Getting What I Want

I had a lovely talk last night with my friend EMC.  He's one of the few guys I know who actively practices meditation.  Lots of us say we meditate but lots of people say they exercise regularly, too, or that they don't watch Desperate Housewives of Bergen County, NJ, or wherever they're from.  I meditate regularly - I suck at it but I give it a whirl.  Meditation is very pleasant when I'm getting what I want.  It's one thing to have pleasant thoughts whirling around in my head  and another altogether when the thoughts aren't so nice.  

I bounced my interest in moving again off EMC.  I've been pondering this and getting nothing but green lights.  The problem for me is that when I'm getting something that I think I want I'm a very spiritual man.  I'm a spiritual colossus.  I read the signs correctly and I'm impressed with my insight and calm, considered wisdom.  Then . . .  a roadblock and the inevitable rage and fear and frustration when I'm NOT GETTING MY WAY!

I'm old enough that health insurance companies aren't particularly interested in my business.  It doesn't seem to have anything to do with whether or not I'm healthy - more along the lines that they're suspicious that something terrible and costly is just about to happen.  It makes me nervous.  Do they know something that I don't know?  When I moved from The Old City to The New City I had some trouble getting coverage.  They came up with every piddling little excuse that they could find to deny my application.  As I was sailing at high speed through green light after green light in my research on moving yet again I decided to send a note to The New City insurance company.  They decided to send me a note back saying that they weren't licensed to provide care in Vacation City and that they would be happy to cancel my insurance effective one week from today, permitting me to go through the root canal-like procedure of trying to qualify for health insurance - again - with a company who is licensed in the state of Vacation City.

After several panicked emails and phone calls to clear up the matter, I got to sit down and meditate.  The thoughts swirling around in my mind were distinctly NOT pleasant.  I had to chuckle - I don't find it objectionable when my monkey mind is swinging from thought to thought when I'm happy, even though this isn't exactly what I'm trying to accomplish when I meditate.  But when the thoughts are murderous . . .   Still, the idea is to sit there with the thoughts, not judging them, not controlling them, not trying to force them to do anything.

Very unpleasant, which is either exactly the point or not the point at all.  I really don't know which is why I keep meditating.  Maybe some day I'll figure it out, but probably not.

Mind you - I'm not actually moving anywhere.  I'm considering it.  So all of the stuff pissing me off is theoretical and somewhere in the future, maybe.  I'm upset that I'm not getting something that I'm not even sure that I want.  I like to get things that I want and then find out later down the road that they weren't the best for me a lot more that getting a fork in the eye, only to discover that the experience led me to something better.

I HATE This Topic

The topic at today's meeting was gratitude.  I'm always amazed at the antipathy that this topic evokes in me.  The hair on the back of my neck stands up.  I go into flight-or-fight mode and I ain't go anywhere, if you get my drift.  I simply don't have a very well formed sense of gratitude.  I'm more about the problems.  I'm about what's wrong, not what's right.

And I'm sitting in the clubhouse on the marina as I diss the topic.  I don't have anything to be grateful for.

Get Away From Me

I had on my favorite T-shirt today.  It's a garish purple with red lettering.  "Get Away From Me" it suggests pointedly.  Most people ignore it; a few think it's funny.

"I love your T-shirt," they say.  "It's very funny."

I look them in the eyes, steadily.  I don't comment.  I don't smile.  I don't flinch.  

I think that shirt was 50% joke, 50% statement when I bought it long ago.  I think it's about 20% joke, 80% statement at this point.  I care for it solicitously.   

The Pineapple and Seaweed

I was at the grocery store wandering aimlessly in my beloved Fruits and Vegetables section.  I like to buy fruit and vegetables because it makes me feel superior to other people, even though I like to eat King Dongs and cheddar cheese popcorn dipped in chocolate and deep-fried as much as the next guy.  I selected a pineapple as one of my selections.  When I got to the front of the store there were a few lanes manned by actual check-out people and there was also an endless row of sinister-looking automated check out kiosks.  I chose one of these begrudgingly, aware that I have never yet gotten through one of them with as few as two items without being plagued by some kind of major electronic malfunction.

I was sailing through without a hitch until I got to my last item: The Pineapple.  Fortunately, a tag with a bar code was attached to the fruit.  I scanned my pineapple and noticed that the display displayed a price A Dollar!! more than I had expected.  I called over the woman who was responsible for the auto lanes and asked her to please clarify this outrage.   She picked up a phone and paged what I assume was a very important person in the Fruit and Vegetable section, the one who could tell you if the rutabagas were at peak flavor.  No one returned the call.  After a minute the woman paged again.  The result was the same.  Frankly, I was beginning to regret having wasted some of my Very Precious Time over A Dollar!!

My check out lady finally typed some stuff into the machine and the correct price popped up.

"See," she said.  "You typed in the wrong code."

I was annoyed by now that I had wasted so much of my Very Precious Time so, instead of keeping my $%##! mouth shut over A Dollar!! I pointed out that I had scanned in a bar code that her store had affixed to their piece of fruit.  My tone was somewhat peevish, I should add.

She looked at me and said: "It is $3.99.  You had the wrong code coded in."

I pondered this for an instant.  I found myself wishing that I had a phone to slam down in her ear.  I found myself regretting the self-service kiosk and the pineapple itself, delicious as it would turn out to be.

"See?"  I said.  "Someone typed in the wrong code for me."

This is why I go to meetings and talk to You People.

Slamming Down the Phone

I hung up the phone yesterday on someone who was annoying the shit out of me.  One of the great things about cell phones is that you can plead "bad connection" when you hang up on someone; the drawback is that one is deprived of that great clanging sound that occurs when you slam down a land line with great violence. The agony and ecstasy of modern communication, I guess.  The funny thing is that I hung up on this dude at SuperK's prompting.  "Just hang up," she said.  I had the phone down at my side - I hadn't actually hung up before she spoke, although I was considering it, but I was too frustrated to listen to one more word come out of this guy's mouth.  Hanging up on someone who is annoying is SOP for me but pretty extreme for SuperK.

After I had cooled down a bit I called back and lied.  "Bad connection," I said.  "Sorry about that."  I'm not sure which course was the slipperier slope: slamming down a phone, then having to make an amend or the less satisfying clicking off of the connection followed by a gentle lie.  That, and when SuperK told me to hang up she didn't realize that the line was still open so the lie-ee may have heard the whole exchange.  If that was the case he should have called me on it.  "You stinking, miserable liar," he should have said.

This would be immature behavior for a 15 year old - I'm not sure what it's called in a 55 year old.  

Ravings of the Introvert

I prefer being alone.  I prefer it to being with other people, even people I love.  When I'm with people whose company I really enjoy, I'm looking for a way out - I'm picturing the end game: when can I leave?  It's not that I don't ever enjoy the company of people but that I usually prefer silence to the endless prattling that passes for conversation coming out of the mouths of others.

I don't think I'm better than other people but I still don't want to be around them.  I don't think I'm worse than they are, either, and I don't give a shit what they think about me.  I like to read and write.  I practice yoga by myself, outside.  I go to a busy exercise club, walking through the crowded weight rooms, past the thumping, jiggling classes, to the pool, where I swim in silence, under water, listening to my own breath.  I take long hikes alone, into the back country - all I can hear is wind and birds and my own ragged breathing.  I can't imagine how hearing someone  talking in that environment would improve the experience.  I drink coffee alone at a crowded coffee shop - often I sit and think and judge and watch people swirl by.  I'm glad I'm in the midst of them and glad they're leaving me alone.

It's an extraordinarily pleasant way to be.

Meaning, Whoa, Whoa, Whoa, Meaning

Meaning.  That's one of those vague concepts that gets me into trouble if I think about it too much.  I had a friend mention how much time and effort he's placing on finding "meaning" in his life as he gets older. He mentioned a prominent psychiatrist, a Holocaust survivor, who proposed that we can find meaning even in the midst of terrible difficulties.

To which the alcoholic replies: "Hey, no shit."

Hardly a novel idea, that.  It seems to me to be the keystone to achieving some acceptance in life; although not necessarily happiness, a goal that is misleading and frankly overrated.  Once we get it we worry that it'll go away.

So, weirdly enough, the destruction that alcohol and drugs bestows has been a blessing of sorts in my search for meaning.  It took a while but I figured out that Porsches, the corner office, no-obligation sexual encounters, and a big bank account were not found in any of The Steps, Traditions, Promises, or Concepts.

I have found meaning  in my relationship with a Higher Power.  I have found meaning in my halting pursuit of service to others, a concept that I totally, 100% learned in The Program.  I have a profound relationship with another human being, my wife, a completely foreign occurrence when I was drinking.

THAT'S some meaning.