I had a meltdown last Friday which lasted all weekend.
I was a complete douchenozzle for some of the time (I was pretty well-behaved on Saturday night).
It started on Friday when I got home from my job in NY and found two packages I could've done without. One was a letter, with affidavit, from the NYC Transit Authority, wanting me to tell them the entire story of the transit fare card incident at 53rd & Lex on August 24th. The other was a packet from my surgeon wanting all kinds of tests and clearances, from my internist and from my cardiologist, prior to my upcoming robotic prostectomy on October 14th.
In and of themselves, they were nothing. I was out about $58.00 with the MTA and the other stuff would kill a couple of vacation days during the next few weeks.
It could be much worse. These are high-quality problems for somebody who, 11 years ago, didn't have a job and was virtually homeless.
Somewhere along the way, my gratitude, which ordinarily colors most of my thinking, flew right out the window.
What saved me was having a schedule and sticking to it, of meetings and forced association with other recovering drunks like me.
I arose Saturday morning, grunting with resentment, and dragged myself to my local 12-Step, 7:00 a.m. meeting. Then, I dragged myself to a 10:00 a.m. meeting in Princeton. Then I took myself to see the new Matt Damon movie (GREAT!) and capped it by driving 80 miles (round-trip) to a gay 12-Step meeting in Pennsylvania with a couple of beginners in tow. That was good. It kept me focused on them, and not on myself.
Sunday, I was a grump again. A fax machine in Atlantic City kept attack-dialing my home phone number, starting at 6:30 a.m.. I did a reverse look-up on the internet of the number and got an e-mail address and phone number for the company. I sent an e-mail and left a voicemail, basically threatening them with physical violence if they didn't subdue their lousy fax machine. Eventually it gave up.
I went to my usual Sunday 12-step meeting, sat in the back and growled at everyone, including my sponsor.
I fled the meeting, went to the supermarket, went home and spent the afternoon isolating, napping and generally feeling sorry for myself.
This morning, I attended my home group meeting at 7:30, got to the office, took all the steps to "do the next, right, thing" and suddenly life is worth living again.
I owe this mostly to a) God, b) the program and c) people who care about me.
We have a saying in 12-Step programs which is very annoying:
"This too shall pass."
It did.
Showing posts with label 12 Step. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 12 Step. Show all posts
Monday, September 21, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
His Name is Roger....
A friend of mine sent me a link via email today and I want to share it with you.
There is a certain film critic of reknown, from Chicago, who blogs. Fair enough. What I didn't know is that he, too, is in recovery.
His name is Roger E. and [click here] is the entry which I find truly inspiring,
and on a lighter note, here's a birther, or teabagger, or Blue Dawg Democrat, or some other kind of illiterate douchebag, trying to explain healthcare reform:
[VIDEO DELETED DUE TO EMBEDDED ADVERTISING BY DOUCHEBAG ON-LINE SO-CALLED UNIVERSITY NAMED AFTER A CITY IN ARIZONA]
There is a certain film critic of reknown, from Chicago, who blogs. Fair enough. What I didn't know is that he, too, is in recovery.
His name is Roger E. and [click here] is the entry which I find truly inspiring,
and on a lighter note, here's a birther, or teabagger, or Blue Dawg Democrat, or some other kind of illiterate douchebag, trying to explain healthcare reform:
[VIDEO DELETED DUE TO EMBEDDED ADVERTISING BY DOUCHEBAG ON-LINE SO-CALLED UNIVERSITY NAMED AFTER A CITY IN ARIZONA]
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Post-Christian America
The cover story on this week's issue of Newsweek is about life in what it terms "post-Christian America", i.e., an America which has moved well beyond the old-time religion of our forefathers.
As we all know, of course, there never was such a place. Rhode Island, the article points out, was founded by dissidents from all the other major religions as a place of safety from the tyranny of Massachusetts (Protestantism) and Maryland (Catholicism). We were always a mixed bag of beliefs (and non-beliefs). There is nothing new about that.
What is new, though, is that Americans are moving away from organized religions towards individual theologies based on a belief "in a Higher Power" but without the need for any human authority to act as God's muscle here on earth. We are far less religious these days, but far more spiritual.
This sounds suspiciously like every 12-Step Program I've ever heard of. The grandaddy of 12-Step programs, Alcoholics Anonymous, began in 1935 in Akron Ohio. One of it's founding tenets is the need for it's members to develop a belief in a "Power Greater than Ourselves"... leaving it up to the individual member to decide for him or herself exactly what that Power is.
This is very bad news for the RRR (radical religious right) aka "fundies" (fundamentalists) who would like to impose a born-again, literal fundamentalist theocracy on the nation; to outlaw abortion on demand (and, eventually, all contraception); to drive all LGBTQ people back into self-loathing closets and to "restore" our nation to it's pristine, newly-founded, condition. Which, by the way, never really existed.
Despite the outcome of Prop 8 in California last November, last Friday's unanimous vote by the Iowa Supreme Court and the outcome of the votes of the Vermont legislature and senate yesterday have triggered a seismic shift in America's thinking on the subject of gay rights in particular and fair play and full equality in general.
I believe that the culture war is over (or nearly so). The Right has lost (decisively).
Next subject?
===================================================
UPDATE!! Anti-Gay National Organization for Marriage Launches New Campaign in wake of recent events.
--- more update: it turns out they're all actors. somebody turned up the audition tapes and posted them on Youtube, too. Gee, you can't even trust Christianist Fundamentalists anymore.
As we all know, of course, there never was such a place. Rhode Island, the article points out, was founded by dissidents from all the other major religions as a place of safety from the tyranny of Massachusetts (Protestantism) and Maryland (Catholicism). We were always a mixed bag of beliefs (and non-beliefs). There is nothing new about that.
What is new, though, is that Americans are moving away from organized religions towards individual theologies based on a belief "in a Higher Power" but without the need for any human authority to act as God's muscle here on earth. We are far less religious these days, but far more spiritual.
This sounds suspiciously like every 12-Step Program I've ever heard of. The grandaddy of 12-Step programs, Alcoholics Anonymous, began in 1935 in Akron Ohio. One of it's founding tenets is the need for it's members to develop a belief in a "Power Greater than Ourselves"... leaving it up to the individual member to decide for him or herself exactly what that Power is.
This is very bad news for the RRR (radical religious right) aka "fundies" (fundamentalists) who would like to impose a born-again, literal fundamentalist theocracy on the nation; to outlaw abortion on demand (and, eventually, all contraception); to drive all LGBTQ people back into self-loathing closets and to "restore" our nation to it's pristine, newly-founded, condition. Which, by the way, never really existed.
Despite the outcome of Prop 8 in California last November, last Friday's unanimous vote by the Iowa Supreme Court and the outcome of the votes of the Vermont legislature and senate yesterday have triggered a seismic shift in America's thinking on the subject of gay rights in particular and fair play and full equality in general.
I believe that the culture war is over (or nearly so). The Right has lost (decisively).
Next subject?
===================================================
UPDATE!! Anti-Gay National Organization for Marriage Launches New Campaign in wake of recent events.
--- more update: it turns out they're all actors. somebody turned up the audition tapes and posted them on Youtube, too. Gee, you can't even trust Christianist Fundamentalists anymore.
Monday, March 09, 2009
Eleven Years
Yesterday was my 11th sobriety anniversary. In fact, it was exactly Sunday, March 8, 1998 that (so far) I had my last drink of alcohol.
In fact, that last drink was AFTER I'd gotten out of jail that morning. Yes. Jail. On a drunk-driving charge from Saturday night. I awoke that Sunday morning in a cell, my clothes piled neatly on the floor ourside of my cell... safely out of reach (lest I do something stupid, like fashion a noose from my trousers). It took most of the last $220 I had in my wallet to get out of jail that morning. I still had part of a 1.75 liter bottle of rotgut vodka back in my small room at my brother's house, where I'd spent the previous 3 months sleeping on a paper-thin mattress on the attic floor. I polished it off before I passed out for the last time. I hated myself and wished I were dead.
Two days later I attended my first 12-Step meeting, at 7:00 a.m. on Tuesday morning, March 10, 1998.
After that there were court dates, a loss of license for 6 months, fines, insurance surcharges, court-mandated attendance at something called IDRC (Intoxicated Driver Resource Center) and, finally, court-ordered attendance at 12-Step meetings for the next year.
By the time the court got around to that, though, I'd already been attending meetings for 3 months. In fact, I'd gotten my 90-Day pin the day before my first court appearance.
11 years later... during which there've been no police, no courts, no insurance surcharges and, most importantly of all, no court-mandated attendance at 12-Step meetings (I run to them of my own volition these days).
I've come to realize a lot of things in those 11 years. I've come to realize that there is a God and that I'm not him (or her). I've also come to believe that there is a plan, which is not my plan and that God, frankly, doesn't give a rat's ass about my opinions regarding that plan, but that my job is to show up for that plan and to do my best to implement that plan. It makes life so much easier when we stop trying to be God... and get rid of that massive chip on our shoulders because we are not God.
I have loving friends and family. For a long time I didn't. I like being around people today. For a long time I didn't.
I go to a Step meeting on Sunday mornings in the sleepy little town of Plainsboro, NJ (home of the non-existent Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital where House practices being a medical jerk). My sponsor goes to the meeting with me. It allows us to have some valuable "face-time" every week. He gave me my 11 year piece at the meeting yesterday.
I love my sponsor. He's my best friend. He puts up with a lot of crap and neediness from me. He thinks I'm a good friend, too. He's told me so. We're good for each other. He and his wife have taken good care of me over the years. They've been there for me with all my medical crap over the years. I would take bullets for them.
So today I start my 12th year of sobriety. I started it the same way I started my sobriety on a dismal, friendless and hopeless Sunday morning in 1998.
One Day at a Time.
In fact, that last drink was AFTER I'd gotten out of jail that morning. Yes. Jail. On a drunk-driving charge from Saturday night. I awoke that Sunday morning in a cell, my clothes piled neatly on the floor ourside of my cell... safely out of reach (lest I do something stupid, like fashion a noose from my trousers). It took most of the last $220 I had in my wallet to get out of jail that morning. I still had part of a 1.75 liter bottle of rotgut vodka back in my small room at my brother's house, where I'd spent the previous 3 months sleeping on a paper-thin mattress on the attic floor. I polished it off before I passed out for the last time. I hated myself and wished I were dead.
Two days later I attended my first 12-Step meeting, at 7:00 a.m. on Tuesday morning, March 10, 1998.
After that there were court dates, a loss of license for 6 months, fines, insurance surcharges, court-mandated attendance at something called IDRC (Intoxicated Driver Resource Center) and, finally, court-ordered attendance at 12-Step meetings for the next year.
By the time the court got around to that, though, I'd already been attending meetings for 3 months. In fact, I'd gotten my 90-Day pin the day before my first court appearance.
11 years later... during which there've been no police, no courts, no insurance surcharges and, most importantly of all, no court-mandated attendance at 12-Step meetings (I run to them of my own volition these days).
I've come to realize a lot of things in those 11 years. I've come to realize that there is a God and that I'm not him (or her). I've also come to believe that there is a plan, which is not my plan and that God, frankly, doesn't give a rat's ass about my opinions regarding that plan, but that my job is to show up for that plan and to do my best to implement that plan. It makes life so much easier when we stop trying to be God... and get rid of that massive chip on our shoulders because we are not God.
I have loving friends and family. For a long time I didn't. I like being around people today. For a long time I didn't.
I go to a Step meeting on Sunday mornings in the sleepy little town of Plainsboro, NJ (home of the non-existent Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital where House practices being a medical jerk). My sponsor goes to the meeting with me. It allows us to have some valuable "face-time" every week. He gave me my 11 year piece at the meeting yesterday.
I love my sponsor. He's my best friend. He puts up with a lot of crap and neediness from me. He thinks I'm a good friend, too. He's told me so. We're good for each other. He and his wife have taken good care of me over the years. They've been there for me with all my medical crap over the years. I would take bullets for them.
So today I start my 12th year of sobriety. I started it the same way I started my sobriety on a dismal, friendless and hopeless Sunday morning in 1998.
One Day at a Time.
Friday, January 23, 2009
St. Francis Bites the Dust
Nothing sucks the fun out of life faster, or more efficiently, than a well-placed article in l'Osservatore Romano, the official newspaper of the Vatican. Today is no exception.
It turns out that the St. Francis Prayer:
Lord, make me a channel of thy peace;
that where there is hatred, I may bring love;
that where there is wrong, I may bring the spirit of forgiveness;
that where there is discord, I may bring harmony;
that where there is error, I may bring truth;
that where there is doubt, I may bring faith;
that where there is despair, I may bring hope;
that where there are shadows, I may bring light;
that where there is sadness, I may bring joy.
Lord, grant that I may seek rather to comfort than to be comforted;
to understand, than to be understood;
to love, than to be loved.
For it is by self-forgetting that one finds.
It is by forgiving that one is forgiven.
It is by dying that one awakens to eternal life.
Amen.
is a fraud. Remember when they announced that St. Christopher was a fraud, too? You gotta love Catholicism whose motto seems to be "Believe what we tell you or you will spend eternity in hell!!!!! Until we tell you otherwise, after which all bets are off." Oh, and by the way Galileo, we were wrong. SOOORRRYYYYY!!!.
With such a laissez-faire attitude, it's a wonder anyone bothers to believe anything the Church tells us when it'll all be repealed in a couple of hundred years with a shrug of the shoulders and a big, "Oh well, shit happens!" from whoever happens to be in charge then.
This is one case, however, where I don't really care that the prayer ascribed to Francis of Assisi wasn't actually written by him.
And the reason for that is that it's a wonderful prayer. No matter who uttered it first.
In my particular 12-Step Program, an essay on our 11th Step quotes the entire prayer. The 11th Step, for the uninitiated, states that we will "Try through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God, as we understand Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out." It's a pretty tall order. And it's just about the only way we recovering drunks can stay sober.
This prayer has helped millions of recovering drunks to stay focused on the most important things in our lives, i.e. our need to be spiritually dependent upon a power greater than ourselves and the importance of reaching out to help other recovering alcholics as a way of avoiding self-centeredness. For it is by "self-forgetting" that one finds.
Hey! It's working for me. Unlike religion.
Monday, July 28, 2008
I'm a Dope.
Yes, I was down the (Jersey) shore all last week and had a swell time.
Yes, I took pictures.
Yes, I uploaded them to my pc at home.
Yes, I created a slide show in PDF format which I sent to my friends who were down the shore with me.
Yes, I forgot to forward the individual pictures to me at my office email address.
Yes, I'll post some pictures ... tomorrow.
Oh, and I attended 12-Step meetings from Cape May to Avalon. It's a wonder those people manage to stay sober (just kidding -- we alkies always think that people elsewhere are clueless about recovery).
So, stay tuned.
More will be revealed.
Really.
====================================================
Addenda:
It would be a cold day in hell before I attended something called "ComicCon" or something like that in San Diego (or anywhere else, for that matter). Even so, the event is, apparently, not without it's charms.
To wit: Click HERE (warning: NSFW bespandexed nutsack on display).
Yes, I took pictures.
Yes, I uploaded them to my pc at home.
Yes, I created a slide show in PDF format which I sent to my friends who were down the shore with me.
Yes, I forgot to forward the individual pictures to me at my office email address.
Yes, I'll post some pictures ... tomorrow.
Oh, and I attended 12-Step meetings from Cape May to Avalon. It's a wonder those people manage to stay sober (just kidding -- we alkies always think that people elsewhere are clueless about recovery).
So, stay tuned.
More will be revealed.
Really.
====================================================
Addenda:
It would be a cold day in hell before I attended something called "ComicCon" or something like that in San Diego (or anywhere else, for that matter). Even so, the event is, apparently, not without it's charms.
To wit: Click HERE (warning: NSFW bespandexed nutsack on display).
Monday, March 10, 2008
10 Years and 2 Days
Saturday night was great.
I belong to a gay 12-Step group in Pennsylvania which was celebrating it's 13th Anniversary Saturday night, the same time I was celebrating my 10th anniversary of sobriety. The group's chairman had invited me to be one of three guest speakers that evening. I asked my sponsor (and his wife) if they'd come to this "eatin' meetin'" and present me with my 10-year medallion there. He said yes. By the way, we call them eatin' meetins' because group anniversaries are traditionally started with a big, sit-down buffet dinner. And when gay people are involved, the food is, of course, FABULOUS!
To be honest, though, I'd been dreading the day for weeks. I was nervous that I'd make a fool of myself in front of 50 or 60 people. (it turned out to be more like 80.)
I needn't have worried. The group chairman made a big fuss over me by announcing from the podium that we had a "special" anniversary that night and then he called me and my sponsor up on the dais. My sponsor made a lovely speech about how I came along just at the right time in HIS recovery, and about how much he liked working with me and being my friend over the last 8 years. He gave me the medallion and a big hug and we went back to our seats.
Seconds later I was called back to the podium, as the first speaker of the evening. I don't remember what I said (the best shares are totally unrehearsed -- or "unpremeditated" as I call them), but whatever it was, it was mostly about love and gratitude with very little emphasis on the old, drinking parts of the story, except for enough to "qualify" as an alcoholic. Although I doubt that anyone would doubt that. Most of my friends have far too much first-hand experience with me to the contrary.
But it was the first time in my memory that I told my story pretty much leaving out all the gory details of my victimhood. Somewhere along the way in sobriety I realized that people had long ago stopped hurting me and that I was only hurting myself. Over and over again. By making bad choices and by opting, continually, for pain over joy.
Anyway, it was a quick speech, probably less than the 15 minutes I was supposed to speak. But I hate speakers who drone on, long after they've run out of things to say (okay, I'll stop typing now).
A number of people came up to me after the meeting to thank me for what I'd said. I was floating around on cloud nine.
But what mattered most Saturday night was that I was surrounded by people who mean the world to me, whether they were there in body, or there in spirit.
You see, I've come to realize that I am loved. And that I am capable of giving a lot of love in return.
I belong to a gay 12-Step group in Pennsylvania which was celebrating it's 13th Anniversary Saturday night, the same time I was celebrating my 10th anniversary of sobriety. The group's chairman had invited me to be one of three guest speakers that evening. I asked my sponsor (and his wife) if they'd come to this "eatin' meetin'" and present me with my 10-year medallion there. He said yes. By the way, we call them eatin' meetins' because group anniversaries are traditionally started with a big, sit-down buffet dinner. And when gay people are involved, the food is, of course, FABULOUS!
To be honest, though, I'd been dreading the day for weeks. I was nervous that I'd make a fool of myself in front of 50 or 60 people. (it turned out to be more like 80.)
I needn't have worried. The group chairman made a big fuss over me by announcing from the podium that we had a "special" anniversary that night and then he called me and my sponsor up on the dais. My sponsor made a lovely speech about how I came along just at the right time in HIS recovery, and about how much he liked working with me and being my friend over the last 8 years. He gave me the medallion and a big hug and we went back to our seats.
Seconds later I was called back to the podium, as the first speaker of the evening. I don't remember what I said (the best shares are totally unrehearsed -- or "unpremeditated" as I call them), but whatever it was, it was mostly about love and gratitude with very little emphasis on the old, drinking parts of the story, except for enough to "qualify" as an alcoholic. Although I doubt that anyone would doubt that. Most of my friends have far too much first-hand experience with me to the contrary.
But it was the first time in my memory that I told my story pretty much leaving out all the gory details of my victimhood. Somewhere along the way in sobriety I realized that people had long ago stopped hurting me and that I was only hurting myself. Over and over again. By making bad choices and by opting, continually, for pain over joy.
Anyway, it was a quick speech, probably less than the 15 minutes I was supposed to speak. But I hate speakers who drone on, long after they've run out of things to say (okay, I'll stop typing now).
A number of people came up to me after the meeting to thank me for what I'd said. I was floating around on cloud nine.
But what mattered most Saturday night was that I was surrounded by people who mean the world to me, whether they were there in body, or there in spirit.
You see, I've come to realize that I am loved. And that I am capable of giving a lot of love in return.
Friday, March 07, 2008
March 8, 1998
I won't be posting anything over the weekend, so I might as well get this over with now.
Tomorrow is my 10th anniversary of sobriety. 10 years since my last drunk. 10 years of trying to learn to be a sober adult (not as easy a task as it might sound).
10 years of going to meetings, working the steps, working with others, often getting frustrated, occasionally feeling grateful and always, ALWAYS, learning patience, tolerance and acceptance. 10 years of FINALLY letting go of past slights and hurts, of learning forgiveness for others and forgiveness of myself. 10 years of learning compassion for others and compassion for me. 10 years of learning that there is some bad in the best of us and some good in the worst.
10 years of becoming a better person than I was during the first 49 years of my life.
10 years since I woke up in jail; homeless, penniless, careerless, loveless and drunk.
10 years that have been the most wonderful ten years of my life.
I thank God and the granddaddy of all 12-Step Programs for this life I've been given.
Dear God, please don't let me screw this thing up. And, if it be your will, please grant me another 10 years of sober, happy, joyous and free living. I promise to do everything I can to make it worth your while.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
Tomorrow is my 10th anniversary of sobriety. 10 years since my last drunk. 10 years of trying to learn to be a sober adult (not as easy a task as it might sound).
10 years of going to meetings, working the steps, working with others, often getting frustrated, occasionally feeling grateful and always, ALWAYS, learning patience, tolerance and acceptance. 10 years of FINALLY letting go of past slights and hurts, of learning forgiveness for others and forgiveness of myself. 10 years of learning compassion for others and compassion for me. 10 years of learning that there is some bad in the best of us and some good in the worst.
10 years of becoming a better person than I was during the first 49 years of my life.
10 years since I woke up in jail; homeless, penniless, careerless, loveless and drunk.
10 years that have been the most wonderful ten years of my life.
I thank God and the granddaddy of all 12-Step Programs for this life I've been given.
Dear God, please don't let me screw this thing up. And, if it be your will, please grant me another 10 years of sober, happy, joyous and free living. I promise to do everything I can to make it worth your while.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
Monday, November 19, 2007
Huggy Kissy Touchie Feelie
Saturday was a very odd day. I was, as usual, overbooked. From 10:00-11:00 a.m. I attended a 12-Step Meeting in Princeton. 11:30-12:00 p.m., I got a haircut in Princeton. From 12:30-3:00 p.m. I helped friends move a 10-ton color tv and matching credenza, from 4:00 -6:00 p.m. I saw a Beatle's Tribute show (which was FABOO) in New Brunswick, from 6:00-6:45 p.m., I tried to get OUT of New Brunswick (Rutgers had kicked Pittsburgh's ass and everybody in the state was in-town to help celebrate), from 6:45-7:50 p.m., I drove like a bat out of hell 65 miles towards Willow Grove, PA, from 8:00-9:15 p.m. I was at another 12-Step meeting, and from 9:45-10:45 p.m., I drove home.
Collapse.
But something very odd happened that evening, at that 2nd meeting. First of all, there was a miracle when somebody I've known since childhood, and whom I'd given up for lost, resurfaced at the meeting. I was very grateful to God for that.
Secondly, and this was the truly bizarre part, some seriously good-looking men in recovery suddenly got very huggy-kissy, touchie-feelie with me after the meeting! Well, three seriously good-looking men. But that's more action than I've had in 20 years, believe me! I don't think it was a full moon. I can't believe these guys magically took a sudden interest in me. I really can't believe they can't do better!
And yes, I really do think that little of me.
Maybe it's because the holidays are coming and everybody is looking to "settle down" for the winter.
Whatever is going on, I hope it doesn't stop anytime soon. I kind of like all of this sudden outpouring of affection for me, no matter what the cause.
Collapse.
But something very odd happened that evening, at that 2nd meeting. First of all, there was a miracle when somebody I've known since childhood, and whom I'd given up for lost, resurfaced at the meeting. I was very grateful to God for that.
Secondly, and this was the truly bizarre part, some seriously good-looking men in recovery suddenly got very huggy-kissy, touchie-feelie with me after the meeting! Well, three seriously good-looking men. But that's more action than I've had in 20 years, believe me! I don't think it was a full moon. I can't believe these guys magically took a sudden interest in me. I really can't believe they can't do better!
And yes, I really do think that little of me.
Maybe it's because the holidays are coming and everybody is looking to "settle down" for the winter.
Whatever is going on, I hope it doesn't stop anytime soon. I kind of like all of this sudden outpouring of affection for me, no matter what the cause.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Journey vs. Destination
If you're like me (God help you, you poor thing), you've always been a destination kind of person, not much interested in the journey.
I know not where I lost interest in the journey, but I did. Early. Obviously. It was, therefore, with only the greatest reluctance that I began to "accept" the premise that the 12 Steps of recovery were not, in and of themselves, "events" but, rather, that each of them was, in it's own way, a sort of metaphorical journey along the road to recovery.
An unending road, so it turns out.
I got a phone call last night from a young fellow in the program and I reminded him in the course of our call that I'd been doing this for 9 and a half years now, with no end in sight. He didn't seem much interested in knowing that and he reminded me of how I was in my early days.
I wanted 20 years of sobriety in 20 minutes and didn't understand why I couldn't have it. After all, I was smarter than just about everybody and I had certainly suffered more than everyone else, so I was obviously much more willing and prepared than most to achieve "instant sobriety."
Bzzzzt. Wrong. Thanks for playing. We have some lovely parting gifts.
Every time I look at those 12 Steps, either in our literature or hanging in a big poster on the wall of a meeting room, I am astounded by how much my understanding of them has changed over the years.
It was easily up to year 2 or even 3 of my sobriety before I got a clue that the Steps were individual journies and not individual destinations. Each of them would turn out to be an on-going, unending, process.
I didn't just admit that I was powerless over alcohol and that my life had become unmanageable one time and that was the end of that. I've had to admit, every day of my recovery, that I am powerless over alcohol (no matter who is drinking it) and that unmanageability is going to be a hallmark of life from now until the end of it. I control nothing. I take actions and let go of the results. I am not in charge, nor do I get frustrated by the fact that I am not. There is a Higher Power and I'm not Her. It's pointless to be angry at God. God does not care how pissed off I get. It's none of my business what other people think of me. It's none of their business what I think of them. Therefore I must practice restraint at all times. Restraint of pen, tongue, e-mails, facial expressions and audible sighs.
I must always be about the business of cleaning up MY side of the street, not everyone else's. And mostly importantly of all, I must acknowledge MY faults to others, try to pass along what I've learned in recovery and at all times try to practice these principles in all my affairs.
Getting sober is easy.
Living sober can be a real bitch.
Are we there yet, Daddy?
I know not where I lost interest in the journey, but I did. Early. Obviously. It was, therefore, with only the greatest reluctance that I began to "accept" the premise that the 12 Steps of recovery were not, in and of themselves, "events" but, rather, that each of them was, in it's own way, a sort of metaphorical journey along the road to recovery.
An unending road, so it turns out.
I got a phone call last night from a young fellow in the program and I reminded him in the course of our call that I'd been doing this for 9 and a half years now, with no end in sight. He didn't seem much interested in knowing that and he reminded me of how I was in my early days.
I wanted 20 years of sobriety in 20 minutes and didn't understand why I couldn't have it. After all, I was smarter than just about everybody and I had certainly suffered more than everyone else, so I was obviously much more willing and prepared than most to achieve "instant sobriety."
Bzzzzt. Wrong. Thanks for playing. We have some lovely parting gifts.
Every time I look at those 12 Steps, either in our literature or hanging in a big poster on the wall of a meeting room, I am astounded by how much my understanding of them has changed over the years.
It was easily up to year 2 or even 3 of my sobriety before I got a clue that the Steps were individual journies and not individual destinations. Each of them would turn out to be an on-going, unending, process.
I didn't just admit that I was powerless over alcohol and that my life had become unmanageable one time and that was the end of that. I've had to admit, every day of my recovery, that I am powerless over alcohol (no matter who is drinking it) and that unmanageability is going to be a hallmark of life from now until the end of it. I control nothing. I take actions and let go of the results. I am not in charge, nor do I get frustrated by the fact that I am not. There is a Higher Power and I'm not Her. It's pointless to be angry at God. God does not care how pissed off I get. It's none of my business what other people think of me. It's none of their business what I think of them. Therefore I must practice restraint at all times. Restraint of pen, tongue, e-mails, facial expressions and audible sighs.
I must always be about the business of cleaning up MY side of the street, not everyone else's. And mostly importantly of all, I must acknowledge MY faults to others, try to pass along what I've learned in recovery and at all times try to practice these principles in all my affairs.
Getting sober is easy.
Living sober can be a real bitch.
Are we there yet, Daddy?
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Absolutely Fabulous!
I nearly started to feel jinxed today. Bev tried to hang me with being responsible for the death of her friend, Michele (Yes. She was kidding). But that didn't matter. In some sick, twisted and perverted little corner of my mind, I WAS responsible. Because I AM THE MASTER OF THE UNIVERSE!!!!! ... when I'm not busy being lower than whale crap at the bottom of the sea.
I have a friend in recovery who will celebrate his 1st year of sobriety tomorrow. Yesterday morning he stormed out after a 12-Step meeting, convinced that he was going to "resign" from the Program.
He showed up this morning and shared about it. He's lucky that he has people around him, myself included, who remind him that it's perfectly natural for him to be particularly crazy around this, his anniversary time, and that we've all gone through it AND continue to go through it every year around the time of our sobriety birthdays. God, around my anniversary every year I start to feel like Mr. Spock being drawn home to spawn in whatever episode of the original ST series that happened in.
I have another friend (again, in recovery) who is under the gun at work and at school right now. I had to point out to him that he's feeling anxious and under attack because it goes to the heart of his disease ... his perfectionism. Alkies like us are fine as long as nothing ever goes awry. But we are capable of taking even the most insignificant personal criticism and turning into the worst year of our life because, of course, we're perfect... or should be... and we know this because we do everything else perfectly... mostly.
He'd forgotten that he's afflicted with terminal perfectionism. It brings down many a drunk who cannot tolerate the slightest hint of failure.
My blog title yesterday was "What's Wrong?" and, of course, nothing was. I was just alone in my head with my thoughts ... not a good place for a recovering drunk to be without adult supervision.
Thank goodness for 12-Step programs and the friends people in recovery make in them. A few minutes spent every day speaking with another person in recovery, sharing our experience, strength and hope with each other, is the key to right and stable thinking. As is working the Steps and going to meetings.
And so, today (and JUST for today), I am absolutely fabulous!
And so are you!
I have a friend in recovery who will celebrate his 1st year of sobriety tomorrow. Yesterday morning he stormed out after a 12-Step meeting, convinced that he was going to "resign" from the Program.
He showed up this morning and shared about it. He's lucky that he has people around him, myself included, who remind him that it's perfectly natural for him to be particularly crazy around this, his anniversary time, and that we've all gone through it AND continue to go through it every year around the time of our sobriety birthdays. God, around my anniversary every year I start to feel like Mr. Spock being drawn home to spawn in whatever episode of the original ST series that happened in.
I have another friend (again, in recovery) who is under the gun at work and at school right now. I had to point out to him that he's feeling anxious and under attack because it goes to the heart of his disease ... his perfectionism. Alkies like us are fine as long as nothing ever goes awry. But we are capable of taking even the most insignificant personal criticism and turning into the worst year of our life because, of course, we're perfect... or should be... and we know this because we do everything else perfectly... mostly.
He'd forgotten that he's afflicted with terminal perfectionism. It brings down many a drunk who cannot tolerate the slightest hint of failure.
My blog title yesterday was "What's Wrong?" and, of course, nothing was. I was just alone in my head with my thoughts ... not a good place for a recovering drunk to be without adult supervision.
Thank goodness for 12-Step programs and the friends people in recovery make in them. A few minutes spent every day speaking with another person in recovery, sharing our experience, strength and hope with each other, is the key to right and stable thinking. As is working the Steps and going to meetings.
And so, today (and JUST for today), I am absolutely fabulous!
And so are you!
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Fear of Economic Uncertainty
In my 12-Step program we have these things called "the Promises" which are a list of character traits that will come to us as time goes by. One of these "gifts" will be, so the literature has it, that "fear of economic uncertainty will leave us."
It's certainly been true in my case. I've talked here before about how, when I first got sober, I had (what I thought was) a mountain of insurmountable debt which would never disappear. How wrong I was! Not only is it gone, but my credit score has gone from "deadbeat" to "give this kid a basket of cash!"
You would think that I learned an important lesson here, that it's okay for me to spend a few $$$ now and then on something that might be less than a "must have" and more like a "I want!"
But nooooooo. Not me. I've been wrestling for weeks now over spending $180.00 for a really nice Spring/Fall Melton wool bomber type jacket that's chic and good looking. I go so far as to fill up my on-line basket with the goods and proceed to checkout. I even fill in the name and address fields on the Purchase Page.
But then I get cold feet and click the "Emergency-Close" white "X" in the red box in the upper right hand corner of the browser.
I'm a wuss.
I was also lusting after a 48" Sony LCD-HD tv at BJ's the other day. It's down to $3,500.00. I can do that. But then I think, "hey big spender! aren't you supposed to be buying a CONDO?" Well, yes I am. Drat it.
It wouldn't matter if I made a bajillion dollars a year, either. I'd find some reason to procrastinate spending on things I could easily afford.
It's just part of me, I guess.
In some ways, I still haven't lost that old "fear of economic uncertainty."
Maybe next year.
It's certainly been true in my case. I've talked here before about how, when I first got sober, I had (what I thought was) a mountain of insurmountable debt which would never disappear. How wrong I was! Not only is it gone, but my credit score has gone from "deadbeat" to "give this kid a basket of cash!"
You would think that I learned an important lesson here, that it's okay for me to spend a few $$$ now and then on something that might be less than a "must have" and more like a "I want!"
But nooooooo. Not me. I've been wrestling for weeks now over spending $180.00 for a really nice Spring/Fall Melton wool bomber type jacket that's chic and good looking. I go so far as to fill up my on-line basket with the goods and proceed to checkout. I even fill in the name and address fields on the Purchase Page.
But then I get cold feet and click the "Emergency-Close" white "X" in the red box in the upper right hand corner of the browser.
I'm a wuss.
I was also lusting after a 48" Sony LCD-HD tv at BJ's the other day. It's down to $3,500.00. I can do that. But then I think, "hey big spender! aren't you supposed to be buying a CONDO?" Well, yes I am. Drat it.
It wouldn't matter if I made a bajillion dollars a year, either. I'd find some reason to procrastinate spending on things I could easily afford.
It's just part of me, I guess.
In some ways, I still haven't lost that old "fear of economic uncertainty."
Maybe next year.
Friday, September 14, 2007
New Jersey Roundup!
Some of you lovely folks who really should get hobbies might remember that I went to the Rehoboth (DE) Roundup last winter, over President's Day weekend. Well, it's the start of a NEW roundup season already.
In a few hours I'll be heading out all the way across Route 33 from Hightstown, NJ, through Freehold (home of "The Boss") then to Route 18 and finally to beautiful, out in the middle of fucking nowhere, Tinton Falls, NJ for the newly resurrected New Jersey Roundup - 2007 Edition. So no more postings this weekend unless I get real ambitious Sunday night, after I get home.
The Rehoboth Roundup was enormous (+400 attendees), well organized, great workshops, plenty of fun activities and GREAT speakers from various 12-Step programs. If our first NJ roundup in many years is half as good as that, then there is hope that it might continue on again next year.
Roundups are kind of like websites. There comes a time when they sort of "go viral" and suddenly become enormously popular (like the P'town and Rehoboth and Miami Roundups). Word of mouth actually accounts for a lot in terms of building popularity for them.
Next month is the Philly roundup, which I'm also looking forward to attending.
So, naturally, I've spent the morning cleaning the bejeebus out of the apartment at home... just in case. Oh, alright. Just in case I meet Mr. Right and he wants to move in this weekend.
Just kidding.
Sort of.
As you may also recall, I got some definite interest during the Rehoboth Roundup and I'm kind of hoping that'll be true this weekend, too. The big difference being that this Roundup is happening less than 40 minutes from home (Rehoboth is a good 2 hour drive from where I live), so it's more likely I'll meet someone who is GD (geographically desirable) than it was in February.
Yeah, I know that sounds crazy. Hey! I'm a drunk! (recovering)
Now if you'll excuse me, the toilet definitely needs a shave.
xxxooo
In a few hours I'll be heading out all the way across Route 33 from Hightstown, NJ, through Freehold (home of "The Boss") then to Route 18 and finally to beautiful, out in the middle of fucking nowhere, Tinton Falls, NJ for the newly resurrected New Jersey Roundup - 2007 Edition. So no more postings this weekend unless I get real ambitious Sunday night, after I get home.
The Rehoboth Roundup was enormous (+400 attendees), well organized, great workshops, plenty of fun activities and GREAT speakers from various 12-Step programs. If our first NJ roundup in many years is half as good as that, then there is hope that it might continue on again next year.
Roundups are kind of like websites. There comes a time when they sort of "go viral" and suddenly become enormously popular (like the P'town and Rehoboth and Miami Roundups). Word of mouth actually accounts for a lot in terms of building popularity for them.
Next month is the Philly roundup, which I'm also looking forward to attending.
So, naturally, I've spent the morning cleaning the bejeebus out of the apartment at home... just in case. Oh, alright. Just in case I meet Mr. Right and he wants to move in this weekend.
Just kidding.
Sort of.
As you may also recall, I got some definite interest during the Rehoboth Roundup and I'm kind of hoping that'll be true this weekend, too. The big difference being that this Roundup is happening less than 40 minutes from home (Rehoboth is a good 2 hour drive from where I live), so it's more likely I'll meet someone who is GD (geographically desirable) than it was in February.
Yeah, I know that sounds crazy. Hey! I'm a drunk! (recovering)
Now if you'll excuse me, the toilet definitely needs a shave.
xxxooo
Friday, September 07, 2007
Service
One of the tenets of faith in 12-Step sobriety is that, ultimately, we get clean and sober in order to be of service to others. In fact, we say that our "primary purpose is to stay sober and to help other alcoholics to achieve sobriety."
Everything else in our lives becomes... not unimportant, but certainly secondary to our sobriety. It has to be that way because without our sobriety (first) we wouldn't have anything else. We'd lose life partners, children, careers, fortunes and health if we started using again.
Sometimes that "service" we render to others takes the form of one-on-one sponsorship of a newcomer. A sponsor's job in recovery is, simply, to lead the newcomer through the 12-Steps of recovery. It's not to be "the fixer." It's not to be mommy or daddy, or Dear Abby, or Bank of America or Triple AAA. But it is to share the sponsor's "experience, strength and hope" regarding their own experience with the Steps. Period.
And sometimes that service comes in the form of serving in some leadership function or another. Here's where it gets tricky. We have no President or Chairman of the Board or, indeed, much "management" at all, to speak of. As we say, "our leaders lead, but they do not govern" and anyone, anyone at all, can be "recalled" from a leadership position at any time simply by means of a "group conscience." These positions are always an honor to fill.
Back in May I was elected by my home group to lead a Friday morning beginner's meeting here in Manhattan. This was the third time I've been elected to this post over the past seven years. The length of the term is six months. I have a co-chair and we alternate Fridays from July 1 through December 31.
For reasons nobody quite understands (God?) this Friday morning meeting has grown by leaps and bounds over the past 7 years. This morning (my turn) we had 75 people turn out for it. We ran out of time before everyone could "share." When I see that this is going to happen I try to pick out newcomers in the crowd to call on because they are the most likely to drink. The old timers might cop a resentment over not being called on, but in the immortal words of my sponsor, "screw 'em if they're that overly sensitive."
He's right, of course. He always is (he also monitors this blog - "LOVE YA, BRO'!"
I look forward to Friday's meeting more than any other in the week. When I sit up in the front of that room and see the looks on the faces of people who are trying, like me, to get better... when I witness their struggles and their losses and their victories, small and large, I am overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude and with a profound belief in God and in miracles.
For any day that 75 alkies and druggies don't pick up a drink or a drug is nothing short of a friggin' miracle.
Everything else in our lives becomes... not unimportant, but certainly secondary to our sobriety. It has to be that way because without our sobriety (first) we wouldn't have anything else. We'd lose life partners, children, careers, fortunes and health if we started using again.
Sometimes that "service" we render to others takes the form of one-on-one sponsorship of a newcomer. A sponsor's job in recovery is, simply, to lead the newcomer through the 12-Steps of recovery. It's not to be "the fixer." It's not to be mommy or daddy, or Dear Abby, or Bank of America or Triple AAA. But it is to share the sponsor's "experience, strength and hope" regarding their own experience with the Steps. Period.
And sometimes that service comes in the form of serving in some leadership function or another. Here's where it gets tricky. We have no President or Chairman of the Board or, indeed, much "management" at all, to speak of. As we say, "our leaders lead, but they do not govern" and anyone, anyone at all, can be "recalled" from a leadership position at any time simply by means of a "group conscience." These positions are always an honor to fill.
Back in May I was elected by my home group to lead a Friday morning beginner's meeting here in Manhattan. This was the third time I've been elected to this post over the past seven years. The length of the term is six months. I have a co-chair and we alternate Fridays from July 1 through December 31.
For reasons nobody quite understands (God?) this Friday morning meeting has grown by leaps and bounds over the past 7 years. This morning (my turn) we had 75 people turn out for it. We ran out of time before everyone could "share." When I see that this is going to happen I try to pick out newcomers in the crowd to call on because they are the most likely to drink. The old timers might cop a resentment over not being called on, but in the immortal words of my sponsor, "screw 'em if they're that overly sensitive."
He's right, of course. He always is (he also monitors this blog - "LOVE YA, BRO'!"
I look forward to Friday's meeting more than any other in the week. When I sit up in the front of that room and see the looks on the faces of people who are trying, like me, to get better... when I witness their struggles and their losses and their victories, small and large, I am overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude and with a profound belief in God and in miracles.
For any day that 75 alkies and druggies don't pick up a drink or a drug is nothing short of a friggin' miracle.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
My Big Fat Sober Life!
I got way too busy to blog yesterday. They closed the office early and lawyers, being lawyers, they like to cram as much crap into Fridays as possible (because they don't do a friggin' thing all week), so that meant cramming even more crap into even less time than usual.
I had dinner with a friend of mine last night. A(nother) nice straight guy, divorced, with a 12 year old, pubescent daughter who has definitely taken a turn to the dark side (paging Darth Vader). But I never turn down a home cooked meal, if I can help it. And it's fun to watch hormonal teenagers in action and to wonder how I managed to survive my puberty. I think I postponed it until I was 20, which helped in the houseful of drunks I grew up in.
I crashed early but I was up at the crack of dawn today to shop. Tomorrow is my friend John's annual Labor Day Picnic, Ice Cream Social and Tractor Pull, which I wouldn't miss for the world. It has gotten to be a dubious habit of mine to bring my world-famous "Kitchen Sink Salad" which starts with loose spinach (a pound), Hearts of Romaine (chopped), crushed walnuts, shredded carrots, sliced red bell peppers (cleaned), red onions, mushrooms, mini-cubes of cheese, grape tomatoes, mandarin orange slices, croutons and tossed with a combination of Caesar and Ranch salad dressings (Maries).
I have to put it into a couple of those disposable aluminum oven roasting pans in order to transport it over to Pennsylvania for the party. It takes about an hour to get there and I like to keep it in the fridge right up until the moment of departure.
Anyway, it takes a fair amount of time to assemble the ingredients and to pre-prepare some of them, such as chopping the lettuce then washing and rinsing it and then stowing it in plastic bags in the vegetable crisper overnight.
The party will start at 2:00 p.m. (EDT) tomorrow, but I'm the coffeemaker for a Sunday morning 12-Step meeting, too, and I'll have to run over to the town hall tomorrow morning to get the coffee going, then come home and finish assembling the salad.
Oh, yeah, and I have to stop and pick up a sponsee I'm taking to the picnic with me, too.
I'm happy about all that. I'm really happy because some new shoes I ordered showed up yesterday. A pair of Sperry Topsider deck shoes and (be still my boyish heart) a pair of Jack Purcell low-top gym shoes which take me right back to my miserable youth! But Lord, I do love those sneaks!!!
Oh, and I've been sharing at my meetings about this being the 10th anniversary weekend of my emotional bottom, when all I wanted to do was die.
And my phone has not stopped ringing since yesterday with calls from people in recovery telling me how glad they are that I didn't get my wish that weekend 10 years ago.
I'm glad, too.
Have a lovely holiday, everyone!
I had dinner with a friend of mine last night. A(nother) nice straight guy, divorced, with a 12 year old, pubescent daughter who has definitely taken a turn to the dark side (paging Darth Vader). But I never turn down a home cooked meal, if I can help it. And it's fun to watch hormonal teenagers in action and to wonder how I managed to survive my puberty. I think I postponed it until I was 20, which helped in the houseful of drunks I grew up in.
I crashed early but I was up at the crack of dawn today to shop. Tomorrow is my friend John's annual Labor Day Picnic, Ice Cream Social and Tractor Pull, which I wouldn't miss for the world. It has gotten to be a dubious habit of mine to bring my world-famous "Kitchen Sink Salad" which starts with loose spinach (a pound), Hearts of Romaine (chopped), crushed walnuts, shredded carrots, sliced red bell peppers (cleaned), red onions, mushrooms, mini-cubes of cheese, grape tomatoes, mandarin orange slices, croutons and tossed with a combination of Caesar and Ranch salad dressings (Maries).
I have to put it into a couple of those disposable aluminum oven roasting pans in order to transport it over to Pennsylvania for the party. It takes about an hour to get there and I like to keep it in the fridge right up until the moment of departure.
Anyway, it takes a fair amount of time to assemble the ingredients and to pre-prepare some of them, such as chopping the lettuce then washing and rinsing it and then stowing it in plastic bags in the vegetable crisper overnight.
The party will start at 2:00 p.m. (EDT) tomorrow, but I'm the coffeemaker for a Sunday morning 12-Step meeting, too, and I'll have to run over to the town hall tomorrow morning to get the coffee going, then come home and finish assembling the salad.
Oh, yeah, and I have to stop and pick up a sponsee I'm taking to the picnic with me, too.
I'm happy about all that. I'm really happy because some new shoes I ordered showed up yesterday. A pair of Sperry Topsider deck shoes and (be still my boyish heart) a pair of Jack Purcell low-top gym shoes which take me right back to my miserable youth! But Lord, I do love those sneaks!!!
Oh, and I've been sharing at my meetings about this being the 10th anniversary weekend of my emotional bottom, when all I wanted to do was die.
And my phone has not stopped ringing since yesterday with calls from people in recovery telling me how glad they are that I didn't get my wish that weekend 10 years ago.
I'm glad, too.
Have a lovely holiday, everyone!
Monday, August 27, 2007
A Family I Chose.
Every Saturday night, when I'm home, I drive about 45 miles to a 12-Step meeting (gay) near Doylestown, PA. I was first taken to this meeting years ago by a friend in recovery who, himself, no longer goes.
As often happens with these things, it took me awhile to start to feel comfortable there, but then I started to get to know the people, and now I've come to love and care about most of them.
Last Saturday night one of the old-timers there, Mr. X, celebrated 40 years of continuous sobriety. His partner, Mr. Y, threw him a big bash and all the other members of this particular meeting brought food for the event. I had a brought a sponsee with me who is struggling to stay sober. I thought doing a little "service" would help him to forget his own problems, just for a while at any rate. I wasn't wrong. He's a landscape architect by trade but like most of us he has "the gay gene" when it comes to table arrangements and room decoration. I turned him loose on the place and he had a field day. We got there around 6:00 p.m. and things started to really percolate around 7:00 p.m.
By 7:00 there were probably 50-60 people at the dozen or so large round tables set up in the vestibule of the local Unitarian Church we had kidnapped for the evening (truth be told, we have our regular meeting downstairs on "non-event" nights). By 7:30 the crowd had swelled to well over a hundred and so we started to file into the church proper for the main event of the evening. A 12-Step Meeting with our Anniversary Boy as the only speaker.
I was honored to have been asked to read one of our "Opening Statements of Purpose" which generally precede a good 12-Step Meeting and as I looked out over the crowd I was suddenly overwhelmed by feelings of gratitude and humility. Gratitude for my sobriety and for the overwhelming extent of my non-biological family, humility to think that only 9 and a half years ago I was a falling down drunk without a friend in the world (well, damn few, God love 'em).
Mr. X was wonderful. He has a long and illustrious association with recovery, within the gay community, in and around the Philadelphia area. Hell, he had gotten sober before I even came out! He was going to meetings in Philly when I was just starting to venture into the gay scene there in the early 70's.
After the meeting had ended and we were cleaning up the debris of the "eatin' portion of the meeting, a gentleman who looked slightly familiar came up to me and asked me if I remembered him. Luckily, I did. I had met him years before at a gay meeting in Rehoboth, DE. His partner of many years had recently died and although he knew Mr. X and Mr. Y he didn't know too many other people at this shindig, so he was delighted to see a familiar, friendly face.
Like a lot of people in recovery I started out life with a less than ideal family but in recovery I have found wealth beyond measure by gathering around me a family of like-minded people whom I can genuinely love and trust.
I guess you could call them
A Family I Chose.
As often happens with these things, it took me awhile to start to feel comfortable there, but then I started to get to know the people, and now I've come to love and care about most of them.
Last Saturday night one of the old-timers there, Mr. X, celebrated 40 years of continuous sobriety. His partner, Mr. Y, threw him a big bash and all the other members of this particular meeting brought food for the event. I had a brought a sponsee with me who is struggling to stay sober. I thought doing a little "service" would help him to forget his own problems, just for a while at any rate. I wasn't wrong. He's a landscape architect by trade but like most of us he has "the gay gene" when it comes to table arrangements and room decoration. I turned him loose on the place and he had a field day. We got there around 6:00 p.m. and things started to really percolate around 7:00 p.m.
By 7:00 there were probably 50-60 people at the dozen or so large round tables set up in the vestibule of the local Unitarian Church we had kidnapped for the evening (truth be told, we have our regular meeting downstairs on "non-event" nights). By 7:30 the crowd had swelled to well over a hundred and so we started to file into the church proper for the main event of the evening. A 12-Step Meeting with our Anniversary Boy as the only speaker.
I was honored to have been asked to read one of our "Opening Statements of Purpose" which generally precede a good 12-Step Meeting and as I looked out over the crowd I was suddenly overwhelmed by feelings of gratitude and humility. Gratitude for my sobriety and for the overwhelming extent of my non-biological family, humility to think that only 9 and a half years ago I was a falling down drunk without a friend in the world (well, damn few, God love 'em).
Mr. X was wonderful. He has a long and illustrious association with recovery, within the gay community, in and around the Philadelphia area. Hell, he had gotten sober before I even came out! He was going to meetings in Philly when I was just starting to venture into the gay scene there in the early 70's.
After the meeting had ended and we were cleaning up the debris of the "eatin' portion of the meeting, a gentleman who looked slightly familiar came up to me and asked me if I remembered him. Luckily, I did. I had met him years before at a gay meeting in Rehoboth, DE. His partner of many years had recently died and although he knew Mr. X and Mr. Y he didn't know too many other people at this shindig, so he was delighted to see a familiar, friendly face.
Like a lot of people in recovery I started out life with a less than ideal family but in recovery I have found wealth beyond measure by gathering around me a family of like-minded people whom I can genuinely love and trust.
I guess you could call them
A Family I Chose.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Counting Days
A friend of mine in my 12-Step program is back to counting days again. What that means is he lost his "time" in sobriety by using drugs and booze and is, once again, counting his sobriety in terms of days instead of months or years.
He "went out." That's what we call it. Big time. My friend is a musician. He'd been contracted by a big foreign musical organization to play with them for awhile. He managed to get overseas a few weeks back, and to even get in a few days of rehearsals. But then... something snapped. He was alone in a hotel in a strange city... totally disconnected from the fellowship of his 12-Step program. He'd been weaning himself from the program (his support group and home group) for over a year. He didn't bother looking up local meetings of his program in the city where he was staying. He'd compartmentalized his life to the point where no one knew where he was, exactly. Not even his wife here in the states.
When he disappeared after four days she must've been panic-stricken. I can only imagine what it would be like to have someone you love fall off the face of the earth in a foreign city, without a clue as to their whereabouts or well-being.
He holed up in that hotel for an additional 4 days. He even hid from the hotel management by hiding under the bed, at one point. He managed to elude detection for another 24 hours that way. He was using booze and crack the whole time.
He hasn't been entirely clear on what prompted him to stop. But apparently he managed to blow through several thousand dollars in a week and then poured himself, still detoxing, onto a plane for an 8 hour flight back to New York.
It's a wonder he didn't die on the plane. Seriously.
I've never seen anybody as shook up about being that close to death in all my years in recovery. As he was sharing his story with me the tears of fear and gratitude kept falling from his eyes. I think that maybe he's finally lost enough.
Because that's what it takes to get serious about getting sober. You have to lose enough in order to be totally ready.
And you have to swallow all of your pride to announce at your home group that you are, once again, counting days.
I'm grateful that my friend is alive. I'm grateful that he came back. I'm grateful that I am here, in order to find out what happens to people who aren't.
He "went out." That's what we call it. Big time. My friend is a musician. He'd been contracted by a big foreign musical organization to play with them for awhile. He managed to get overseas a few weeks back, and to even get in a few days of rehearsals. But then... something snapped. He was alone in a hotel in a strange city... totally disconnected from the fellowship of his 12-Step program. He'd been weaning himself from the program (his support group and home group) for over a year. He didn't bother looking up local meetings of his program in the city where he was staying. He'd compartmentalized his life to the point where no one knew where he was, exactly. Not even his wife here in the states.
When he disappeared after four days she must've been panic-stricken. I can only imagine what it would be like to have someone you love fall off the face of the earth in a foreign city, without a clue as to their whereabouts or well-being.
He holed up in that hotel for an additional 4 days. He even hid from the hotel management by hiding under the bed, at one point. He managed to elude detection for another 24 hours that way. He was using booze and crack the whole time.
He hasn't been entirely clear on what prompted him to stop. But apparently he managed to blow through several thousand dollars in a week and then poured himself, still detoxing, onto a plane for an 8 hour flight back to New York.
It's a wonder he didn't die on the plane. Seriously.
I've never seen anybody as shook up about being that close to death in all my years in recovery. As he was sharing his story with me the tears of fear and gratitude kept falling from his eyes. I think that maybe he's finally lost enough.
Because that's what it takes to get serious about getting sober. You have to lose enough in order to be totally ready.
And you have to swallow all of your pride to announce at your home group that you are, once again, counting days.
I'm grateful that my friend is alive. I'm grateful that he came back. I'm grateful that I am here, in order to find out what happens to people who aren't.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Bizarre Commute
I had a very bizarre evening. It all started when I ran into a waitress I've known for years on the downtown "E" train. She was on her way to work, I was on my way to the Port Authority Bus Terminal to catch a bus home for the evening.
I was glad to have been in the right place at the right time. Earlier in the day my friend had gotten a call from Paris (she's French) that her sister had died overnight. My friend was clearly devastated and was merely going to work because she didn't know what else to do. I'm a big proponent of "when in doubt, keep busy", so I was glad my friend was doing just that.
I make no secret of my belief that things "happen" for a reason. I think that I was meant to be there for her. I think she needed a friendly face, and I was more than happy to be that face. We were never bosom buddies, but I've always had a soft spot in my heart for her. She is so genuinely sweet, it would melt the coldest of hearts.
She got off at 50th Street and I stayed on until the train pulled in to 42nd Street. I got upstairs to my departure gate and, no sooner had I gotten in line when I saw my brother trundling up the ramp towards me.
He's my baby brother, but in many ways he's more of a man than I'll ever be (I'm sure he'd say the same about me). I told him to stick with me in our line so we could yak all the way home and that I'd give him a ride to his house from the Park and Ride where I abandon my Element every morning. It was nice to get some quality time with him. We yammered all the way down the turnpike, and during the drive home we promised each other that we'd fix each other's financial problems, should either of us win this week's "Mega-Millions" drawing.
My big plans for the evening included watching TWO episodes of Season Two of "Lost" (actually episodes 5 and 6 of the season). I watched one episode which was largely a flashback of Sun falling in love with the Korean hotel owner's son... only to find out that he was using her as a "cover" for his romance with some American woman he'd met in collge. I was on the verge of watching the next episode when the phone rang. It was my friend Dennis from Baltimore.
Dennis and I go back to the 12th century. Okay, 1971. He and his sigO, Patrick, my college roommate, the Kleen Kween, and I form the nucleus of a summer rental at the beach every year. For decades it was in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, last year and this coming July it'll be on Cape Cod, near Dennisport.
Dennis and I are great company for each other. When we both still smoked (but nobody was supposed to know that), we'd get up at the crack of dawn at the beach every day, put on a fresh pot of coffee and sit on the screened-in porch, overlooking the Atlantic, as the sun came up over the ocean; drinking coffee, smoking ciggies and yakking up a blue-streak about everything and everybody.
Patrick and Richard are real layabouts, never rising before the crack of 9:00 a.m. whereas Dennis and I would've made great bootcamp drill instructors, arising when it was still the dead of night.
The problem is, Dennis and I never know when to shut up. Last night was no exception. An hour after I answered the phone I told him I had to go to bed. And so I did.
Three distinctly different people "happened" into my path last night, each of them diverting me from my complacency.
It's said, in my 12-Step Program, that "if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans!"
Sometimes, truer words were never spoken.
I was glad to have been in the right place at the right time. Earlier in the day my friend had gotten a call from Paris (she's French) that her sister had died overnight. My friend was clearly devastated and was merely going to work because she didn't know what else to do. I'm a big proponent of "when in doubt, keep busy", so I was glad my friend was doing just that.
I make no secret of my belief that things "happen" for a reason. I think that I was meant to be there for her. I think she needed a friendly face, and I was more than happy to be that face. We were never bosom buddies, but I've always had a soft spot in my heart for her. She is so genuinely sweet, it would melt the coldest of hearts.
She got off at 50th Street and I stayed on until the train pulled in to 42nd Street. I got upstairs to my departure gate and, no sooner had I gotten in line when I saw my brother trundling up the ramp towards me.
He's my baby brother, but in many ways he's more of a man than I'll ever be (I'm sure he'd say the same about me). I told him to stick with me in our line so we could yak all the way home and that I'd give him a ride to his house from the Park and Ride where I abandon my Element every morning. It was nice to get some quality time with him. We yammered all the way down the turnpike, and during the drive home we promised each other that we'd fix each other's financial problems, should either of us win this week's "Mega-Millions" drawing.
My big plans for the evening included watching TWO episodes of Season Two of "Lost" (actually episodes 5 and 6 of the season). I watched one episode which was largely a flashback of Sun falling in love with the Korean hotel owner's son... only to find out that he was using her as a "cover" for his romance with some American woman he'd met in collge. I was on the verge of watching the next episode when the phone rang. It was my friend Dennis from Baltimore.
Dennis and I go back to the 12th century. Okay, 1971. He and his sigO, Patrick, my college roommate, the Kleen Kween, and I form the nucleus of a summer rental at the beach every year. For decades it was in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, last year and this coming July it'll be on Cape Cod, near Dennisport.
Dennis and I are great company for each other. When we both still smoked (but nobody was supposed to know that), we'd get up at the crack of dawn at the beach every day, put on a fresh pot of coffee and sit on the screened-in porch, overlooking the Atlantic, as the sun came up over the ocean; drinking coffee, smoking ciggies and yakking up a blue-streak about everything and everybody.
Patrick and Richard are real layabouts, never rising before the crack of 9:00 a.m. whereas Dennis and I would've made great bootcamp drill instructors, arising when it was still the dead of night.
The problem is, Dennis and I never know when to shut up. Last night was no exception. An hour after I answered the phone I told him I had to go to bed. And so I did.
Three distinctly different people "happened" into my path last night, each of them diverting me from my complacency.
It's said, in my 12-Step Program, that "if you want to make God laugh, tell Her your plans!"
Sometimes, truer words were never spoken.
Monday, June 11, 2007
12th Step
Today my 12-Step home group had it's bi-annual elections to fill all of its service positions for the coming six months.
I don't know what came over me but my hand accidentally shot up when they asked if anyone wanted to co-chair the Friday morning beginner's meeting.
I won.
This obligates me to be there, every other Friday, from July 1st through December 31st. Don't bother doing the math, that's 13 times. I have a co-chair, a very nice young woman, who'll be doing the other 13 Fridays.
This'll be the 3rd or 4th time I've co-chaired this meeting since I started attending meetings there, in March of 2000.
I don't get a lot of opportunity to be "of service" to others in my 12-Step Program because of the amount of commuting I do. Hence my comment in my bio about spending "too much time" on the New Jersey Turnpike every day. Nevertheless, Service Work is a very important part of recovery, especially for somebody like me, who has a few years of sobriety under his skirt.
I love chairing the Friday meeting. It's the biggest meeting of the week, attendance-wise. Also, it's a beginner's meeting, so we try to keep to beginner's topics, such as "how to avoid getting drunk over the weekend" or "dealing with your parents without resorting to dealing with your dealer."
We tend to get quite a few people who are counting days (from 1 to 90) in recovery at this meeting. We always let them share first. We old-timers keep our traps shut and absolutely love it when the newcomers share. Because their shares are almost always loaded with pain, it serves to remind us of how much pain we were in when we first got clean and sober... and vividly recalling that pain is important if we hope to stay clean and sober in the future.
It's also beneficial to the newcomer to share that pain because it actually helps to lessen it. Whenever people share at 12-Step meetings, everybody wins. The newcomers will benefit from listening to the experience, strength and hope of the old-timers, with whom they strongly identify. To hear how they managed to survive that pain, and to work through their painful issues, using the 12-Steps of recovery, gives the newcomer hope and faith in the program and will, eventually, give them a faith in a Power Greater than Themselves.
I am always humbled whenever I'm selected for service. I'm humbled that my co-recoverers have faith in my ability to lead. I'm also reminded of our Second Tradition which states:
"For our group purpose there is but one ultimate authority—a loving God as He may express Himself in our group conscience. Our leaders are but trusted servants; they do not govern."
I hope I can keep that in mind from July to December.
I don't know what came over me but my hand accidentally shot up when they asked if anyone wanted to co-chair the Friday morning beginner's meeting.
I won.
This obligates me to be there, every other Friday, from July 1st through December 31st. Don't bother doing the math, that's 13 times. I have a co-chair, a very nice young woman, who'll be doing the other 13 Fridays.
This'll be the 3rd or 4th time I've co-chaired this meeting since I started attending meetings there, in March of 2000.
I don't get a lot of opportunity to be "of service" to others in my 12-Step Program because of the amount of commuting I do. Hence my comment in my bio about spending "too much time" on the New Jersey Turnpike every day. Nevertheless, Service Work is a very important part of recovery, especially for somebody like me, who has a few years of sobriety under his skirt.
I love chairing the Friday meeting. It's the biggest meeting of the week, attendance-wise. Also, it's a beginner's meeting, so we try to keep to beginner's topics, such as "how to avoid getting drunk over the weekend" or "dealing with your parents without resorting to dealing with your dealer."
We tend to get quite a few people who are counting days (from 1 to 90) in recovery at this meeting. We always let them share first. We old-timers keep our traps shut and absolutely love it when the newcomers share. Because their shares are almost always loaded with pain, it serves to remind us of how much pain we were in when we first got clean and sober... and vividly recalling that pain is important if we hope to stay clean and sober in the future.
It's also beneficial to the newcomer to share that pain because it actually helps to lessen it. Whenever people share at 12-Step meetings, everybody wins. The newcomers will benefit from listening to the experience, strength and hope of the old-timers, with whom they strongly identify. To hear how they managed to survive that pain, and to work through their painful issues, using the 12-Steps of recovery, gives the newcomer hope and faith in the program and will, eventually, give them a faith in a Power Greater than Themselves.
I am always humbled whenever I'm selected for service. I'm humbled that my co-recoverers have faith in my ability to lead. I'm also reminded of our Second Tradition which states:
"For our group purpose there is but one ultimate authority—a loving God as He may express Himself in our group conscience. Our leaders are but trusted servants; they do not govern."
I hope I can keep that in mind from July to December.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
My Fearful Mind (A Recovery Share)
I'm a pretty fear-based critter. I think all humans are but we alkies raise it to an art form. Basically I have two fears:
1. a fear of losing something I already have
2. a fear of not getting something I want.
These two fears have corollaries in the two things an alcoholic like me really hates:
1. I really hate the way things are.
2. I really hate change.
Yes, I know that sounds insane. Now you have an inkling of how my alcoholic mind works and you also have an inkling of the kinds of things you're likely to hear at a 12-Step meeting. You see, I'm not the only one who thinks this way. Actually, if you DO think this way then perhaps you need to give some serious thought to putting down the bottle (cocaine, food, sex, credit cards, deck of cards) for a second and trotting yourself off to a meeting somewhere. Look in the phone book. All the 12-Step groups are in there. Just call up and ask 'em for the next meeting. They'll be happy to help you. And trust me, you do need help.
Anyway, I bring this up because shopping for real estate and, more importantly, having to ask people and institutions to lend me vast sums of money brings up a lot of fear for me. I fear rejection. I fear being mocked. I fear not being able to fulfill my obligation. I fear not doing the whole thing perfectly (asking all the right questions, getting all the right answers). I fear doing it successfully. I fear doing it poorly. I fear being happy. I fear being miserable. I fear feeling entitled to having the great big fat happy life that God probably wants me to have. I fear actually having the great big fat happy life that God does intend for me to have.
I'm always content with less, to say to myself "Who are you to want more? What makes you think you're entitled to that?" I settle for what I get. I don't reach for the brass ring because I might fall off the horse and embarrass myself or get hurt. If I don't try then I can't fail. It's a perfect solution to life's little problems. Avoid them. Avoid life. Hide out. Hole up. Isolate. Above all, appear independent and stolid at all times. Don't ever be needy. Be critical of those who are.
This is face of full-blown alcoholism as it works it's way into the litter-box that poses as my brain (and which requires frequent emptying).
Left to my own devices, and without the aid of a 12-Step program and a support group and a sponsor, this is how my mind would automatically operate. I know what my defaults are now because I've actually DONE the 12-Steps (well, mostly) of my program. I've examined my life, inside and out, and come to realize just how beady my sick little mind can be at times.
More importantly, I've learned what I have to do to "short-circuit" this kind of thinking.
All I have to do is simply walk through the fear. Rather than retreating (default mode) I step forward. And the darkness around me disappears. There is nothing there to fear. People will not mock me. They will not say "no." I can have the big fat happy life that I am entitled to have.
So just for today I'm going to ignore my fear of not getting what I want and I'm going to dispel my hatred of change. And I'm going to reach out for that brass ring as far as I'd like because God, my loving parent, is standing on the other side of that carousel horse with his arms firmly clasped around my waist.
1. a fear of losing something I already have
2. a fear of not getting something I want.
These two fears have corollaries in the two things an alcoholic like me really hates:
1. I really hate the way things are.
2. I really hate change.
Yes, I know that sounds insane. Now you have an inkling of how my alcoholic mind works and you also have an inkling of the kinds of things you're likely to hear at a 12-Step meeting. You see, I'm not the only one who thinks this way. Actually, if you DO think this way then perhaps you need to give some serious thought to putting down the bottle (cocaine, food, sex, credit cards, deck of cards) for a second and trotting yourself off to a meeting somewhere. Look in the phone book. All the 12-Step groups are in there. Just call up and ask 'em for the next meeting. They'll be happy to help you. And trust me, you do need help.
Anyway, I bring this up because shopping for real estate and, more importantly, having to ask people and institutions to lend me vast sums of money brings up a lot of fear for me. I fear rejection. I fear being mocked. I fear not being able to fulfill my obligation. I fear not doing the whole thing perfectly (asking all the right questions, getting all the right answers). I fear doing it successfully. I fear doing it poorly. I fear being happy. I fear being miserable. I fear feeling entitled to having the great big fat happy life that God probably wants me to have. I fear actually having the great big fat happy life that God does intend for me to have.
I'm always content with less, to say to myself "Who are you to want more? What makes you think you're entitled to that?" I settle for what I get. I don't reach for the brass ring because I might fall off the horse and embarrass myself or get hurt. If I don't try then I can't fail. It's a perfect solution to life's little problems. Avoid them. Avoid life. Hide out. Hole up. Isolate. Above all, appear independent and stolid at all times. Don't ever be needy. Be critical of those who are.
This is face of full-blown alcoholism as it works it's way into the litter-box that poses as my brain (and which requires frequent emptying).
Left to my own devices, and without the aid of a 12-Step program and a support group and a sponsor, this is how my mind would automatically operate. I know what my defaults are now because I've actually DONE the 12-Steps (well, mostly) of my program. I've examined my life, inside and out, and come to realize just how beady my sick little mind can be at times.
More importantly, I've learned what I have to do to "short-circuit" this kind of thinking.
All I have to do is simply walk through the fear. Rather than retreating (default mode) I step forward. And the darkness around me disappears. There is nothing there to fear. People will not mock me. They will not say "no." I can have the big fat happy life that I am entitled to have.
So just for today I'm going to ignore my fear of not getting what I want and I'm going to dispel my hatred of change. And I'm going to reach out for that brass ring as far as I'd like because God, my loving parent, is standing on the other side of that carousel horse with his arms firmly clasped around my waist.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)