The Seawinds of Change

As a guy who is fascinated by change I wonder why it is that I hate change so much.  I crave it as much as I fear it.  And I wonder why it is that I assume that any change is going to be for the worse.  I almost never visualize things getting better when I'm in the midst of change - I see disaster, calamity, pestilence  bewilderment.  But if I'm looking at long-term change then I can hallucinate up all kinds of wonderful scenarios.  

I wonder why I expect bad things to happen and grow deeply suspicious when I'm in the midst of good things.  When something bad happens - and by "bad" I mean "I didn't get exactly what I wanted exactly when I wanted it" - I shake my head knowingly.  "See," I think.  "I knew this wasn't going to work out."  But when it's something pleasant to my mind or body, I feel guilty.  "Why is this happening?"  I think.  "I don't deserve this.  It's going to turn to shit."

This is why I talk to drunks every day.  I have very little concept of human reality.

Really Peevish Seaweed

I was stuck in close quarters recently with some people who irk me.  They have irked me consistently with very few periods of irk-free time.  When I'm going to be in these situations I try to prepare myself emotionally, mentally, spiritually.  I ask to be of service; I acknowledge all of the benefits this spiritual program gives me; I freely allow that few are as irksome as me; I remember that everyone has personality problems that irk others - and still I act like an ass eventually.  Some days I last longer than others but Peevish Seaweed comes out, inappropriately, and I feel bad about it.  

Yesterday, as my peevishness was near full boil I got a call from Willie.  I was trapped in a vehicle with the irksome folks so I couldn't answer the call and say things like: "Willie, you can't believe how irksome these people are.  I'm contemplating acts that will get me incarcerated from 3 to 5 years."  I looked at the name on my caller ID and laughed.  I felt better for a couple of minutes before resuming my rampage.

With some people I can't seem to ever do it right.  Whatever I do is going to cost me, whether I'm doing it wrong or not. Things seem to get twisted around until I'm the bad guy.  I lost my temper with someone who said my address made me a snob; this after warning me to stay out of the neighborhood because it wasn't safe.  ``````````````````````````````````` Family can be tough this way - most of us find it unpractical to just totally blow family members off even though they may be behaving in a way that we wouldn't tolerate with anyone else.  That's a fact of life - the relationships that are the most important to us can be the most problematic.

Peevish Seaweed

Some more time spent with people who push all of my buttons until they break, then install new, evil buttons so that they can continue their button-pushing ways.  It reminds me of the rats-on-cocaine experiment; the one where a rat is give a dose of coke when it pushes a button.  Once it learns this fact it pushes the button to get more blow so many times it breaks the button.  The rat, alas, cannot install a new button, lacking opposable thumbs.

Sometimes - especially with family and friends - we can't flush a relationship.  We can't just walk away, as attractive as that might be.  We need to learn lessons of . . . well, I'm not far enough along in my emotional growth to have learned any lessons at all in these cases.  I still react peevishly and then feel bad about myself later.

It's a thing that I do.

First: Meditate

The following is a true story.  

It is mostly a true story except for the parts I made up.  Some of these parts I made up on purpose and some of them are my attempts to re-create a true story that I read in the newspaper, but can no longer remember clearly, even though it was just yesterday.  And I have to assume it's a true story.  Maybe the person who told the story is a big, fat liar like me and the reporter who interviewed her was too lazy or corrupt to check up on the facts.

This lady had some bad, bad thing happen to her.  She was so angry at the person who did this thing that it affected all other parts of her life.  She was very unhappy.

Somehow she talked her way into a personal appointment with the Dali Lama.  This seems pretty unlikely but you never know.  She shared her tale with the DL.  

He said: "You should do two things.  First: meditate.  Then forgive the person who wronged you."

She said: "I can't forgive this man."

The DL leaned over and tapped her on the knee, smiled: "Well, meditate then."

I meditate on a daily basis.  I really do - I'm not lying here.  I'm not any good at it, I don't think, but I give it a whirl.  It really helps, this crappy meditating, but I still often begrudge the time, what with all of my busy activities, watching college basketball and drooling in the sun and everything.

That Dali Lama can't be totally wrong.

Meh

So my parents are coming out from The Old Town to Vacation City for a three week visit.  They are definitely coming if by "definitely" you mean "maybe a 50-50 chance."  I actually bought tickets for them while on the phone with my mother, as she asked me to do things like get each of them window seats that were right next to each other.  She must think she's coming out on a corporate jet - a corporate spaceship.  I was happy to do the work, and a little surprised; cash on the barrel-head is no small feat for my prudent folks.  "Maybe they really are coming out," I thought.  Then they also bought trip cancellation insurance; I thought this was wise but a little suspicious.  An "out" so to speak.

My parents are going to spend 2 weeks with SuperK and me, 1 week with my cousin.  They're actually a lot more comfortable with my cousin -- and just about every one else with whom they're even remotely related to--  than they are with me.  To be honest about it I think they're more comfortable with random strangers they meet wandering highway medians, wearing tin hats, muttering to themselves, than they are with me.  This is OK - I know I'm a pain in the ass.  I don't have to be told I'm a pain in the ass,  I don't think I'm always a pain in the ass anymore but I'm definitely a pain in the ass.  And I'm definitely the odd-ball in our extended family, the guy who drank warm beer and cheap whiskey and smoked dope with a 3 foot bong.

At some point the percentages changed: 2 weeks with my cousin and 1 week with me.  I spoke to mom today and she said that she planned to "come in to stay with you for a couple of days."  And my father is no longer coming.  He's worried that there won't be anything for him to do out here.  He doesn't have a lot of exotic activities.  I could easily duplicate all of the things he does here and he wouldn't have to leave the cottage.  I have access to The TV and to newspapers.  Those are the two most exotic things he does.  Mom is worried about an allergic reaction to our cat.  I personally have never seen her have an allergic reaction to anybody's cat unless she's someplace that she doesn't want to be at which point her allergies become unbearable.  Cat allergies on Demand, so to speak.

I don't see dad staying alone for 3 weeks in the middle of the winter in the Midwest.  I bet he puts the kibosh on mom's trip, too.  I see it happening.  If she does make the trip I predict a medical emergency that will cause her to cut her visit short and head home.

Really, all of this is not upsetting and almost expected.  I'm not a rocket scientist but I've learned to learn lessons in The Program.  People can treat me however they want -that's their  prerogative.   I can put up with it or I can distance myself from the behavior.  I've been treated like this for a long time; I realize that my behavior is partly to blame; I believe that I've made a lot of effort to compromise, to honor the wishes of others.  Not as much as I could have but it's enough, already.  Still, distancing oneself from one's family is one of the harder things that I do.

I'd love to see my folks.  If they come, great; if they don't, I'm fine with that, too.  I'm not excited about seeing them and I'm not horrified by the prospect, either.  I'm not hot and I'm not cold - I'm meh.

Meh.

The Mayflower Hotel

There's a story in The Book about an early slippery experience of one of our co-founders.  He was in the lobby of a hotel, struggling with the consequences of a bad day, standing between the crowded hotel bar and a glass covered directory of local churches.  He contemplated the bar, wondering if he could enter and drink glasses of ginger ale, a hopeful look on his face.  Yeah, as we say: "If you keep going to a barbershop you're eventually going to get a haircut."  Instead, he started calling churches, eventually finding a minister who directed him to his first meeting with our the man who would be his co-founder.

I was reminded of a similar experience early on in my sobriety.  I was visiting the Johnsonville Sausage factory in Johnsonville, WI, in some godawful winter month.  Making the experience especially trying was the fact that my appointment was with a second shift supervisor.  I navigated miles of pitch black country roads, snow piled car-high on each side of the road, trying to read road signs in the dark, before locating Johnsonville.

I descended a gentle grade into the downtown area.  On my left was the massive sausage plant, huge clouds of steam billowing out into the frigid air, giving the scene an apocalyptic look; on my right was a small bar.  There were a few pickup trucks out front.  The windows glowed with neon beer signs: Bud, Pabst, Schlitz.  Neon is a very compelling light source.  It made the bar look inviting, warm.  And this was not a nice bar - this was a crappy small town bar that undoubtedly catered to line workers making hot dogs.

I pulled into the sausage lot, never seriously considering going to the bar.  But it called to me.  It looked so familiar.  I had been in dozens of bars just like it; I had never been in a bratwurst plant, talking to a process engineer,  trying to sell a 3 foot tall stainless steel steam filter, the purpose of which I could only guess at.  Removing some of the hog snout and pig feet bits from the sausage flowing into the casings holding your liverwurst, probably.

That's the thing about victories in sobriety.  They lead to more victories.  That call stiffened by spine a bit.  I was tougher, more prepared.  I had did it once and I could do it again.

Simple Seaweed

Meeting etiquette:
If you want to flatter someone remember their name.

If you want to totally blow someone away, remember a couple of details of something that they said at a meeting.  When I was finally beginning to participate actively and regularly in my recovery I was stunned when people I could have sworn that I had never seen would come up and say: "Hi, Seaweed.  How did the job interview go?"  I'd peer stupidly into their faces, trying to remember where I had seen them before.

If you want to own someone, tell them that you liked what they shared.  A guy at the Vacation meetings came up to me a few days ago and said: "I'm always careful to listen closely when you talk."  I tried to give him the keys to my car: "Take it, just take it!" I was shouting hysterically, so grateful that someone, anyone, knew who I was.

This was a meeting I didn't like initially, and by "didn't like" I mean "the crowd wasn't parting like the Red Sea before the staff of Moses when I walked into the room."  They weren't doing it right: the meeting was too early or too late or something; it was kind of big but there weren't enough people there; the format sucked; people ignored me except when they wouldn't leave me alone; and on and on it goes.

I'm always reminded to keep my expectations low - I don't have to sear my image into the mind of everyone I meet - I just have to remember their name.