Service

Service:  An act of being of assistance to someone.

I am enough.  I have enough.  I do enough.

Happiness is the state of living in the present.

Today I ask that I may be of service to somebody else. (Ed. Note: And by "service" I mean anything, not just big things).

As I prepared to swim this morning I said hello to a fellow swimmer who has been absent for quite a while.  She was alone - sort of unusual because I always saw her in the company of her husband.  They have a very sweet relationship, checking with each other on about everything they're going to do.  I've talked with him a few times.  He obviously has some cognitive issues - he tells the same stories over and over - but he's a really nice man.

So she explained that her husband has been suffering from Alzheimer's and that he took a dramatic and fast-moving turn for the worst.  She was quickly overwhelmed and had to put him into a managed care facility.  He recognizes her sometimes, but not always.  It must be a miserable feeling to have a constant companion torn from your arms.  I can almost imagine that the clean break that death would provide would be easier than this slow drifting away, there but not present.

I listened carefully.  I am torn between concern for other people and this hidden, gnawing, sneaky feeling that I don't really give a shit.  This is mostly cynicism mined for the purposes of humor but part of me wanted to get my swim over with and not listen to this woman's troubles.

When she was done talking and I was excusing myself to swim I asked if she wanted a hug.  I calculated that our relationship was established enough to warrant a hug in a mostly undressed state.  She really leaned in and held on for a moment.  I like to tell people that my belief is that God gives the hardest tribulations to the best people.  She appeared to be close to tears.

I felt good about this.

Yam? Or Sweet Potato? Riddle Me That, Batman

I yam what I yam and that's all I yam.  Popeye . . . The Sailor Man.  (Ed. Note: If your mama has named you Popeye you have no options - your destinty is to be a Sailor Man).

I need to remember that my purpose in life is not to please You.  It is not to fit into some norm that I think I need to fit into because everyone else fits - or tries to fit - into that mold.  My purpose is to grow spiritually and be of service to others and if I do that then I discover the True Seaweed.

I gotta tell ya - I kind of like the True Seaweed.  I don't mean that I'm a finished product, done growing and evolving, morphed into a higher life form, and I don't mean that I get to behave however I want, although I usually do that, anyway.  Just that the whole deal is to unpeel all of the societal bullshit and all of the expectations that I put on myself as to who I should be or how I should behave and then, hopefully, end up being who I'm supposed to be.

Whew.  Even I don't know what I'm talking about.

This has been a long process.  It isn't easy to set aside my desire to fit in but once I do I really feel free.  I try to be nice and pleasant and I'm happier when people like me but if they don't I'm not in the habit of losing sleep over it.  I no longer think I have to be everyone's cup of tea. And everything flows more smoothly when I'm being myself.  The kind of work I ended up doing, the people that I develop strong relationships with, the way I dress and act in public, all of this stuff is a far cry from the way it used to be and the result is I'm happier and more content because it's who I am.

I saw this tag line on a fellow meditators profile this morning: "I am enough, I have enough, I do enough."

Lot of power, that.

Ye Olde Seaweede

Sociopath (anti-social personality disorder):  A personality disorder marked by antisocial disorder, a pervasive pattern of disregard for and violation of the rights of others . . . 

I don't remember my dreams very often.  This may be because my repressed self is a ball of screaming gibberish, populated by horrible, horrible things.  Or it may be normal.  In any case I generally sleep well.  This may be because my mind is resting peacefully or maybe because I'm a sociopath who is willing to sacrifice all other people, places, and things if it spares me any discomfort.  

That sounds about right.

In my dream I was in some huge pool complex that seemed to be associated with a high school.  Not my high school and I was as old as I am now so I don't know what I was doing back in high school.  In many of my remembered dreams I show up for classes, often at college, a week or two after classes have . . . you know . . . started.  I don't have the books, I don't know where my class is being held, I haven't read or studied anything, and I'm scheming on how to get out of this mess. 

I'm no psychologist but it seems that a lot of stuff that comes out of my subconscious is about control.  That and trying to weasel my way out of whatever mess of my own making I'm currently embroiled in.

Anyway, I'm wandering around this large school-like structure, noting that the pool is full of people who aren't "doing it right," who shouldn't be there, then popping into massive locker rooms where I vaguely suspect my clothes - my other clothes, I guess, since I'm fully clothed - are locked up somewhere.  It really doesn't matter because I don't have a key or anything.  I also have to pee and am incensed that the urinals and stalls are just hanging right out in the fucking open.  At this point the school sort of morphs into this ornate shopping mall, one of the sort that would be called an Emporium or a Galleria or contain words that have superfluous "E"s hanging off the end, like "Towne Centre."

Maybe I need to buy something.

Going Both Ways

I was mulling over the phenomenon of taking myself too seriously when I stumbled upon my pair of bike-riding pants.  Normally I wear shorts but if it's too chilly in the morning I put on a pair of tight-fitting longer pants.  They can't be too loose or they'll catch in the bike gearing but they can't be too tight or they'll make everyone who sees me in them freak out.  You might think, at this point, that the point is I no longer care how ridiculous I look in these spandex pants.  But wait . . . there's more.

I bought these pants out of the bargain bin at a local sporting goods store.  I was pretty pleased with myself - I got a great deal on something I needed, unlike most of the crap that I buy for reasons that are obscure to even me.  The next morning I rode my bike and was pretty pleased with the pants.  Pretty pleased.  Good performance, stayed out of the gearing, no one laughed openly at my appearance.  I got home and tossed them into the laundry basket.  Somehow they get clean if I do this.  I don't ask why this happen.

SuperK walked into the room holding the now clean pants.

"You know these are women's pants, right?" she asked.

"They're what now?" I said.

She showed me the tag without comment.  Women's pants.

You know I don't really care.  In fact, I tell people I have on women's pants.

This is why I'm careful to avoid the women's section at department stores.  I'm just a little too tempted to try on some panty hose and a slinky cocktail dress.

Fast!

Fast:  Quickly, with great speed; within a short time.

As part of my never-ending fascination with myself I was reminiscing - I really should say re-reminiscing because I never stop pondering my fate in life unless I'm taking some time off to think about my current circumstances or what may happen to me in the future - about my foray into Optometry School.    My aborted, unsuccessful foray into the field of eye doctor-ness.  I made it half way through which really wasn't the point of starting in the first place - I was kind of going for the going-all-the-way technique.  And I didn't leave because I thought this was a good idea - I left right before the door smacked into my ass regions.

If there was an event in my life that could have caused a great deal of regret this would be it.  "I coulda been a contenduh," in other words.  A doctor of the eyes.  Dr. Seaweed - it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?  I am overjoyed to report that, because of this wonderful Program and its emphasis on moving forward and not looking back, that the regret is nowhere to be found.  Part of this a practical reflection - the field of optometry has changed in ways that would have made the occupation less than optimal for me.  Plus, I really enjoyed the work that I ended up doing although saying "I was a salesman" when people ask me about my occupation doesn't have the same impressive cachet.  Well, what do I care what people think about me anyway?

I guess part of the screed here is that it sure is helpful - especially at the start - to have a job that you enjoy.  Sobriety is hard enough without having to show up every day someplace that you don't want to be.  The flip side of the coin is that even if you think your job sucks - and it probably isn't as sucky as you're making it out to be - having something to occupy your time for a big chunk of the day is a good idea.  Plus, there's that whole needing money to live thing that has to be taken into consideration.  Pretty important, that.

But the whole re-reminiscing part sort of originally centered around the idea of speed.  Fast speed.  Moving fast and purposefully into the future.  Part of my struggles in optometry can be traced to the fact that I was in a much accelerated mode at the time.  While it was not an absolute requirement to have an undergraduate degree many of my classmates had one or had at least completed 3 years of college.  There was a small group of us who doubled up on classes and went to summer school and performed well enough to earn early admission.  

Two things here - it sure made my 2 years of undergraduate work miserable.  One year I had 7 final exams at the end of a term due to all of the lab classes I had to take in conjunction with the regular classroom work.  The other hindrance was that I would occasionally find myself in say, my first microbiology class, with people who had degrees in microbiology.  I was definitely at a disadvantage competition-wise.

Part of this was purely practical.  I was responsible for most of the costs of my education - the considerable costs - and it made sense to get from the money-draining part of my life into the money-making part.  I was not in a position to "find myself" in school.  I was right there.  I knew where I was.  It wasn't the right place, obviously, but I was on the map.

Moving fast into the future.

Fright Masks and Such

Seriously:  Without humor or expression of happiness; grave in manner or disposition.

Whatever it is - it isn't that important.  At least it's not as important as you think it is.  Of all the things that have happened in my life I would estimate I've had like 19 important things happen out of 17 billion or so.  Even things that are important often lose their potency more quickly than we'd think.

It's not the end of the world.  Quit taking  yourself so seriously.  You're not that important.  It's not that big a deal.

I got up early to attend my 7AM meeting a few days ago and was amused to see that my hair was mostly sticking straight up in the air.  Because it doesn't take much to encourage me I used a little water to complete the Fright Mask look.  My appearance resembled a cartoon character who has seen something really horrifying - the hair springs straight up and then stays frozen in place.   Many normal people would correct this look, preferring a normal appearance.  I fucked around with my hair to make it look even weirder.  In fact, I was so impressed with the hairstyle that I decided to forgo my normal morning pork pie hat.  (Ed. Note: If you forgo something in the past did you forwent it?  Please research.)

At this large meeting no one said anything to me, aware that I'm apt to do the occasional odd thing.  One guy mumbled something about a comb but that was about it.  A number of people censured me for not wearing a hat.  Maybe this was because my hair looked so ridiculous but more likely the culprit was that I always have a hat on.

After the meeting a new dude came up to me.  This dude is really new and he's not, at the moment, playing with a full deck.  I'm always talking to people like this.  My service work for the group includes getting to the meeting early and standing near the smoking area for 20 minutes or so.  New people are usually still smoking.  Let me tell you this - there are some real characters out on those church steps.  I get more recovery out of the insanity filling that space than I do out of the meeting that follows.

Dude (quite seriously): "Where do you get your hair cut?"

Seaweed:  Along the lines of "whatever barber I happen to be passing when the mood strikes me."

Dude: "How much to do you pay?"

Seaweed: $20.

Dude: "You should come see me.  I'll do it for half that.  I'm a barber.  That's what I do.  I'm staying at John's (Ed. Note: a local half-way house.)"

Normally when someone approaches me at a meeting for a hand-out or to shill for a product or service - which doesn't happen very often - I'm firm in my refusal and clear about my reasoning while trying to maintain an attitude of compassion and kindness.  

But this time I was laughing too hard to myself to say anything.

Enough is Enough

At my morning meeting I heard a from a woman who has been feeling some angst at not attending as many meetings as she used to.  The justification was that her work schedule was the culprit.  Work is a very good culprit for not attending meetings.  Family obligations are also very popular.  As justifications go these are robust.  After all, it's not as if you can tell your small children: "Hey, can you get dressed, make breakfast, and then get to school this morning?  Daddy has to go to a meeting."

I've maintained over the years that I didn't get sober to sit in meetings.  But if I don't go to meetings my sobriety is strained.  If I missed a couple of weeks of meetings I don't believe that I'd drink but I'm pretty sure that my inner asshole would creep a little closer to the surface.  It's amazing how quickly the entire world degrades when I don't keep my Program up-to-date.

I'm always working a balancing act with my recovery and my life, although the two frequently intersect.  I've got a good feel internally as to how well the two are working.