Work, Work, Work

When I'm upset with someone I start by looking at myself.  I am loathe to do this - I do this with much reluctance.  I prefer to look at you instead, finding it much easier to point out your faults instead of looking at myself.  I'm sure you can understand this, being so terribly flawed.  

Of course I find that often I'm not behaving that well.  A lot of the time it's pretty easy to see how I could improve my behavior.  Sometimes I have to dig a little deeper.  The writing really helps as do the phone calls to my friends.  I lose all perspective when I try to figure things out all by myself, in my head.  I spoke to Spandex yesterday about an ongoing concern that he has.  It's not that big a deal, in my opinion, but he knows that it's important to keep the info flowing out.  No secrets and no bullshitting oneself.  

Work, work, work.

   

Service Work Minimalism

I went to a meeting in The New Vacation City this morning.  I was in a pretty good mood.  I eased on in, headed to the coffee pot, and heard someone call my name.  I was impressed.  I recognized the woman but couldn't remember her name.  I sat down to a guy who greeted me by name as well. No idea who he was.

I'll tell you it almost brought tears to my eyes: The Welcoming of The New Guy.

One Potato, Two Potato, Three Potato, Four

I leave The New City, in the grip of winter.  Cold, wet, and gloomy on a sunny day.  I make a drive south, through some pretty high mountain passes, snow blanketing the heights just above the highway.  I get to my temporary rental, which I decide to immediately hate.  I ferret out every flaw, every potential flaw, anything to be remotely annoyed about, now or in the future, ignoring the fact that I'm in a position to escape winter for a few months.  That would entail gratitude which I avoid like the plague.

I wait patiently.  I do the work, hang in there, and fall in love with The First Vacation Home.

After a few months we move to a place with an extra bedroom so my mom can visit.  Well, really so that SuperK can get as far away from me as possible.  I hate The Second Vacation Home immediately and wish I was back at the First Vacation Home which I hated before I fell in love with it.  I've forgotten all about that already.  That would require gratitude and perspective, a deadly duo.  I hate The Second Vacation Home so much that I'm ready to go back to The New City where winter has worsened, making it the least desirable of the three options.  That would imply gratitude, perspective, and intelligence, which I refuse to acknowledge as a viable option.

As you can see my grip on reality is tenuous, and laughable.

Goooaaaalllll!!!!

And here's another thing about staying sober for a while: you only get to bitch about something for a finite period of time before someone is permitted to take your head off, cough into the neck-hole, dribble your noggin like a basketball, then kick it into a soccer net, screaming: "Goal!   Goooaaaallll!"

A few years ago I was complaining about something fairly pedestrian, unable to shake off the common problem.  My friends listened patiently, alternately laughing at me and offering advice.  At one point there was a pause on the other end of the line: "Are you still complaining about that?"

I got the message.  Enough already.  Quit it.

Shame Spiral

I'm still awfully good at looking on The Dark Side.  It's much easier to see what's wrong than what's right; a total load of crap for a guy like me who is drowning in blessings.  If blessings were water my body would have floated up on a beach a long time ago.

When I let my temper take charge last night it felt really, really good.  I mean it felt really good.  I spend a lot of time and energy keeping this ugly part of my personality chained in its dark cave.  This is a terrible waste of a really powerful force.  It's much more impressive when my anger is roaming the night, the dark, dark, stormy night.  

Let's say my anger is trapped inside a stainless steel boiler.  I can slowly work a complicated relief valve, a process that takes some time and effort, or I can let the pressure slowly build up until the whole contraption blows sky high.  I did not operate the relief valve last night.  It was impressive watching the thing blow up, sending red-hot pieces of shrapnel in every direction.  It's much easier than getting out my toolbox and going through my check list,  releasing the pressure slowly.  It was disturbingly reminiscent of pondering a beer or a bong hit not long after another fervent swearing-off, seeing the consequences, shrugging my shoulders, and giving in one more time.

Unfortunately, today I have to deal with the emotional hang-over.  I feel crappy so it must have been quite an explosion.  This is the problem with trying to live a spiritual life: I can't just let my behavior go wherever it wants to go.  I have to behave well or I have to pay the piper.  I can't simply do whatever I want and bury the pain under drugs and drink.

Willie calls it the "shame spiral."  Good term.  Act badly then wallow in remorse.  Takes a while to dig out of this stuff.

Restraint of Car Horn

I went mano a mano with another Director today.  It was a rout.  I have gone mano a mano with this Director on several previous occasions.  Also routs.  I have never really been in the game with this Director.  I have kept the score close at the start of the game a few times but the end result has always been the same: Rout.  The thing with me is that I'm at least trying not to run the world.  I can be stubborn and controlling up to a point; eventually I give in, not because I want to but because it's the right thing to do.

I had a long day today.  I was controlled to the left, then to the right, then I was flipped upside down and dunked in chocolate while being controlled.  I did OK.  I had a long drive home and when I arrived at my New Vacation home some #$!! was parked in the driveway.  Parking is at a premium on the narrow street so I Lost It.  I sat outside and repeatedly blew my horn to see if I could get this #$!! to move his $#!! car.  The childish effort was ineffectual except for the fact that it made me fell like shit.

Restraint of tongue and pen and car horn.

To Make A Present or Gift Of

Giving is when you give something.  Giving is not taking; it is not receiving so I don't get anything when I give as that would be taking, the direct opposite of giving.  It's outgoing, not incoming.

To Earth People this conversation would sound ridiculous, which is why I wouldn't have it with them.  Earth People don't have to write these things down to see how they look on paper.  They don't ponder them, probe them for new insights, come to startling revelations.  They give or they don't, and they know what they're doing.  It's an act remarkable in its simplicity, profound in its implications.

I offered to chip in with whatever help I could give to a family member who was hosting a holiday get-together.  "You want to help?" she snapped.  "Write me a check for $25."  She was nursing a resentment that my question released.  I vowed that she would get the $25 when she pried it from my cold, dead fingers.  A buddy of mine in The Program said: "Write her the check."  He knew the cost of my resentment was one thousand and twenty five dollars.  I sent the check - she cashed it without comment.

I need to give what someone wants to receive: money occasionally, attention and interest as a matter of course.  It doesn't make any difference if I think it makes sense or not - the giving is for the other person.  If it's boring or a big waste of my precious time is beside the point.  The giving is the point.

I have to tell myself "That's not the point" far too often.