gets one name.  I have no idea how these names came about.  One of the guys who plays offense is called a tackle, which is what a defensive player tries to do with an offensive player who has the ball.  This would seem to be a better name for a defensive player or at least someone who plays defense.  Go figure.  


If I owned a football team, which I do not, I would get to work immediately on the names of each position player.  I think this is more important than whether you win or lose.  This attitude is one of the reasons why I shouldn't own a football team.   That and the money.


I digress.  The fullback is typically a big burly fellow who just charges into the defense and tries to run over people.  You could say he's the least subtle of the backs.  He doesn't try to avoid anyone.  He tries to knock them down.  He says: "Here I come -- try to stop me."  He usually doesn't get too far.  Fullbacks are big and slow and not too bright.  One would think a better approach would be to avoid the large, violent defensive players who are trying to knock you down.  The fullback sees where he wants to go and tries to go there.  He doesn't pay attention to obstacles like Jack Lambert.


That's me.  I'm a fullback.


Then you have the halfback.  He's the smaller, smarter back.  He tries to go where there are no obstacles.  He's learned the obstacles are usually bigger than he is and they mean to do him grievous bodily harm.  On some of the running plays where the halfback has the ball he gets behind his teammates from the offensive line and tries to let them deal with the huge violent defensive players; this is smart because a lot of his teammates are as big as the players on defense.  He figures: "What the hell.  Let those guys get knocked down instead of me."


The running plays involving the tailback often develop more slowly.  You can see the tailback looking for holes, which are areas with no obstacles.  Sometimes he can't find one and he gets knocked down but that's OK.  You can't always find a hole.  But sometimes if he's patient he lets the offensive linemen knock down enough defensive players so that a hole opens up. The hole isn't always there when he starts running and sometimes a hole disappears as quickly as it  appears but that's OK, too.  Holes come and holes go.  


The idea is that his patience is often rewarded.  The big offensive guys knock down enough of the defensive guys that he can run for a little while.  He almost always gets knocked down eventually but he's a little further down the road than when he started.


That's me, sometimes.  Not often, but sometimes.  I'm still not smart but I'm getting smarter.  That's all I can ask for.

Experience

Experience:  An actual living through an event or events; personally undergoing or observing something or things in general as they occur.


Herr Luber's visit reminded me of another great truth of life; namely, that our experiences are going to find a kindred soul sooner or later.  The Program definition is a bit harsh on this matter, stating that: "No matter how far down the scale we have gone we can see how our experiences can benefit another."  This is only fitting considering the harshness of addiction.  Nonetheless, the wisdom gained from an experience that's then shared with another is one of the greatest gifts we can pass on in our attempt to be of service.


To clarify a bit: I'm not suggesting that Herr Luber was in such dire straits that he needed the counsel of a Horse-faced guy who had gone way, way down the scale of human misery, but it was getting close to that point.


My friend is trying to find a place to settle down and call home after many years of frequent transfers.  We call it finding a Headquarters.  The guy has me beat to hell when it comes to moving all over the world but I'm living in my 7th city so I'm not a novice at finding a new home.  I hope that I was able to provide some wisdom.  If I was it surely wasn't innate wisdom -- it was the result of a hard experience.


I remember arriving at a hotel near the airport just 10 months ago, all of my possessions in a truck somewhere in the middle of the country.  We didn't know it yet but the apartment we had reserved was not going to work out, so we didn't have a place to live.  I was exhausted beyond belief.  It was raining cats and dogs and it was the middle of the night, 3AM body time.  SuperK and I had hand-carried all of our valuable papers and jewelry with us on the plane; it was disheartening to see my life summed up in these few bags and packages.  I was . . . ahem . . . not feeling very chipper.  We kept looking at each other with terrified  looks on our faces.  


"Who's idea was this again?" someone asked.
"What the hell are we doing here, exactly?" someone else asked.


It went like this for a while.  Over the next week we had a few arguments over ridiculous, ridiculous things.  We weren't arguing over who had misplaced the passports or where the last Clark bar was -- we were simply overwhelmed.


It all worked out.  It wasn't especially easy and it wasn't especially smooth but it all worked out.   And I was pretty mentally tough son of a bitch before the move.  I'm a tad tougher today.


 That's the message.  It's all going to work out.

Hold On Loosely

Insecurity:  Feeling more anxiety than seems warranted.


More musings on money . . . 


There's never enough money.  There's not enough money in the whole world.  When I get cranking on the topic of money I invariably find that I've been horribly screwed.  Someone else has my money or someone is trying to get whatever's left if they don't already have it.  The government gets too much and I'm not paid enough and everything is too expensive.


The Promise says this: "Fear of financial insecurity will leave us."  I may be paraphrasing that but you get the gist.  I don't feel like leaning over and picking up my Big Book, which is 18 inches away from me at this moment.  I'm afraid it might burn me like holy water burns the devil.


I have to concentrate on the "fear" part of that phrase.  That's the working part of the promise.  It definitely does not say "financial insecurity" will leave us; it says "fear" will leave us.  (Ed note:  SuperK got out her book and the phrase is actually "economic insecurity."  That doesn't sound right to me.  That doesn't sound right at all.  Maybe I need to read my Big Book more often.)  The point is that if I'm not right with my Higher Power then I can get worked up about anything.  I can be sitting on a big pile of swag and still freak out about not having enough money.  I could win the lottery and I'd bitch about the taxes.


I went to a fancy college-prep high school.  I was on a scholarship.  I think they wanted some kids from . . . well, not the wrong side of the tracks but closer to the wrong side than to the bucolic setting of this school, where tracks were forbidden by law.  There were students who didn't get cars on their 16th birthday, or even new cars; they got fancy new sports cars.  And the funny thing is these people were as worried and upset about money as the folks in my solidly middle class neighborhood were.


I know this to be true: the more I try to hold on to what I have the more power it has over me.  If I loosen my grip I relax a little.  I crushed the shit out of a lot of stuff.  All of us have to look at our own circumstances, of course.  The point is that when I'm selfish with my money or my time or my possessions, then I enjoy them less and less.  I learned that if you're not at peace with what you have then you'll never have enough.


I would like to try to manage some lottery winnings, though.  Definitely would give it a shot.

The Proper Use of The Will, or Anything Else For That Matter

Willpower:  Strength of will, mind, or determination; self-control.


Trying to control the outcome of anything bigger than "what's to nosh on?" is a fool's errand.  I'm trying to think of a bigger fool's errand but not much is coming to mind.  Maybe trying to get SuperK to do what I want.  That's not a fool's errand -- that's THE fool's errand.  Controlling outcomes is like predicting the future.  Good luck with that, Nostradamus.


That doesn't mean I can't point the bow of my spaceship toward a desired outcome.  Nothing wrong with that.  The Book tells me that there is a proper use of the will and then there's everything else.  The Book doesn't suggest that the will is going to go away.  It tells me to attempt to align it with the plan of my own personal Higher Power, in whatever guise and raiment he or she or it takes.  It tells me that all sound achievement starts with a plan and a vision of how things will look if the plan pans out.  The trick is making sure that I don't insist on that outcome.  That's an improper use of the will.  That's the opposite of powerlessness.  That's arrogance.


The thing is that most of us are very talented people and we are used to getting what we set out to get.  Nothing wrong with that, either.  I think we're expected to use the talents that we're so abundantly given.  Persistence is often rewarded.  To accomplish something I need to set my sights high.  I'm not expected to squash my will.  I'm expected to chain it to the fortunes of my Higher Power.


Like I could squash a thing as beautiful as the will of Horseface Steve.  Umm, Ummm, Um.