Like a Rhino On Meth

As I charge headlong directly into one of my major, major life fantasies that doesn't include anything that can be found in my nether regions - namely, living in a place where I'll be warm most of the time - I continually question my motives.  I feel guilty when good things happen to me or when I'm pursuing something I want.  Some of these feelings are justified - I don't have a great track record of selfless motives - but some of them are bullshit.  I'm selfish, not evil.  

The Book is full of great suggestions and observations about Willpower, the direct application of our Instincts.  The literature intimates that our instinctual desires for sex, money, and power are a tad out of whack, that we grab and grab for far more than is our right or due.  However, we're also not aware of any cases where the instinctual drives have been entirely eliminated.  So we're left with these things that we can't get rid of and that we need to survive but that we don't have the slightest idea how to use properly.

I'm not going to quote directly from the literature because all of the LSD I did in college has fried my short term memory pretty good - plus I'm too lazy to look up the passages - but there's some great stuff on the proper use of the willpower.  It suggests that we tend to bombard our problems with our willpower to try to get our own way, that we should try instead to align our willpower with the wishes of god.  One section says that we can do this to our heart's content because it is a proper use of the willpower.  We can employ our mental faculties to our heart's content when we're behaving in this way.

So I try to get into the middle place - not quaking with fear, afraid to try anything new, and not charging ahead like a rhino on meth, running headlong into immovable objects, finding that I'm not the unstoppable force that I thought I was.

Warm warm warm warm warm.

You Say Goodbye - I Say Hello

I have never been very good with traffic signals.  I get confused as to when I should be moving forward and when I should stop, and stay stopped.  I was the guy blithely sailing down a suburban street, blowing through stop sign after stop sign, beer in one hand, joint in the other, Black Sabbath's "Into The Void" turned up loud enough to rattle the windows on passing houses.  I was the guy sitting stopped at a green light, car horns startling me out of a drugged reverie, wondering what all of the ruckus was about.

There's a yellow light?

Perpetual Motion

There's a guy who attends my regular 7AM meetings who often brings his daughter along - she's 4 or 5, quiet and well-behaved, and very popular with everyone.   This dude, who is the birthday chip coordinator for this group, showed up a little late with both his daughter and infant son, who appears to be about 2.  God did not program 2 year olds to sit quietly.  This little guy is a marvel of perpetual motion.  He was not unruly; he did not talk or yell or cry; he just moved, touching and investigating everything he could get his hands on.  My buddy wanted to come to the meeting because it was his 9 month anniversary and he wanted to share this with his home group.

His sponsor gave the short talk to get the meeting started.  It was nearly impossible to ignore the little boy - he was making a steady, sustained commotion.  The speaker soldiered on.  I've been there - I know how hard it is to keep your train of thought when there's a big racket in the background.  He reminded me of a jet fighter pilot trying to land his supersonic plane on an aircraft carrier at night.  In a thunderstorm.  With people shooting at him.

It was frustrating but the group closed ranks around the new guy.  He left early, as soon as he passed out the chips, and he called his sponsor to apologize.  He doesn't make a habit of bringing both of his kids - it is important that we conduct our meetings with respect and some sense of decorum.  It's also important that everyone has a place to go.

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.