Who Is That Masked Man?

Anonymous: With no name known or acknowledged.

I like that definition. Short and sweet, razor sharp in its focus. There are no wasted words.

I'm not sure why we complicate the concept of anonymity so ferociously in A.A. , except that we love to complicate everything. That's why all of our slogans have three or four words. Makes it harder to complicate 'em, although that doesn't stop us from trying.

The concept of anonymity -- the spiritual foundation of all of our traditions -- was put into place to protect the Fellowship, not the individual. The alcoholic, as a general rule, is splayed out in the public square for anyone to inspect. Anonymity in A.A. is to make sure that no egomaniacal drunk, who might be a politician or celebrity or big-shot business person, can dominate a group. In a meeting, we're all equal. Nobody has any more authority than anyone else. We value quality of sobriety. We don't use the yardsticks that society does to take the measure of a
person.

And isn't it funny that we get all uptight about who knows that we're drunks. I used to pull up at 3AM, Black Sabbath rattling the windows of the entire block, park in the middle of the street, take a leak on my neighbor's petunias, and stagger inside, dropping beer cans and wine bottles and drug paraphernalia on the way. I knew one guy who left his door open and the engine running all night. Another friend was awakened by a neighbor who wanted him to move his car. It was parked in the wrong driveway. He couldn't even hit the right driveway.

Then we sneak across town, incognito, heavily disguised with fake beards and wigs, wearing ski masks just because we don't want someone to spot us at an A.A. meeting. We forget that if they do spot us,that they're at the meeting, too. Subtleties like that escape us. That being said it is wise to keep a lid on your recovery in some circumstances, particularly early on. The anecdote about vomiting on the shoes of the cop who was handcuffing you for urinating in a public place, in broad daylight, might get a big laugh in a meeting. It won't get a big laugh in a business meeting or PTA meeting.

Instincts Gone Wild! . . . Wild! Wild! Wild!

I am pondering one of our most nettlesome of slogans: "This, too, shall pass." My question, or questions, actually, are: When? Why? Will it get better or will it get worse? What will happen to me when it does pass? What will it pass? Will it pass at a high rate of speed, which would be pretty cool. Why isn't it passing more quickly (if I'm in any pain at all) or why did it pass so quickly (if it's providing me with even the slightest amount of pleasure)?

I think that one of the main differences between new sobriety and the long term variety -- as long as both individuals are doing the work -- is that we start to generate an understanding of the inevitability of change. Life is not static. I liked alcohol so much because it helped me manage my interior environment and gave me the illusion that this was the same thing as controlling the outside world. It is another one of my many fantasies to think that I can prolong the fun forever and hold off the pain with a fearsome straight arm.

Today I don't get as upset with things that aren't to my liking and I don't get so enamored with things when they are. Mostly, I'm not captive to the fear that if it's presently bad that it's always going to be bad. I'm pretty robot-like in my recovery program. I change people, places, and things from time to time, being intolerant and easily bored, but I follow a basic framework. I don't often slack off.

I know that when I'm in pain that it will end eventually. I just have to do the things that I have always done. Usually the pain is short-lived. Sometimes it isn't but it does end eventually. At least it has up to this point and I'm going to go with that trend. I work my way through a bad day and assume that tomorrow it will be better. Like all of us I have been trapped in repeating loops of discomfort that have lasted a long time, but they have always, always ended. This knowledge helps keep me on an even-ish keel.


A few years ago my work circumstances changed and I was sure that I was done for. I almost quit because I was so convinced that everything was going to fall apart. I was going to show the bastards before they could show me. Not surprisingly, nothing fell apart. I have been fine. I knew nothing. I foresaw exactly squat. I would have made the worst possible decision had I followed my instincts, which are not to be trusted.


Normally I'm OK if I do the exact opposite of what I think I should do.


"I am the exact opposite of every person you have ever met." - George Costanza.

Not Enough Attention Is Being Paid To Me.

More about me.

It is, as a point of procedure, your honor, all about me. As there is a woeful lack of emphasis on me in the world at large I will never cease striving to fill this void. I will work until my dying day to make sure that everyone has as much information as possible about me. I will work my fingers to the bone. I will work until I am stooped and hunched and crippled if I can only carry the message about me, even if it's only to one more person.

When I try to make my way through the world it never ceases to amaze me how persistently people try to impede my progress. It's a huge conspiracy of evil individuals linked by a highly sophisticated electronic network whose sole purpose is to GET IN MY WAY. You are under the impression that all of those earphones and earplugs and ear buds are I-Pods (registered trademark) and portable cellular devices (no known trademark) and MP3 players (I don't know what those are). Nonsense. That is hard evidence of the Vast Anti B-Man Conspiracy sweeping the world. These are people who have it out for me.


The Book talks about patience. It says: "We realized that the people who wronged us were perhaps spiritually sick." Perhaps? It's typically egocentric of me to think that I'm the only person with problems. If I make a mistake or act poorly I want to be treated with compassion and understanding. When someone else does this, I wonder why they hate me so much. Even worse, I get my hackles up when someone acts in a perfectly acceptable behavior that isn't to my liking. This is the height of arrogant egocentricity.

Until A.A. and those blasted Steps it never occurred to me that your average healthy person is egocentric and has all kinds of problems and issues and deadlines to think about, above and beyond your standard B-Man obsessions. As my buddy EMC likes to say: "They're not thinking about you. They're thinking about themselves."


What? What!!?!

Tales From the Coffee Shop

I'm going to walk down to the coffee shop," I told SuperK. "Maybe pick up some young chicks."

She eyed me dubiously: "Maybe you should take those reading glasses out of your pocket before you go."

"Oh, right, thanks," I said. "See you in an hour or so."

Days of the New

I leaned out over the cliff face and looked down. Far, far below someone was hanging onto a rope with one hand, wildly swaying in the wind buffeting the mountain. It was raining and hailing and sleeting, and lightening was striking the rock face, dislodging big pieces of rubble which were bouncing off the guy, who was actually grasping the rope with a couple of fingers, not even a whole hand.


What did I do? I yelled down: "Nice to see you! Hang in there -- it'll be better tomorrow!" It even sounded ridiculous to me and I'm a master of the ridiculous statement.

That's what it feels like when I talk to a new person. That's what it was like for me when I was new. Most of the time my advice feels ridiculously inadequate. I want to help but there's really not a whole hell of a lot I can do, to be honest about it. Sometimes, when I come back the next day, I see the guy has hoisted himself up a foot or so. He is still way down there, though, and now some cops and family members and employers are there, throwing rocks at him and trying to shock him with a taser and fry him with a flamethrower. One ex-wife is hacking at the rope with a sharp knife. That's how it felt to me. It didn't get better at first, it seemed to get worse.


"You're doing great!" I screamed into the shrieking wind. "Keep coming back!"

Mohawk or Faux Hawk?

I find myself pretty interested in what other people think of me even though what they think is none of my business,technically. You might say it's one of my many, many obsessions. I'm not sure why I think anyone else would be thinking about me considering how rare it is for me to think about anyone else. I have the market cornered when it comes to thinking about myself. I'm not sure that there is any room in the space-time continuum for any additional thinking about me.

A few years ago I followed up some yard work with a soak in my tub , usually a help to ease the strain of an aching back. I idly ran my hands through my wet hair when I was done, contemplating my visage in the mirror. I probably flexed my meager biceps a couple of times, making sure SuperK wasn't around because frankly I can't take too much more of her laughing when I flex my biceps. I guess I could quit flexing my biceps, come to think about it, but I prefer skulking around behind people's backs, doing weird and embarrassing things and pretending that they're normal.

I found that I could get my hair to stand straight up, as if a tiny little terrorist had detonated a tiny little bomb on my scalp. I found the result ridiculous yet visually arresting, and quite amusing. I grabbed a bottle of some no doubt expensive spray -- again, on the sly, because the stuff is probably 50 cents a squirt -- and discovered that it was possible to kind of cement my hair in the Up position. I decided to call it the Explosion Cut.

"Oh, jeez," SuperK muttered. "What the hell's this?"

"I'm not sure yet," I said.

"Are you going out in public like that?" she asked.

"I haven't decided yet," I replied. "Probably, at some point."

"Give me a heads up on that, will you?" she said.

"You'll be the first to know, trust me."

The general public has been very polite, which perplexes me somewhat. Once I hair-sprayed the explosion into kind of a Mohawk, or a Faux Hawk, according to Serenity Stan, and didn't hear a peep. That look even made me a little nervous. The first time a buddy saw the doo he bent over double, laughing, which was the reaction I expected. Farmer Bill tells me I'm just trying to get some attention, to which I reply: "Duh."

Part of it, I hope, is that I'm trying not to take myself so seriously. I'm the same guy, Faux Hawk or not.

What It Seems

Honest: Being what it seems; genuine; pure.

I heard a lead a few nights ago from a young guy that I like and admire. He did a good job of keeping it real. I have more of a tendency to keep it fake. I want to paint a bullshit picture of myself that makes me look more impressive than I am so I can impress people that I don't know and couldn't care less about. I'm not someone whose life is grounded in reality so honest people help to anchor me in the real world or at least somewhere in the vicinity of the real world. My friend was direct and honest and hard on himself, but not brutal. Appropriately hard. We are whack jobs so we do well to call ourselves out when behavior is poor.


My problem -- one of many, no doubt -- is that I want to be the best at everything. When I share in front of a group I want to be the baddest ass drunk, the most profound recovery savant, and so fucking funny you'll wet your pants. I want to look out over a sea of admirers, heads nodding in unison, amazed at my wisdom. So what happens? I start to exaggerate, then I stretch the truth to the breaking point, and blast on through to outright lying. It's not enough to be me -- I need to be super me on steroids.


I heard this description of a man's drinking life not long ago: "I started to drink because it made me feel better. It got out of control quickly and I became a pathetic drunk." Then the guy talked about recovery. That about sums it up for me, too. I don't know how exciting I can make the stories of sitting in front of my TV, alone, drunk and stoned. It is not interesting.


I don't believe half the stuff I say.