Three hours.
That's all it took for a friend to go from sober to jail.
Three hours -- from the first sip of a hard lemonade to a car in a ditch surrounded by cops with the smell of vomit in the air. Three damn hours to despair, bewilderment and a freezing jail cell.
My disease just loves to slap me in the face sometimes. And that's what it was when my friend shared the story with me shortly after picking up another beginner's chip at our home group. I read the police report. Parts of it were funny in that sick, only an alcoholic understands, way. It wasn't funny, but it was funny because otherwise I'd cry.
There was no "reason" for it. An early dinner on a quick day trip and the thought "one lemonade would taste good." Complacency. A spiritual journey that had become more rote than meaningful. My friend's words, not mine. No defense against the first drink.
My friend had a little more time in the program than I. Fortunate to be alive to come back my friend is facing more wreckage to clear, family relationships to try to mend again, a professional rating at risk, jail. Three hours. It could have been me. It could have been you.
I have purposely avoided the pronouns that would identify my friend even by gender. It doesn't matter. It could have been me. It could have been you.
I thanked my friend for helping me stay sober one more day and that night I thanked my God for another day. I hope you will do the same.
It could be me. It could be you.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
The Crossroads on the Road to Perdition
There's a morbid fascination with evil in our society. Books and movies like "The Road to Perdition," "The Godfather" and "In Cold Blood" draw readers and audiences thirsting for titillation while safely ensconced in their homes or theaters.
I never read the novel "Road to Perdition" and I had no interest in the film, although with Paul Newman, Tom Hanks and Jude Law it certainly contained no lack of talent. I usually like that genre and have reveled in hours spent with "The Godfather" and its sequels, and in novels like Truman Capote's "In Cold Blood." Whether fictional like "The Godfather" or semi-documentary like "In Cold Blood" the movies and books provide a feeling of safe distance from the overt presence of evil.
Few really know how close they are to that evil. Sometimes in their own homes. But an alcoholic knows. First hand.
An alcoholic knows Hell. An alcoholic has walked the road to perdition. Each with his own story. Some have seen great evil on the road; some lesser. Everyone who's trod the road and survived to get off of it knows where it inevitably leads.
Today I am trying to remain teachable as a student of Alcoholics Anonymous. I have to remember that I am only one drink away from resuming my trek along my own road to perdition. Getting off that road and, more importantly, staying off that road is the real focus of my program. Anyone can stop drinking for a while. My problem was staying stopped. I have to learn through reliance on my Higher Power, the steps, the guidance of my sponsor, the literature and the meetings how to live soberly.
Taking the first steps on this new road, I became honest with myself that my previous relationship with my God had always been distorted through the lens of alcohol and only when I removed that lens could I truly turn my will and my life over to Him in my third step. I had removed the liquor before, but without an honest surrender I couldn't remove the lens. The miracle was that I survived long enough in the program for that to happen. What was it that made the difference?
I was at a crossroads. I knew I couldn't continue and I didn't know how I could not continue. My disease had me in its clutches and I knew I had nothing good ahead. There at the crossroads I finally became willing.
Bill Wilson wrote to noted psychiatrist Carl Jung some years after AA got started to thank him for his influence on the origins of AA and to bring him up to date on the status of Rowland H., whose encounters with Jung are in the Big Book. When Jung wrote back he expressed the seminal idea that provides the core of what has helped me begin to experience the miracle.
That is what the early Christian communities did. Come together to strengthen, correct and learn from each other and draw closer to God. And whatever my conception of God is, whatever your conception of God is, it works. It works for me daily. It works as long as I remain willing. It works as long as I work at it.
So each day I know I again am at the crossroads and I must be willing. One more hour. One more day. Going down to the crossroads...
I never read the novel "Road to Perdition" and I had no interest in the film, although with Paul Newman, Tom Hanks and Jude Law it certainly contained no lack of talent. I usually like that genre and have reveled in hours spent with "The Godfather" and its sequels, and in novels like Truman Capote's "In Cold Blood." Whether fictional like "The Godfather" or semi-documentary like "In Cold Blood" the movies and books provide a feeling of safe distance from the overt presence of evil.
Few really know how close they are to that evil. Sometimes in their own homes. But an alcoholic knows. First hand.
An alcoholic knows Hell. An alcoholic has walked the road to perdition. Each with his own story. Some have seen great evil on the road; some lesser. Everyone who's trod the road and survived to get off of it knows where it inevitably leads.
Today I am trying to remain teachable as a student of Alcoholics Anonymous. I have to remember that I am only one drink away from resuming my trek along my own road to perdition. Getting off that road and, more importantly, staying off that road is the real focus of my program. Anyone can stop drinking for a while. My problem was staying stopped. I have to learn through reliance on my Higher Power, the steps, the guidance of my sponsor, the literature and the meetings how to live soberly.
Taking the first steps on this new road, I became honest with myself that my previous relationship with my God had always been distorted through the lens of alcohol and only when I removed that lens could I truly turn my will and my life over to Him in my third step. I had removed the liquor before, but without an honest surrender I couldn't remove the lens. The miracle was that I survived long enough in the program for that to happen. What was it that made the difference?
I was at a crossroads. I knew I couldn't continue and I didn't know how I could not continue. My disease had me in its clutches and I knew I had nothing good ahead. There at the crossroads I finally became willing.
Bill Wilson wrote to noted psychiatrist Carl Jung some years after AA got started to thank him for his influence on the origins of AA and to bring him up to date on the status of Rowland H., whose encounters with Jung are in the Big Book. When Jung wrote back he expressed the seminal idea that provides the core of what has helped me begin to experience the miracle.
"I am strongly convinced that the evil principle prevailing in this world leads the unrecognized spiritual need into a perdition, if it is not counteracted either by a real religious insight or by the protective wall of human community. An ordinary man, not protected by an action from above and isolated in society, cannot resist the power of evil..."There at my crossroads, with a moment of clarity finally breaking the fog, I began to experience that insight, just a little. What AA provided in those critical first days and which it still provides on a daily basis is that protective wall of human community. So I have my God providing me protection from above -- as long as I remain willing -- and my AA community protecting me right here.Carl Jung -- letter to Bill W.
That is what the early Christian communities did. Come together to strengthen, correct and learn from each other and draw closer to God. And whatever my conception of God is, whatever your conception of God is, it works. It works for me daily. It works as long as I remain willing. It works as long as I work at it.
So each day I know I again am at the crossroads and I must be willing. One more hour. One more day. Going down to the crossroads...
I went down to the crossroads, fell down on my knees.
Down to the crossroads, fell down on my knees.
Asked the Lord above for mercy, "Save me if you please."
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Friday, August 13, 2010
Humility is not for wimps
I don't remember exactly where I read this. I think it was one of the recovery magazines that are always around the rooms attached to halfway houses or recovery centers.
Then we come into the rooms, already beaten down by our disease and desperately clinging to whatever self-esteem and ego we have left, not understanding that it is our selfishness and self-centeredness that is at the root of our problems. It is all about me. And my rectal-cranial inversion keeps me thinking it is all about me.
My Catholic faith has taught me to be humble before God. At least, I thought it had. After all it was God, capital G, they were talking about. It was easy to be humble before HIM.
I had missed something though. God comes to me through others. And sometimes the other isn't very attractive. "Don't you know who I think I am!" But, can I stop thinking about myself long enough to take a cup of coffee to the elderly man in the corner trembling with Parkinson's who wants to talk but you can barely understand him? Can I forget about myself long enough to talk to the guy with the shakes, who still smells of urine and vomit, but who desperately wants help? Can I forget about myself long enough to pick up the empty coffee cups and candy wrappers and throw them away?
Sometimes. Sometimes. Sometimes I can't and I know I have a long way to go. But I know the direction I need to be going and I have hope. Hope that only the rooms and the program and my God, with and without the capital G, could have given me.
I'll close this post with the plaque on humility Dr. Bob had on his desk:
Until next time...
"Humility is not thinking less of yourself. It's thinking of yourself less."I love it. It's simple and direct. But I don't think it's something that many of us are familiar with or comfortable with when we come into the rooms. Of course, I don't have any frame of reference for what it's like for a woman, but as a guy the word humility always implied a defeat. "The team suffered a humiliating loss to cross-town rival..." "He was humiliated by his failure to..."
Then we come into the rooms, already beaten down by our disease and desperately clinging to whatever self-esteem and ego we have left, not understanding that it is our selfishness and self-centeredness that is at the root of our problems. It is all about me. And my rectal-cranial inversion keeps me thinking it is all about me.
My Catholic faith has taught me to be humble before God. At least, I thought it had. After all it was God, capital G, they were talking about. It was easy to be humble before HIM.
I had missed something though. God comes to me through others. And sometimes the other isn't very attractive. "Don't you know who I think I am!" But, can I stop thinking about myself long enough to take a cup of coffee to the elderly man in the corner trembling with Parkinson's who wants to talk but you can barely understand him? Can I forget about myself long enough to talk to the guy with the shakes, who still smells of urine and vomit, but who desperately wants help? Can I forget about myself long enough to pick up the empty coffee cups and candy wrappers and throw them away?
Sometimes. Sometimes. Sometimes I can't and I know I have a long way to go. But I know the direction I need to be going and I have hope. Hope that only the rooms and the program and my God, with and without the capital G, could have given me.
I'll close this post with the plaque on humility Dr. Bob had on his desk:
"Perpetual quietness of heart. It is to have no trouble. It is never to be fretted or vexed, irritable or sore; to wonder at nothing that is done to me, to feel nothing done against me.
"It is to be at rest when nobody praises me, and when I am blamed or despised, it is to have a blessed home in myself where I can go in and shut the door and pray to my Father in secret and be at peace, as in a deep sea of calmness, when all around and about is seeming trouble
Until next time...
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Romancing the Chalice.
During a presidential debate back in the '80s Ronald Reagan turned to his opponent, shook his head and said "There you go again..." Well, I'm involved in something a lot more important to me than a debate. I'm involved in a battle for my life and yet, "there I go again."
No, I didn't take a drink. I didn't pop a pill or smoke a joint. I simply got complacent.
I'm a Eucharistic Minister in the Catholic parish I belong to. For me, as a Catholic, that's a big deal. I am entrusted to not only handle the precious body and blood, but am allowed to take the presence to the sick in a local rehabilitation hospital. When I came into recovery I had a long talk with my priest about my alcoholism. He understands the issue pretty well for a "normie" and was certainly understanding about the dilemma I faced. We agreed that if I felt that I couldn't cope with handling the chalice holding the consecrated wine then we could find another solution, but I would continue serving and if it was my place to serve the chalice then I would simply raise it in reverence when it was given to me and not drink from it.
That worked well for more than a year. Each time I was on the altar and was presented the chalice I had no urge to drink from it. I could present the chalice to others without feeling any obsession or urge.
I guess I began to become a little complacent, maybe cocky in the "I've got this licked" sort of way. Well, I don't have it licked.
Today I approached the altar and was presented the chalice. Standing there behind the altar facing my brothers and sisters in the church I suddenly found myself remembering when I did partake of the cup.
It didn't take but a few moments for me to realize I was "Romancing the Chalice." One of the old stories in the back of the book I read recently was talking about this very problem. Treating old memories like a favorite pet. That pet, however, will turn in a heartbeat into a ruthless wolf. I pulled myself together and said a quick prayer for strength and the moment passed.
And, even though I knew I had recognized the danger and pulled back "as if from a hot flame," I still talked with my sponsor and his sponsor. I knew I needed to tell on myself if for no other reason than to stay honest. Staying honest. What a concept. Staying sober. Wow!
No, I didn't take a drink. I didn't pop a pill or smoke a joint. I simply got complacent.
I'm a Eucharistic Minister in the Catholic parish I belong to. For me, as a Catholic, that's a big deal. I am entrusted to not only handle the precious body and blood, but am allowed to take the presence to the sick in a local rehabilitation hospital. When I came into recovery I had a long talk with my priest about my alcoholism. He understands the issue pretty well for a "normie" and was certainly understanding about the dilemma I faced. We agreed that if I felt that I couldn't cope with handling the chalice holding the consecrated wine then we could find another solution, but I would continue serving and if it was my place to serve the chalice then I would simply raise it in reverence when it was given to me and not drink from it.
That worked well for more than a year. Each time I was on the altar and was presented the chalice I had no urge to drink from it. I could present the chalice to others without feeling any obsession or urge.
I guess I began to become a little complacent, maybe cocky in the "I've got this licked" sort of way. Well, I don't have it licked.
Today I approached the altar and was presented the chalice. Standing there behind the altar facing my brothers and sisters in the church I suddenly found myself remembering when I did partake of the cup.
It didn't take but a few moments for me to realize I was "Romancing the Chalice." One of the old stories in the back of the book I read recently was talking about this very problem. Treating old memories like a favorite pet. That pet, however, will turn in a heartbeat into a ruthless wolf. I pulled myself together and said a quick prayer for strength and the moment passed.
And, even though I knew I had recognized the danger and pulled back "as if from a hot flame," I still talked with my sponsor and his sponsor. I knew I needed to tell on myself if for no other reason than to stay honest. Staying honest. What a concept. Staying sober. Wow!
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Are we too nice to help?
"Driven by a hundred forms of fear, self-delusion, self-seeking and self-pity, we step on the toes of our fellows and they retaliate."We sometimes try to be too nice at meetings with newcomers and chronic relapsers who are more interested in finding excuses than solutions. At least that's my humble opinion.--ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS , p. 62
I was in two meetings yesterday where the discussion was started, in both cases by men who have been in and out of the rooms for years, with complaints of how unfair life and AA are. In the first meeting we had just finished reading the daily reflection, which started with the quote above, and a guy started the discussion by talking about how he just can't get a "fair shake" from AA because it focuses on self-delusion, selfishness and self-pity. He's been dual-diagnosed with depression and PTSD, he's on medication and it's not his fault that he keeps drinking. In the second meeting the fellow that asked to start the discussion started talking about how he's homeless, living in a tent in the woods, can't get a job (or keep one) and he just can't seem to not drink because "things" are so bad.
In neither case was the "bullshit" flag thrown. Instead, the other people who shared danced around the issues and just urged both men to "keep coming back." Only a couple of people said anything about getting serious about the program and, if there were unresolved medical issues, to continue seeking appropriate medical care.
I have to admit, I just sat there, too. Honestly, I think I was worried about getting embarrassed if I said something strong and got called out myself by one of the oldtimers there. (Note to self: Self, talk to sponsor)
Anyway, what do I mean by the bullshit flag? I mean laying out cleanly and unambiguously that both guys were simply doing what thousands before them have done. They were simply trying to justify why they were different, why they were unique. They were looking for excuses for their drinking and neither one really wanted sobriety.
Lots of people in and out of the program have psychological issues. If it's treatable and you're treating it there's no excuse for not taking responsibility for your actions and decisions. If you're an alcoholic you have a choice to make. Are you willing to "go to any lengths" for sobriety? It doesn't matter if you have a home, a wife or a job. If you keep drinking any of those things you still have will inevitably go away and experience shows us that only a bleak future awaits.
I'm not saying to be cruel or mean. But we have to be honest with the alcoholic that comes in for help, even if he's coming back for the 90th time. Our founders were honest with each other and with their "pigeons" and we can do no less for each other. If we refuse to tell another alcoholic to stop lying to himself, to get honest and start working the program we're not doing him any favors and we're not doing ourselves any favors.
If you keep drinking no one's going to hire you. If you keep drinking you won't be able to keep a home. If you keep drinking ...
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
The God Shot!
I've heard them called "God Shots." Those moments in the room when a Higher Power -- yours, mine or theirs -- acts to provide exactly what is needed at that moment. It's amazing to experience and to witness.
Shortly before I went into a meeting the other day a man I have known since I came back into the rooms came over and sat down. He just wanted my take on his reaction to an incident that had happened a week ago and that he was still carrying a resentment about. I know he has counseled with his sponsor on it. I know the circumstances and he was indeed treated badly. I also know that he got good advice on how to handle it. And despite everything he was still feeling the burn of the resentment and was scared that his old behaviors might start surfacing because of it.
There wasn't anything I could say to him beyond echoing what I know his sponsor had told him and together we walked in to the meeting.
The God Shot? The speaker scheduled for that meeting had unexpectedly canceled and another man and his wife had been asked to share the task of speaking at the meeting literally three minutes before the meeting was to start. When the guy started speaking, his story quickly turned to his handling of a resentment shortly after coming back into the rooms. The resentment he had dealt with was much a more serious, life changing event that had deeply effected his personal and recovery life.
As he described how he had worked through the resentment and put it aside by following the suggestions of his sponsor he said nothing that wasn't what had already been said to my friend. The God Shot was God speaking through this guy telling us "Don't give up. Turn to Me and let me work my miracles in you." As he was speaking I glanced toward my friend and prayed that he was hearing the same message I was. I think he did.
I know I heard and witnessed a special moment. A moment not unlike a lot of others I have seen. My God doesn't tend to talk to me in an ethereal voice from the heavens. He tends to prefer to speak to me with the voices of others who are sharing this path. For that I am grateful.
Until next time...
Shortly before I went into a meeting the other day a man I have known since I came back into the rooms came over and sat down. He just wanted my take on his reaction to an incident that had happened a week ago and that he was still carrying a resentment about. I know he has counseled with his sponsor on it. I know the circumstances and he was indeed treated badly. I also know that he got good advice on how to handle it. And despite everything he was still feeling the burn of the resentment and was scared that his old behaviors might start surfacing because of it.
There wasn't anything I could say to him beyond echoing what I know his sponsor had told him and together we walked in to the meeting.
The God Shot? The speaker scheduled for that meeting had unexpectedly canceled and another man and his wife had been asked to share the task of speaking at the meeting literally three minutes before the meeting was to start. When the guy started speaking, his story quickly turned to his handling of a resentment shortly after coming back into the rooms. The resentment he had dealt with was much a more serious, life changing event that had deeply effected his personal and recovery life.
As he described how he had worked through the resentment and put it aside by following the suggestions of his sponsor he said nothing that wasn't what had already been said to my friend. The God Shot was God speaking through this guy telling us "Don't give up. Turn to Me and let me work my miracles in you." As he was speaking I glanced toward my friend and prayed that he was hearing the same message I was. I think he did.
I know I heard and witnessed a special moment. A moment not unlike a lot of others I have seen. My God doesn't tend to talk to me in an ethereal voice from the heavens. He tends to prefer to speak to me with the voices of others who are sharing this path. For that I am grateful.
Until next time...
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Choose your slope...
I have never done any snow skiing. I do, however, enjoy watching Olympic skiing and I've seen the comedies where the newbie starts out on the "bunny slope" and somehow winds up on the expert run with the predictable slap stick results.
I bring it up because it occurs to me that somewhere in there is a pretty good analogy for how my drinking progressed. Even though I drank alcoholically for a long, long time I was one of the drunks that maintained pretty well and the downward slope I was on stayed gentle for a long time. I know a lot of people that hit the extreme slopes almost as soon as they started drinking. It wasn't that way for me.
Although I came into the rooms in 2003 it was for the wrong reasons and I tried to play AA my way, cafeteria style. Pretty soon my complacency, the lack of honest surrender to Step 1, etc., etc., let me convince myself everything was OK and I could drink "just a little." I can hear you asking now: "And how did that work out for you?"
The ensuing six years found me jumping from the green circle right past the blue squares to the double black diamonds -- do not pass Go, do not collect $200, just head for the bottom and try to not die before you get there.
What I love about analogies is that they give me an imagery that helps me better understand the subject at hand. Without using the imagery of the analogy I look back on the past 30+ years and ask those questions that will inevitably lead me back to the bottle. You know the ones. "Was is really that bad?" "Did I really drink like an alcoholic?" "Why me?"
But with the imagery I can see the gradual downward slope that led, inevitably, to the dive. I could graph it -- after all I'm a computer nerd -- and do a risk analysis on it. Just to tell me that I'm an alcoholic. I have a disease. I can never drink alcohol safely. I don't need to graph it though. the imagery helps me see it as clearly as I need.
I finally got off the slopes and can sit in the lodge with a cigar and rich coffee enjoying life while others are still out in the cold. I can stay off the slopes as long as I don't convince myself it's OK to strap on the skis again.
I bring it up because it occurs to me that somewhere in there is a pretty good analogy for how my drinking progressed. Even though I drank alcoholically for a long, long time I was one of the drunks that maintained pretty well and the downward slope I was on stayed gentle for a long time. I know a lot of people that hit the extreme slopes almost as soon as they started drinking. It wasn't that way for me.
Although I came into the rooms in 2003 it was for the wrong reasons and I tried to play AA my way, cafeteria style. Pretty soon my complacency, the lack of honest surrender to Step 1, etc., etc., let me convince myself everything was OK and I could drink "just a little." I can hear you asking now: "And how did that work out for you?"
The ensuing six years found me jumping from the green circle right past the blue squares to the double black diamonds -- do not pass Go, do not collect $200, just head for the bottom and try to not die before you get there.
What I love about analogies is that they give me an imagery that helps me better understand the subject at hand. Without using the imagery of the analogy I look back on the past 30+ years and ask those questions that will inevitably lead me back to the bottle. You know the ones. "Was is really that bad?" "Did I really drink like an alcoholic?" "Why me?"
But with the imagery I can see the gradual downward slope that led, inevitably, to the dive. I could graph it -- after all I'm a computer nerd -- and do a risk analysis on it. Just to tell me that I'm an alcoholic. I have a disease. I can never drink alcohol safely. I don't need to graph it though. the imagery helps me see it as clearly as I need.
I finally got off the slopes and can sit in the lodge with a cigar and rich coffee enjoying life while others are still out in the cold. I can stay off the slopes as long as I don't convince myself it's OK to strap on the skis again.
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