Horseface Steve: Analyst

Analysis:  A separating or breaking up of any whole into its parts so as to find out their nature, proportion, function, relationship, etc.


Wow, that process sounds like a bad idea right from the git go for an alcoholic.  Nevertheless, I confess to a burning need to figure out exactly how something works before I can commit to it.   This caused me a lot of unnecessary anguish and trouble when I entered The Program, and it really caused me a lot of problems when it came to the whole Higher Power concept.


"OK, OK, I got it, I'm powerless over alcohol and everything else, and I need to develop a relationship with a Higher Power," I said, tired of people pointing out maybe why I wasn't staying sober or drug free or out of jail or off of the floor.  "Bring him in.  I'm ready to meet him.  Let's start the interview, let him present his proposal, see if it passes muster."


"I'm not sure it works that way, Horseface," the people sighed.  People sigh a lot around me.  It must be something I've said, or maybe it's my appearance, with the horse face and all.


Many things happen to me that I can't explain.  I find this especially true when it comes to stuff that I don't like.  I start right in with the analyzing.  I try to come up with a plausible explanation.  This is often counter productive.  Many of these things fall into the "Shit Happens" category.  


Of course, I find that I've caused many of my own problems, and the analysis is helpful here.  I don't mean to suggest that I shouldn't think about anything, just that I shouldn't think about everything all of the time, and that I shouldn't try to figure out how to solve things or how they were somehow my fault.  I swear I thought that I was being punished when it rained on Saturday.


Like I have that kind of power.

Surrrr-Visss??

Service:  Work done or duty performed for another or others; the occupation of a servant.


I write about service so often because it is so alien to me, so contrary to my natural occupation as someone trying to get something from someone else, not someone trying to give something to someone else.  I'm talking money, time, stuff, shit, anything! I don't want to give up anything.  Then I hear those little voices of all the past and present Program people telling me that I've been called to a life of service.  And this is one of the guiding principles, as far as I can tell, of all of the world's great religions and spiritual philosophies.  Seek god and serve others.  That's the distillation.  That's the crux of the matter.  Everything else is adornment.


To trot out a story I'm sure I've trotted out. . .   Early in my sobriety it was suggested that I make coffee for one of the evening groups that I had started attending regularly.


"I don't drink coffee at night," I replied, deadpan, entirely serious, perfect poker face.  Lord, I was clueless.  Lord, I was even more clueless than I am now, which is pretty clueless.


Clue: Information which may lead one to a certain point or conclusion.


I don't remember what reply my coffee overlord gave, but it was probably nice and patient.  I made the coffee, which required me to arrive at the meeting an hour early, which annoyed me, and I cleaned up the coffee pot, which kept me there another half an hour, which really annoyed me.


"The meeting is over.  Why won't these people go home?" I groused one minute after the closing bell.  I was really annoyed that no one was praising me lavishly for the best coffee they had ever tasted.


I was unaware that the parlor trick was that I had to arrive an hour early and stay an hour late.  I met some people.  I didn't meet anyone when I arrived right when the meeting started and left right when the meeting ended.  I got to talk about my trials and tribulations, and I got to hear some wisdom from guys who had been through everything that I was complaining about, without drinking or taking a swing at a cop.


But more importantly, whether I understood this or not, which I didn't, I did something for someone else, for free, for no reward, and I wasn't going to get anything in return.  This is the spirit of service.  This was the start of a life philosophy that has made me happy.

Death Head on the Horizon

Smile:  A favorable, pleasing, or agreeable appearance; bright, pleasant aspect.

Today’s meeting had a few fleeting references to the effect that smiling can have on the people that we encounter in the course of a day.  When I look at pictures of myself pre-drinking – a gruesome task not suitable for pregnant women or young children or anyone with a heart condition, really – I am never smiling.  I look surly, vaguely threatening.   And when I do show teeth, my expression appears forced or to be more of a grimace, like I’m unsuccessfully trying to pass gas.  I look like a fleshed-out death’s head.  I don’t think any of us would say a skeleton is smiling.  Smiling is not just the teeth.

A few years back I really tried breaking out the smile when I talked to people, especially strangers.  I don’t know why I didn’t try it earlier.  It has a magical effect.  People smile back.  I don’t even have to smile sincerely for people to react positively.  I can totally be faking it.  I try to smile even when I feel like saying: “Ah, why don’t you go to hell.” 

Part of being happy today is simply pretending to be happy.  I find that I fool myself half of the time.  I find that I start to get happy despite my best efforts to stay pissed, and I so love being pissed, apparently, because I do it all of the time

Those Kooky Monks

SuperK and I took a long hike today in a remote area of a nearby state park.  It was an especially beautiful place -- very green and wet, water washing down a rocky creek, several waterfalls along the way.  The trail was difficult which meant my overactive, ADHD brain had to concentrate on not falling down or over or off.  Hiking a tough trail is like giving my brain a bunch of foam balls to juggle: it's so engrossed in not dropping a ball that it doesn't have time to obsess over something stupid.


I felt the presence of a Higher Power today.


At a men's spiritual retreat that I attended regularly the priest giving the presentation tried to help us become more adept at meditation.  I was getting ready for all of the positions and breathing techniques and visualization strategies, and was surprised to hear him talk about art, then music, and finally nature.


"Why do you think that so many old monasteries were built in remote places?" he asked.  "The monks knew what they were doing."  Mountains, deserts, inaccessible islands, all places where it can be a lot easier to make that connection with a Higher Power via the power of nature.


Keep it . . . ahem, simple, as they say.

Twin Bookends

I've gotten to see The Program in action this week, which means my eyes are open and I've removed the  industrial ear plugs for a minute.  The Program is in action all the time; it's me that isn't in action.  Anyway, I listened to a couple of instances where members had some crappy things happen to them but Surprise! they were still among the living.  There were smiles -- or strained grimaces, at least -- and there was an appreciation of what we can take out of setbacks and adversity.  I never learned a thing from adversity when I was drinking, unless it would be important additional skills to try to avoid any future adversity.  I burn a lot of energy trying to stay in character as a 5 year old spoiled brat in the body of a middle-aged spoiled brat who doesn't want anything painful to happen, ever.


It made me reflect on the twin bookends of our Promises.  On one hand, we learn that we don't have to fear the past or shut the door on it.  Then we learn that the future isn't going to be a total disaster, full of monsters and termites and strangler figs.  The goal, as I understand it, is to try to wedge myself into The Moment.  It's a nice place to be.  I'm always OK in the moment, especially when I can strip away my fear of losing something I have and my fear of not getting something I want.


This sounded a lot more profound when I wrote it this morning.

Changing the System

The people that I work for have asked me to do some tasks that I think are stupid, non-productive, and time consuming in a busy-work, never-gonna-put-any-money-in-my-pocket kind of way.  Now, the fact that I'm a recovering drug addict and alcoholic with no formal training of any kind in business and they probably have advanced degrees in marketing and accounting from fancy private universities, along with practical experience running large corporations, seems like superfluous to me, in my megalomanical world view.


So I did what I do best -- I tried to change The System.  I start out arguing and criticizing and trying to explain why the tasks are stupid.  I'm smart enough to not use the phrase "This is stupid" any more, but my whole demeanor and attitude transmits this information to my handlers.  I get angry and resentful, and I stay that way far too long.  I don't do the work by the required date.  I don't send the information in to help these people track what I'm doing.  In short, I throw a tantrum that would make a 5 year old uncomfortable.


"Jeez," little Jimmy thinks.  "What a baby."


After I had amped up the misery that I was causing myself appropriately, I just did the work.  It did not, of course, take that long or cost that much or put me out in any significant way.  I was timely and I reported the results as requested.  Everyone, of course, was relieved and grateful.  They thanked me and complimented my efforts.


This was much easier.

Brother

I'm at home right now.  Home means time with my birth family which means exaggerated overreaction to just about everything they do or say.  I've done a lot of work on these relationships over the years and I've repaired a lot of damage, or at least I think I have.  I've caused some more damage, too, as long as I'm trying to be honest, which I may or may not be trying to do, but probably not.

Mostly, I'm at peace with these relationships even though they still get me all worked up from time to time.  I talk to my REAL family about the way things are and how I react, and I do get a lot of sympathetic clucking.

"Family is hard," Spandex said, over dinner.  "You don't get to choose your family."  I think he may have been smirking a little.

I try to make sure that I work on myself and not on other people.  I haven't had any luck improving my relationships when I work on someone else's faults and shortcomings.  Still, the other person has to be interested in improving things, too, for the relationships to have much of a chance of changing.  My mother likes to visit her grandchildren -- which I didn't provide -- and do religious things -- which makes me so fricking angry that I splutter spit sputter.  I can't stand my brother in law, who's just like me, and my sister and I have never been close.  The things she thinks are important I can't understand.

"Boy, you need to do some work," said Dr. Death, who was my host during my stay in The Old City this trip.  This is a telling fact.  I had a GREAT time with the good doctor and his even better wife, even when he annoyed the shit out of me trying to tell me what to do.  I choose to stay with friends and not with family.  I stayed up late and talked with them, and hated to go to bed.  I looked at the watch when I was with my birth family.  I probably wasn't subtle, either.

I think some people are like oil and water.  Some things can't be fixed as good as new.  I don't think my birth family really misses me now that I'm gone.  I think they might miss the idea of me, the theory of me, what they think they want me to be.  I bet I irritate the shit out of them, too.

I don't think I'm always at fault.  I realize I can only work on myself but that doesn't mean I have to be a doormat.  When someone treats me poorly, repeatedly, consistently, over a long period of time, I can choose to spend my time elsewhere.  It seems silly to bang my head against the wall.  I can move away.

Sometimes I think I can be of service by leaving someone else alone.