What I Got

From: "Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind" by Yuval Noah Harari . . . 

"We moderns have an arsenal of tranquilizers and painkillers at our disposal, but our expectations of ease and pleasure, and our intolerance of inconvenience and discomfort, have increased to such an extent that we may well suffer from pain more than our ancestors ever did."

I need to remember this the next time I think that things used to be better than they are now.  Things are fine right now.  Things were different before, that's all.  This here today is what I've got.  What I don't got is what I used to have.

They say that money don't buy everything, 
But what it can't buy I don't need, 
I need . . . money,
That's what I need.

I Promise You This . . .

"We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness."

Freedom: The state of not being imprisoned or enslaved.

So I've always liked the idea of wearing the world like a loose garment.  This is an image that makes sense to me - being engaged with life but not trying to control it.  Floating down the creek.  Paddling, sure, but following the course of the stream.  I was always turning the canoe around and trying to shoot the rapids in reverse.  Shooting the rapids while heading downstream isn't always the best idea but I was the guy trying to will my canoe over large rocks and waterfalls while paddling furiously in the wrong direction.  Now I try to see where the river is going.  I'm present but only moderately in charge.

This is my freedom.

Happy:  Having a feeling arising from a consciousness of well-being or of enjoyment;  enjoying good of any kind, such as comfort, peace, or tranquility.

I used to put a lot of pressure on myself to be happy.  In my mind's eye being happy meant having fun.  Sometimes it meant not experiencing pain.  In never crossed my mind that happiness was a peaceful feeling of well-being.  I was looking for exciting happy, not tranquil happy.  I wanted to be the dude having a fucking great time, not the dude sitting quietly, contentedly.

Content:  Satisfied.

Satisfied.  Not euphoric.  Satisfied.  I know, I know, it sounds boring but it works surprisingly well.

Tradition 10

"A.A. has no opinion on outside issues, hence the A.A. name should never be drawn into public controversy."

We were chatting away at our small 12&12 meeting last week about the opening few paragraphs of Step 12.  There was a guy there for the first time at our meeting who intimated that he had some sobriety under his belt.  Normally dressed, calm in demeanor, no red flags flying.  He did screw around with his cell phone during the introductory readings.  This pisses me off - it's disrespectful: "Sorry, I have to check my Facebook feed right now."  Then, when we started to read, he questioned whether there was a procedure in place to reread Step One if a newcomer was present.  No, we told him - it's too disruptive to keep starting over each time a new person shows up.

After a couple of good shares he introduced himself and started to speak.  He has lived overseas for a long time, recently returning to the U.S., and took his allotted time to go on a long rant about the U.S. health care system.  We sat there uncomfortably for a little while until one of our male attendees said, quite quietly: "Outside issue."  The dude pauses, stands up, and absolutely slams the hardcover book on the table and storms out of the room, showering us with shouts and curses.  The book bounces off the table and onto the floor.

I'll tell you that sometimes things happen so fast that you don't move a muscle.  I idly wonder  how I would react in a dramatic, unexpected event.  I imagine myself coolly doing the right thing.  Pfffftttt.  I didn't move an inch.

The guy stood outside and yelled for a few seconds before taking off.  The group sat in stunned silence before getting into an interesting discussion about how we should have handled the situation.  Many of us thought that our brother did the right thing interrupting someone who was clearly breaking a Tradition - trampling all over it - but I was surprised to hear that some of the members thought that we should have let him finish his thoughts, that he was eventually going to get to the point of his discomfort, that he obviously needed a meeting.  Right after he left one of the women got up and went to find him.  I thought this was a terrible idea.  "Be careful," SuperK said.

I followed up with a few people the next day and was again surprised to hear that the opinions went both ways.  This confirms my solid belief that I don't know what the hell is going on most of the time.  This is why I always check with lots of people.  Just because I think it doesn't mean that it's true.

I hope he isn't there tomorrow.  I don't need to feel threatened at a meeting.  Dude scared me so I can only imagine how some of the women felt.

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.