Justify: To free from blame; declare guiltless; acquit; absolve.
I needed to laugh at myself yesterday. The obstacle was that any humor would interfere with the righteous anger I was carefully nurturing. I was like a freezing hiker trying to start a small fire, in a windstorm, with wet matches, in 6 feet of snow, and someone kept blowing on the match. I couldn't let the humor overwhelm my humorless need to be right.
I had another conference call with my handler from The Evil Empire that I work for. I know I'm repeating myself, being redundant, saying the same thing over and over, but this is the organization that treated my poorly a while back (they really did -- I'm not making this up) which cost me a bunch of money. So I took some income from them while technically upholding the terms of my contract (I really did -my behavior would stand up in a court of law) which evened the score. It wasn't the right thing to do but I thought about it long enough and hard enough to justify doing it.
Unfortunately, when I use the phrase "even the score" then I'm doing something that a good prosecuting attorney would completely savage during the cross examination in The Horseface Court of Law, which is really the court of law that's the most important court to me at this point. Not that I'm out there breaking the real law, either; a pretty guy like me, with my horseface and all, wouldn't do too well in prison.
It was another one of those conversations where I try to deflect and dance and direct the conversation to places where I don't have to reveal what it is that I'm really doing. What I'm doing, while technically correct, is violating the spirit of our arrangement. They wouldn't say: "Horseface, you gorgeous beast, that's OK with us." I would be disciplined, if not removed.
In Horseface Reality, a really lousy kind of reality, I justified this for a while. I really believed they had screwed me out of money -- and yes, I'm aware that the 12 & 12 devotes several pages explaining how to correct bad behavior that arises out of a selfish pursuit of money -- so I thought it was OK to behave this way, as long as I technically, legally behaved well. Ethically - not so much.
At this point I knew that I had totally pooped on the concept of "To Thine Own Self Be True." I mean, it's easy to forget this concept -- it's only on the !!##!! recovery coin that I carry around with me all of the time.
Of course, being a failed Director I could only manage to steer the conversation out of dicey waters for most of the hour it took. Of course, eventually it washed up into a fetid back eddy where I was trapped in a foaming whirlpool for a while. I couldn't get the conversation to move back into the main part of the stream and I had to really dance. I wasn't lying, per se, but I was making someone believe something that wasn't true, which I believe is the definition of lying, unless you're floundering around in Horseface Reality.
This is stressful for me so I begin to get defensive and being a guy, of sorts, defensive works best when mixed with anger. People back away from me when my anger starts percolating. I've got a lid on it most of the time but it's not gone, not by any means.
I muted the phone and found SuperK.
"Help me," I pleaded. "I'm getting pissed."
"Shhhhh," she said, with a gentle downward motion of her hands. "Calm, calm."
Eventually, the logjam broke and I was free again. I walked out of my office and said: "Look." I raised my arms, showing large circles of perspiration. It wasn't hot. It wasn't humid. I wasn't sick. This was all stress related sweat. It's stressful being deceitful. I wish I wasn't so good at it because it really screws with my serenity. I'm a TREMENDOUS liar. It really comes naturally to me. The truth -- not so much.
We discussed the wisdom of resigning my position with the organization. It would be the right thing to do. It's somewhat frightening because there's some little amount of money involved, but not enough to justify those big circles of sweat.
I'll tell you this: I feel free today. I don't need this in my life anymore. My serenity is EXTREMELY valuable.
I'm waiting a few weeks, of course. I have another commission check coming.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Going, Going . . .
Death: The act or fact of dying; permanent ending of all life in a person, animal, or plant.
I do not like the idea of permanence. I bet that some of that can be explained by my resistance to The Original Permanent Fact, the one that I need to avoid; namely, the expectation that I'm never going to drink again. After 24 years of sobriety it still makes me nervous to think that way, and rightly so, because it deflects me from the Original Spiritual Purpose; namely, to live One Day at a Time. I do like Dr. Bob's comment when asked what he thought about never drinking again: "I believe that if I continue to do what I'm doing today that I don't ever have to pick up a drink again." Maybe he said that -- maybe not. I'm not the most trustworthy source of information. Sure sounds like something a man with a profound spiritual existence would say, or something that a man with a profoundly warped ego would make up.
Anyway, we have an old cat -- seventeen years old -- who is struggling with her health. Seventeen cat years equals . . . well, I have no idea how many human years that is. We're not sure if she's just old, or having some serious health problems. She's not saying. She's playing her cards close to the vest. She's always kind of been a bitch that way. Last night we weren't sure if she was going to make it until morning but she seems to have rallied a bit.
The experience of seeing something alive begin to make the transition to something dead makes me ponder what it means to be alive. I don't like the pain of loss and when I'm in the middle of it I have a tendency to fall back on the old defense of "It's not worth getting attached to anything. It's not worth it." I'm reminded of the old saw we pass around The Fellowship: "The good news about being sober is that you get to feel everything again. And the bad news is that you get to feel everything again." It's pretty cool when things are going well; not so much when they aren't.
The other thought that comes to mind is how easy it is to take something for granted. Seventeen years -- I can barely remember the animal not being around. As I held my possibly dying, certainly fading, pet in my arms last night I thought of all of the times and places where her presence and behavior has been a given. I marvel at how easy it is to ignore a lot of mostly good times and concentrate on the totally unfair reality that life must end. As I've gotten older and my body has begun to tell me that things aren't going to get any easier for me as time marches on I have to marvel at how strongly I resist this. "This isn't fair," I think. "Who came up with this plan?"
I have always appreciated how well we celebrate death in The Fellowship. Not that we're glad that someone dies but we're not terrified at what comes next, at what we have left undone or what we shouldn't have done. There's a lot of emphasis on all the good things in a life well lived and not a self-absorbed preoccupation on the dead part.
I was talking with Shorty about the end of his mother's life and comparing it to the death of an unhappy man that I knew, a drunk who never got sober. I could see how someone who had lived a right life could let go when it was time, without bitterness or regret. It was pretty cool. And I could see how someone who had been selfish was terrified of the end, who wanted to hang on as long as he could. Death was the enemy. Unfortunately, you can't treat people poorly for years and year and expect them to rally around you when you falter.
Yep.
I do not like the idea of permanence. I bet that some of that can be explained by my resistance to The Original Permanent Fact, the one that I need to avoid; namely, the expectation that I'm never going to drink again. After 24 years of sobriety it still makes me nervous to think that way, and rightly so, because it deflects me from the Original Spiritual Purpose; namely, to live One Day at a Time. I do like Dr. Bob's comment when asked what he thought about never drinking again: "I believe that if I continue to do what I'm doing today that I don't ever have to pick up a drink again." Maybe he said that -- maybe not. I'm not the most trustworthy source of information. Sure sounds like something a man with a profound spiritual existence would say, or something that a man with a profoundly warped ego would make up.
Anyway, we have an old cat -- seventeen years old -- who is struggling with her health. Seventeen cat years equals . . . well, I have no idea how many human years that is. We're not sure if she's just old, or having some serious health problems. She's not saying. She's playing her cards close to the vest. She's always kind of been a bitch that way. Last night we weren't sure if she was going to make it until morning but she seems to have rallied a bit.
The experience of seeing something alive begin to make the transition to something dead makes me ponder what it means to be alive. I don't like the pain of loss and when I'm in the middle of it I have a tendency to fall back on the old defense of "It's not worth getting attached to anything. It's not worth it." I'm reminded of the old saw we pass around The Fellowship: "The good news about being sober is that you get to feel everything again. And the bad news is that you get to feel everything again." It's pretty cool when things are going well; not so much when they aren't.
The other thought that comes to mind is how easy it is to take something for granted. Seventeen years -- I can barely remember the animal not being around. As I held my possibly dying, certainly fading, pet in my arms last night I thought of all of the times and places where her presence and behavior has been a given. I marvel at how easy it is to ignore a lot of mostly good times and concentrate on the totally unfair reality that life must end. As I've gotten older and my body has begun to tell me that things aren't going to get any easier for me as time marches on I have to marvel at how strongly I resist this. "This isn't fair," I think. "Who came up with this plan?"
I have always appreciated how well we celebrate death in The Fellowship. Not that we're glad that someone dies but we're not terrified at what comes next, at what we have left undone or what we shouldn't have done. There's a lot of emphasis on all the good things in a life well lived and not a self-absorbed preoccupation on the dead part.
I was talking with Shorty about the end of his mother's life and comparing it to the death of an unhappy man that I knew, a drunk who never got sober. I could see how someone who had lived a right life could let go when it was time, without bitterness or regret. It was pretty cool. And I could see how someone who had been selfish was terrified of the end, who wanted to hang on as long as he could. Death was the enemy. Unfortunately, you can't treat people poorly for years and year and expect them to rally around you when you falter.
Yep.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Horseface Steve -- Assistant to the Director
One of the short prayers I offer up every morning, in a cloud of incense smoke and overwrought emotion, is the request for help in being the best son, brother, and husband that I can be. Everybody else can go to hell. Just kidding, just kidding, sort of -- the second short prayer is help in fitting myself to be of maximum service to my fellow man and woman.
Anyway, I'm making the effort to call my parents every couple of days. I have a hidden agenda, of course: to make them see, eventually, that I know what is best for them and that they should do my bidding. My words, fortunately, are vague and non-threatening. I keep my mouth shut. I say the best things when my mouth is shut -- great wisdom pours out. My mother is one of world's great Directors. I can see today that I learned at the knee of a master. That woman is On Message. She has an agenda and you cannot knock her off that agenda. She would have been a great press secretary.
I'm getting better at keeping my frustration under control. The prayer, after all, is that I make myself available for whatever help is necessary. I'm hardly a good friend if I'm making suggestions on landscaping while your house is burning down. I might be a great landscaper and my suggestions might be brilliant but your fucking house is burning down. Service work after a meeting is cleaning up the coffee machine. That's the service work. I can suggest away but that's what needs to be done. I'm the guy suggesting that maybe we should try a coffee service or bring our own coffee or switch to tea, none of which needs to be done when there's a dirty coffee machine staring me in the face.
Pow-err-less.
Anyway, I'm making the effort to call my parents every couple of days. I have a hidden agenda, of course: to make them see, eventually, that I know what is best for them and that they should do my bidding. My words, fortunately, are vague and non-threatening. I keep my mouth shut. I say the best things when my mouth is shut -- great wisdom pours out. My mother is one of world's great Directors. I can see today that I learned at the knee of a master. That woman is On Message. She has an agenda and you cannot knock her off that agenda. She would have been a great press secretary.
I'm getting better at keeping my frustration under control. The prayer, after all, is that I make myself available for whatever help is necessary. I'm hardly a good friend if I'm making suggestions on landscaping while your house is burning down. I might be a great landscaper and my suggestions might be brilliant but your fucking house is burning down. Service work after a meeting is cleaning up the coffee machine. That's the service work. I can suggest away but that's what needs to be done. I'm the guy suggesting that maybe we should try a coffee service or bring our own coffee or switch to tea, none of which needs to be done when there's a dirty coffee machine staring me in the face.
Pow-err-less.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
The Traditions
Tradition: A long-established custom or practice that has the effect of an unwritten law. From the Latin root traditio, a surrender.
I attend a 12 Steps and 12 Traditions meeting in The New City. I attended one in The Old City for many years as well, but we didn't do a Tradition every month. I never understood why. If the Steps tell us How It Works then the Traditions tell us Why It Works. Whenever I attend a meeting that I don't think is very good -- let's be honest, there are some out there -- I usually find that I'm in a room where the Traditions are being trampled underfoot.
Last night was Tradition Eight, which states that we don't charge for our services. We can pay people who do non-recovery type work like print books and staff offices, but the face to face stuff is totally free. I can only imagine how I would have reacted had some variation of the following scenario played out at my first meeting: "OK, Horseface, we charge $100 for an initial evaluation but we will waive that if you can't afford it. Dues are $50 a month. If you sign up for two years we'll drop that to $45 with the first two months free. AND we waive the initiation fee for any family members that you bring along. Now, I have paperwork prepared . . . " Absent all of that I was still wary that I had joined some weirdo cult for a long time.
I have to remember that The Big Book was published in 1939 but The Traditions didn't come out until 1946, and they weren't ratified until the 1950 International Convention. A lot of kooky drunks had complicated the hell out of everything by then. It was the wild west for a while. We didn't put The Traditions together calmly and thoughtfully; we put them together as a survival mechanism.
How cool is that the root of the word "tradition" implies powerlessness and surrender?
I attend a 12 Steps and 12 Traditions meeting in The New City. I attended one in The Old City for many years as well, but we didn't do a Tradition every month. I never understood why. If the Steps tell us How It Works then the Traditions tell us Why It Works. Whenever I attend a meeting that I don't think is very good -- let's be honest, there are some out there -- I usually find that I'm in a room where the Traditions are being trampled underfoot.
Last night was Tradition Eight, which states that we don't charge for our services. We can pay people who do non-recovery type work like print books and staff offices, but the face to face stuff is totally free. I can only imagine how I would have reacted had some variation of the following scenario played out at my first meeting: "OK, Horseface, we charge $100 for an initial evaluation but we will waive that if you can't afford it. Dues are $50 a month. If you sign up for two years we'll drop that to $45 with the first two months free. AND we waive the initiation fee for any family members that you bring along. Now, I have paperwork prepared . . . " Absent all of that I was still wary that I had joined some weirdo cult for a long time.
I have to remember that The Big Book was published in 1939 but The Traditions didn't come out until 1946, and they weren't ratified until the 1950 International Convention. A lot of kooky drunks had complicated the hell out of everything by then. It was the wild west for a while. We didn't put The Traditions together calmly and thoughtfully; we put them together as a survival mechanism.
How cool is that the root of the word "tradition" implies powerlessness and surrender?
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, August 29, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
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.
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.
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