To "weigh anchor" is to bring it aboard a vessel in preparation for departure. The phrase "anchor's aweigh" is a report that the anchor is clear of the sea bottom and, therefore, the ship is officially underway. ~Wikipedia~
So, following my wife's birthday dinner last night, my youngest was in our room jabbering about whatever it is he jabbers about when he's half baked (I tend to only half listen, and in this case was half paying attention to the conversation he and she were half having while I was half reading a book and half watching television - one of those evenings, you know...), when he suddenly stopped, grinned that goofy grin of his, and stated laughingly, "I have a job." The half realizations of the half stoned...
By all the measures I've adopted to gauge milestones in my life, I think I've officially reached one. Probably a big one. My wife and I are both gainfully employed, very nearly debt-free, and have manged to raise two wonderful children who are both college graduates, both now gainfully employed, both healthy, neither in trouble with the law, burdened with unwanted progeny or encumbered in complex relationships. We have helped them build sound vessels in which to navigate the tumultuous seas of life, and they are pulling slowly away from the dock to which they've been tethered for more than two decades. Admittedly, they're still puttering around the harbor and tying back up to our craft from time to time, but like baby birds testing their wings, they will continue to flitter further and further from the nest, and soon we'll see them disappear over the horizon, headed off on their own adventure, setting their own course and guiding their own vessels through life. Fair sailing, sweethearts...
To complete this tortured analogy, I think we need to imagine ourselves players in Kevin Costner's Waterworld. You see, our "dock" is in fact nothing more than another slightly larger, slightly more solid vessel, bobbing gently on the sea of existence, anchored well but affixed firmly to nothing, for there is nothing firm to which we can or should seek to affix ourselves. And the anchor we chose to let down more than twenty years ago to stabilize ourselves while we engaged in the boat building and sailor training business is one that can be drawn up at any time. And now we are very nearly at that point where we must decide what our next destination is, hoist our sails, head our bow quartering off the prevailing breeze, and get underway. The only other choice is to sit in this same spot on the vast infinite sea of life, bobbing up and down gently at times, and storm tossed at others, but always at the mercy of whatever intentionally or unintentionally floats our way. And that would be a waste of potentially favorable breezes, no?
There has lately been a lot of talk in the news about Abby Sunderland, a 16 year-old who was raised on the water and whose parents launched her on a global circumnavigation that came up short when her mast was snapped by a giant wave. I feel sorry for her and for them as regards the aborted voyage, but am happy for both that she survived and is coming home safely. What a splendid adventure, and all I can say to the critics is, "Shut the fuck up!" My god, to have raised such a brave and competent young lady and entrusted to her such a spectacular journey speaks volumes on the positive side for the whole family. A 16 year-old young woman is in the prime of her life - Joan of Arc was heading toward leadership of an army at this age, for goodness sake. Abby's skills were certainly sufficient to the task she chose. Bad things happen in the sea of life, and even more so on the actual ocean, where giant waves not only snap small craft masts but swallow whole enormous vessels full of experienced sailors. That she was able to survive this lesson and have it inform the balance of her existence is a wonderful gift that most of us never experience - certainly at so early an age. It didn't kill her, so will make her stronger...
I pray that my two young allegorical sailors don't make the avoidance of challenge the cornerstone of their lives, but rather seek adventure and new experiences and to suck every morsel of living they can out of the brief years they've been allotted. I want them to keep their vessels solid, practice their craft and hone their skills, learn to read life's rips and eddies, understand the stars and and tides and currents and prevailing winds. I want them to chart their own courses and steer their own vessels and appreciate the diverse cultures and experiences that will come their way. And most of all, I want them to keep us posted from time to time on their whereabouts and conditions, to know that we will do the same, and that they are welcome to rendezvous from time to time wherever we happen to be in our travels, and to tie up or sail alongside for a bit if they are inclined. And if they get caught in a storm, lose their sails or masts or lines, and find themselves foundering, to know that we'll get to them if we can, and help them refit, stock up provisions, and get back underway. Because, after all, that's what we sailors do...
So, anchor is stowed and we're tacking to port. Let's do this thing...
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
Juxtaposition...
So, Thursday night my son was fiddling around on the wife's laptop at the kitchen table, and opened some conversation with me about a governmental initiative ongoing regarding shareware and piracy and BitTorrent and a bunch of other things that I really don't understand, which quickly devolved into his shouting screed against government, the futility of citizen activism, and "why the hell should I vote when there's nobody to vote for..." Ah, the angst of youth...
I'm jealous, of course, as at his age I'd only voted in one election, and then not intelligently or with any passion or great conviction. I just felt, headed into my first legal opportunity to vote and already part of the green machine, that if my employer was going to stick an M-16 in my hand, a .45 on my hip, and a few grenades hanging off my flak jacket and send me into harm's way, the least I could do before shipping out was to vote. I didn't really understand how government worked, the roles or functions of political parties or lobbyists, or much of anything else. We were only slightly beyond Viet Nam and Watergate, and the standing of government in the eyes of the average teenager or any age voter for that matter was at a record low. Maybe even lower than right now...
My boy, on the other hand, was raised in an intensely political household, grew up the son of a political activist and Congressional candidate, and was responsible for building and maintaining a campaign website that was recognized at the time by a national political magazine as one of the best in Texas. Not bad for a then 12 year old, eh?
And now my youngest offspring, a decade later and after spending his life subjected to voluminous information unimaginable in my youth, constant exposure to the 24 hour news cycle, unlimited access to commentary and dissection on every stripe of matter, and political discourse across the spectrum both electronically and in person, was sitting in my kitchen expressing a somewhat reasoned angst against politics and government and the system and "the man" that hearkened back to those halcyon days of the rock era of my youth. Man, did we have great music in the 70s, or what?
I found myself trying to calmly explain to him the sometimes subtle distinctions between battles and wars, strategy and tactics, progress and perfection, participation and apathy. These aren't easy distinctions to argue with a young man who is measurably brighter than I or his peers ever hoped to be, with a mind like a razor and a passionate indifference to the efficacy of government. Only a couple of years ago, while so many of his age group, with my and others' unsubtle encouragement, were fervently supporting the candidacy of Barack Obama, this one was dripping with cynicism and scorn for "another corporate lackey," based on the seemingly irrefutable argument that a successful participant in the corporate exercise of contemporary American politics can be nothing but. The whole notion of having to vote for "the lesser of two evils" sits and sat poorly with him, and while he did vote for my candidate, it was reluctantly, and might not be repeated any time soon.
I reminded him that, while I'd failed in my 18 month campaign, a battle I'd had with the Federal Election Commission, the immediate outcome of which precipitated the whole disastrous exercise, was ultimately decided in my favor and has significantly improved the ability for an average Joe candidate to wage such a battle going forward against entrenched and monied incumbents - no small feat. I also reminded him that another battle I'd lost on its face has resulted in a significant rewrite of Texas political petition regulations, with the end result being that dozens of local option elections which hitherto would have been defeated have proven successful over intervening years. I even reminded him that, while Barack Obama had been handily defeated in my overly red home state, that we had cut the traditional GOP victory margin in half here, potentially marking a tidal change that might help unseat the incumbent Governor and mark a major shift in the state's political course. Or maybe not...
My rationale for making all these arguments was to try and encourage the lad to retain some focus and to remain involved and to care - something he's never been too big at. Which made me recall that my own apathy at his age and for more than a decade beyond was born of ignorance - a lack of concern coupled with a relative lack of information. And I then realized that his is born of the exact opposite - too much exposure, information, understanding. And yet both sets of contributing factors had brought us to not so different situations - my voting blindly in relative ignorance only because I felt it was my duty, and his refusing to participate in a dirty system over a too fine understanding of its reality. Neither being a healthy approach or winning recipe for the maintenance of a civil society...
And the final thought I had walking away from this exchange was a sense of wondering at exactly what point I had developed the patience and acceptance of nuance and imperfection that is the hallmark of an old man. And pondering whether somehow the distinction between knowledge and wisdom might somehow be contained in the answer to that question. And imagining what sort of man my son would grow up to be, and the nature of the world he would come of age in. And I remembered back to the cynicism of my own youth when I was of the conviction that bringing a child into the shitty world I lived in back then would be tantamount to a mortal sin. And I wondered how different we really are, and how much alike...
I'm jealous, of course, as at his age I'd only voted in one election, and then not intelligently or with any passion or great conviction. I just felt, headed into my first legal opportunity to vote and already part of the green machine, that if my employer was going to stick an M-16 in my hand, a .45 on my hip, and a few grenades hanging off my flak jacket and send me into harm's way, the least I could do before shipping out was to vote. I didn't really understand how government worked, the roles or functions of political parties or lobbyists, or much of anything else. We were only slightly beyond Viet Nam and Watergate, and the standing of government in the eyes of the average teenager or any age voter for that matter was at a record low. Maybe even lower than right now...
My boy, on the other hand, was raised in an intensely political household, grew up the son of a political activist and Congressional candidate, and was responsible for building and maintaining a campaign website that was recognized at the time by a national political magazine as one of the best in Texas. Not bad for a then 12 year old, eh?
And now my youngest offspring, a decade later and after spending his life subjected to voluminous information unimaginable in my youth, constant exposure to the 24 hour news cycle, unlimited access to commentary and dissection on every stripe of matter, and political discourse across the spectrum both electronically and in person, was sitting in my kitchen expressing a somewhat reasoned angst against politics and government and the system and "the man" that hearkened back to those halcyon days of the rock era of my youth. Man, did we have great music in the 70s, or what?
I found myself trying to calmly explain to him the sometimes subtle distinctions between battles and wars, strategy and tactics, progress and perfection, participation and apathy. These aren't easy distinctions to argue with a young man who is measurably brighter than I or his peers ever hoped to be, with a mind like a razor and a passionate indifference to the efficacy of government. Only a couple of years ago, while so many of his age group, with my and others' unsubtle encouragement, were fervently supporting the candidacy of Barack Obama, this one was dripping with cynicism and scorn for "another corporate lackey," based on the seemingly irrefutable argument that a successful participant in the corporate exercise of contemporary American politics can be nothing but. The whole notion of having to vote for "the lesser of two evils" sits and sat poorly with him, and while he did vote for my candidate, it was reluctantly, and might not be repeated any time soon.
I reminded him that, while I'd failed in my 18 month campaign, a battle I'd had with the Federal Election Commission, the immediate outcome of which precipitated the whole disastrous exercise, was ultimately decided in my favor and has significantly improved the ability for an average Joe candidate to wage such a battle going forward against entrenched and monied incumbents - no small feat. I also reminded him that another battle I'd lost on its face has resulted in a significant rewrite of Texas political petition regulations, with the end result being that dozens of local option elections which hitherto would have been defeated have proven successful over intervening years. I even reminded him that, while Barack Obama had been handily defeated in my overly red home state, that we had cut the traditional GOP victory margin in half here, potentially marking a tidal change that might help unseat the incumbent Governor and mark a major shift in the state's political course. Or maybe not...
My rationale for making all these arguments was to try and encourage the lad to retain some focus and to remain involved and to care - something he's never been too big at. Which made me recall that my own apathy at his age and for more than a decade beyond was born of ignorance - a lack of concern coupled with a relative lack of information. And I then realized that his is born of the exact opposite - too much exposure, information, understanding. And yet both sets of contributing factors had brought us to not so different situations - my voting blindly in relative ignorance only because I felt it was my duty, and his refusing to participate in a dirty system over a too fine understanding of its reality. Neither being a healthy approach or winning recipe for the maintenance of a civil society...
And the final thought I had walking away from this exchange was a sense of wondering at exactly what point I had developed the patience and acceptance of nuance and imperfection that is the hallmark of an old man. And pondering whether somehow the distinction between knowledge and wisdom might somehow be contained in the answer to that question. And imagining what sort of man my son would grow up to be, and the nature of the world he would come of age in. And I remembered back to the cynicism of my own youth when I was of the conviction that bringing a child into the shitty world I lived in back then would be tantamount to a mortal sin. And I wondered how different we really are, and how much alike...
Saturday, June 12, 2010
You win some...
So, kind of a frustrating week at work. Yes, I know I don't blog about work, except it was my font of enlightenment this week. Life is like a box of chocolates, you know?
My business, by the way, is human trafficking. Yes, really. In my professional life I'm an executive recruiter - a headhunter in everyday parlance. Its been an interesting and sometimes lucrative gig, but obviously tough in an economy that spent last year shedding jobs at a record pace, with this year seeing an uptick, but only slightly. Now we're eating bugs instead of sawdust, if you catch my drift. Enough to live on but nowhere near enough to thrive on. Our industry has shed roughly half the folks who were in it at the start of 2008, and not a one is eating as well as they were back then. It is a tough job in the best of circumstances, and these aren't those...
Anyway, Thursday morning we were nearing the end of a long week of negotiations on a high-level deal I was brokering. In my business these days, every deal is tedious. Clients are reluctant to spend top dollar in a market that is supposedly awash in qualified desperate talent, and candidates are busting their humps trying to get all they can from the deal, reluctant to cheaply turn loose of their bird in the hand, if you catch my drift. Trying to get all they can from someone who doesn't want to spend a penny more than required. Are you feeling the disconnect yet?
This project was made more tedious by the fact that the hiring company, while strongly financed, is effectively a start-up in a very precarious sector in which the talent pool is quite sparse, and the candidate they'd finally settled on was passive - meaning he is gainfully and securely employed by a sound company and wasn't looking for a new opportunity when I found him, with very strong compensation and benefits, and with no real threat to his position. To use the a sock-hop analogy, he was the handsomest boy in the room by far, albeit one quiet and quite comfortable standing in the corner by himself watching everyone else spinning and gyrating and making fools of themselves on the dance floor...
Without going into details, he knocked the socks off his suitor, to the degree their socks were knockable. They had multiple visits by phone and in person, and a love fest ensued. Earlier in the year they'd settled on two other prospects not from my stable, but had been unsuccessful in their approach to either, which is why I was invited into the game. This go-round they informed me they had settled on my candidate, setting aside other contenders and confident they could get him into bed or up to the altar or both. Neither party would be super specific in how far they were willing to go to get the deal done, as, if you'll recall, the buyer is reluctant to pay and the seller is reluctant to sell. He was open about his top concerns, and these were shared with the client, who crafted a fairly generous offer for the market and their richest to date by far. Unfortunately, it only responded weakly to his three major concerns, while offering a few perks that he liked but hadn't asked for, and which he didn't value overly highly. Uh-oh...
Without boring you to death with detail, suffice to say that the week which could and should have been spent in hearty celebration of a deal well done instead devolved into protracted and intense bargaining, with both parties talking past each other, acting on their own fears and concerns rather than listening closely to the other and seeking to find a workable middle ground. Sort of like Washington, now that I think of it...
On Thursday morning, while conversing with my client, he said, "You must have the worst job in the world. You get the right people together, share information as best you can to help make the deal work, but in the end you have absolutely no control over the outcome. None." Welcome to my world...
In my last conversation with the candidate yesterday, he told me I'd been wonderful to work with, that it had been an interesting experience, and shared his view that nobody had lost anything in the process. In the end the client had just proven unwilling to adequately address his concerns. The client indicated that they remain impressed with my work - said that he was proud of their effort and of the package they'd offered, which was indeed impressive, and that the candidate was unreasonable. And so, after a process which took more than three weeks of intensive closing activity following a months-long search, the candidate was right where he started with little likelihood of advancing his career in the exponential manner this opportunity afforded. The clients, proud of their steadfastness, remain without a Chief Operating Officer. And I am left in the dust with nothing to show for my efforts...
I told a few friends yesterday evening that I really wished I still drank, as this would definitely have been one of those evenings, if ever there was one. Instead, I sat in my Friday night AA meeting and listened more closely than usual to the Serenity Prayer we open with: "God, grant me the serenity to accept those things I cannot change, the strength to change those things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."
Amen.
My business, by the way, is human trafficking. Yes, really. In my professional life I'm an executive recruiter - a headhunter in everyday parlance. Its been an interesting and sometimes lucrative gig, but obviously tough in an economy that spent last year shedding jobs at a record pace, with this year seeing an uptick, but only slightly. Now we're eating bugs instead of sawdust, if you catch my drift. Enough to live on but nowhere near enough to thrive on. Our industry has shed roughly half the folks who were in it at the start of 2008, and not a one is eating as well as they were back then. It is a tough job in the best of circumstances, and these aren't those...
Anyway, Thursday morning we were nearing the end of a long week of negotiations on a high-level deal I was brokering. In my business these days, every deal is tedious. Clients are reluctant to spend top dollar in a market that is supposedly awash in qualified desperate talent, and candidates are busting their humps trying to get all they can from the deal, reluctant to cheaply turn loose of their bird in the hand, if you catch my drift. Trying to get all they can from someone who doesn't want to spend a penny more than required. Are you feeling the disconnect yet?
This project was made more tedious by the fact that the hiring company, while strongly financed, is effectively a start-up in a very precarious sector in which the talent pool is quite sparse, and the candidate they'd finally settled on was passive - meaning he is gainfully and securely employed by a sound company and wasn't looking for a new opportunity when I found him, with very strong compensation and benefits, and with no real threat to his position. To use the a sock-hop analogy, he was the handsomest boy in the room by far, albeit one quiet and quite comfortable standing in the corner by himself watching everyone else spinning and gyrating and making fools of themselves on the dance floor...
Without going into details, he knocked the socks off his suitor, to the degree their socks were knockable. They had multiple visits by phone and in person, and a love fest ensued. Earlier in the year they'd settled on two other prospects not from my stable, but had been unsuccessful in their approach to either, which is why I was invited into the game. This go-round they informed me they had settled on my candidate, setting aside other contenders and confident they could get him into bed or up to the altar or both. Neither party would be super specific in how far they were willing to go to get the deal done, as, if you'll recall, the buyer is reluctant to pay and the seller is reluctant to sell. He was open about his top concerns, and these were shared with the client, who crafted a fairly generous offer for the market and their richest to date by far. Unfortunately, it only responded weakly to his three major concerns, while offering a few perks that he liked but hadn't asked for, and which he didn't value overly highly. Uh-oh...
Without boring you to death with detail, suffice to say that the week which could and should have been spent in hearty celebration of a deal well done instead devolved into protracted and intense bargaining, with both parties talking past each other, acting on their own fears and concerns rather than listening closely to the other and seeking to find a workable middle ground. Sort of like Washington, now that I think of it...
On Thursday morning, while conversing with my client, he said, "You must have the worst job in the world. You get the right people together, share information as best you can to help make the deal work, but in the end you have absolutely no control over the outcome. None." Welcome to my world...
In my last conversation with the candidate yesterday, he told me I'd been wonderful to work with, that it had been an interesting experience, and shared his view that nobody had lost anything in the process. In the end the client had just proven unwilling to adequately address his concerns. The client indicated that they remain impressed with my work - said that he was proud of their effort and of the package they'd offered, which was indeed impressive, and that the candidate was unreasonable. And so, after a process which took more than three weeks of intensive closing activity following a months-long search, the candidate was right where he started with little likelihood of advancing his career in the exponential manner this opportunity afforded. The clients, proud of their steadfastness, remain without a Chief Operating Officer. And I am left in the dust with nothing to show for my efforts...
I told a few friends yesterday evening that I really wished I still drank, as this would definitely have been one of those evenings, if ever there was one. Instead, I sat in my Friday night AA meeting and listened more closely than usual to the Serenity Prayer we open with: "God, grant me the serenity to accept those things I cannot change, the strength to change those things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."
Amen.
Friday, June 4, 2010
On God and stuff...
I begin by apologizing for taking last weekend off. I know a few of you really look forward to seeing what sort of drivel I'll spew each weekend - hope you found a satisfactory substitute. It was Memorial Day weekend after all, and we have been having a bit of a rocky time around the old homestead, and the Mineral Wells Trailway did beckon me and my bicycle, and...well, sometimes, we all just need to take a break from whatever habits we form, be they good or bad. Habits, I think, are by definition confining - sometimes comforting and sometimes destructive, but in any case limiting if we allow them to be. But here I am, back for another round...
So, I'm pretty sure that way back toward the beginning of this thing I probably mentioned the corollaries between AA and Buddhism. Yes? Now I always fret a bit about describing myself as a Buddhist, because I have friends who are real Buddhists - sitting zazen and reading sutras and following the Noble Eightfold Path. I'm not one of these, and may never be. And I'm sure I have alcoholic friends who will argue whether I am an alcoholic at all, given that when I finally decided to quit I quit, and that while few who knew me prior to a year ago would recognize me without a drink of some sort in hand or nearby, thankfully far fewer ever saw me totally shit-faced, which didn't happen often but was never a pretty sight. Or experience. For me or anyone near me. My alcoholic doubter friends are, as a general rule, not in the program...
The appeal to me of both AA and Buddhism, and even more so Taoism, which probably more accurately describes my spiritual path, is that they are decidedly non-hierarchical, have suggested readings and texts but nothing accepted rigidly as the infallible scripture, and have rules, if you can call them that, which are so simple and malleable they hardly count as rules as all. Nobody baptizes you into the fold, and nobody can kick you out. The whole load is on me, or you, the individual practitioner, and we own alone whatever successes or failures we achieve in either medium. Pretty empowering, huh? If we do well in these circumstances, its a major ego-boost, right?
Which is interesting, because the most crucial corollaries between recovery from addiction and The Path are a heightened sense of awareness and the absolute elimination of the ego. These are the objectives, anyway. Now some in AA might argue with me on this, and as I don't argue this could prove frustrating. Sorry...
We hear in our meeting rooms with great regularity, "Give it over to God." For those of us successfully recovering in the program but who aren't believers in a conventional God model, though, what many of us hear is, "Get out of yourself already." The God thing can be a real challenge for many, and I think that's too bad, because the point is not so much to have a powerful omnipotent vigilant being to watch over us and take up our individual burdens when the need arises, as it is to recognize and admit our insignificance and inability to, on our own, overcome the vast forces of the universe outside of our selves, or the greater challenge of the ego we confuse as our selves. So, the ego is the enemy, and full awareness is our ability to recognize the enemy when it rears its head, ignore it as the fallacy it is, and accept our connectedness with the universe in all its manifestations. I guess I've often thought of the separate stand-alone God man created in his image to be sort of a manifestation of humanity's ego, but that's probably a philosophical discussion best left for another time.
So, what's my point? Well...
As I am rapidly approaching the one year anniversary of committing to making alcohol powerless over me, and accepting myself to be powerless over alcohol without help, I continue to stumble soberly along the spiritual path, seeking a keener understanding of myself, an awareness of and growing disdain for my ego, a sense of connection with all manifestations of the universe, a desire for a simpler and saner life coupled with a grudging acceptance of the one I have. Daily I come upon answers to questions asked and unasked, but each one spawns another. It is as when we develop more powerful telescopes and microscopes and other investigative tools and techniques, and come to realize that the better we see, the more there is to see. I detect no lessening of this phenomenon in my own physical or spiritual life, nor in the endless quest for understanding that too small a contingent of mankind is engaged in. And so, recognizing the incredibly finite nature of my mortal existence, and hoping to derive as much from it and contribute as much to it as I can, I am settling comfortably onto the path which reveals itself to me each day, a path which is connected to all other paths, which connects me to all other beings, which meanders through and is dependent on the totality of the universe seen and unseen. And I am committing myself to being grateful every day for the gift of my human life, for self-awareness despite the fallacy of the self, and for a mind and spirit that allows me to put it all in a wonderful wondrous harmonious context and to marvel at its fantastic intricacies.
In closing, let me say that in sharing these meager thoughts I do not intend to belittle any reader's belief in some particular manifestation of God. I am comfortable in my own lack of understanding of the unknown and unknowable, and pray the same for all my friends. For some God is Allah, and for others the Judeo-Christian God as portrayed by Charlton Heston or James Caviezel; for some Vishnu or one of his pantheon of lesser Gods. Many consider earth to be God, or Mother Nature. My wife, who was raised Jewish, is certain that God is a Golden Retriever, and who am I to say otherwise? The point is that, for the addict or alcoholic, or really for anyone of curious mind and searching spirit, the image we conjure up to establish a relationship with our higher power is insignificant relative to our having that relationship. I love to paraphrase a quote I once read but can't now lay my hands on, attributed to Buddha, perhaps from his dialogue with Ananthapindika, in which the Buddha is reported to have said, "There is so much in life that we can know, and so much that we can never know - it is best to focus on that which we can know."
Following is a light rewrite of the traditional 12 steps that I generated in my earliest days, to help me get beyond the "God thing" which too many in need find a barrier to joining the program that has helped so many. If it helps you, feel free to adopt it as you own.
12 Steps to Sobriety for Non-Christians, Atheists and Agnostics
1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
3. Made a decision to align our will and our lives with our Higher Power.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5. Admitted to our Higher Power, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
6. Became entirely ready to allow total alignment with our Higher Power to eliminate all our defects of character.
7. Humbly aligned ourselves with our Higher Power to remove our shortcomings.
8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10. Continued to take personal inventory and, when we were wrong, promptly admitted it.
11. Sought through study and meditation to improve our alignment with our Higher Power, seeking only knowledge of our proper role in the Universe and the power to carry that out.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these Steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
So, I'm pretty sure that way back toward the beginning of this thing I probably mentioned the corollaries between AA and Buddhism. Yes? Now I always fret a bit about describing myself as a Buddhist, because I have friends who are real Buddhists - sitting zazen and reading sutras and following the Noble Eightfold Path. I'm not one of these, and may never be. And I'm sure I have alcoholic friends who will argue whether I am an alcoholic at all, given that when I finally decided to quit I quit, and that while few who knew me prior to a year ago would recognize me without a drink of some sort in hand or nearby, thankfully far fewer ever saw me totally shit-faced, which didn't happen often but was never a pretty sight. Or experience. For me or anyone near me. My alcoholic doubter friends are, as a general rule, not in the program...
The appeal to me of both AA and Buddhism, and even more so Taoism, which probably more accurately describes my spiritual path, is that they are decidedly non-hierarchical, have suggested readings and texts but nothing accepted rigidly as the infallible scripture, and have rules, if you can call them that, which are so simple and malleable they hardly count as rules as all. Nobody baptizes you into the fold, and nobody can kick you out. The whole load is on me, or you, the individual practitioner, and we own alone whatever successes or failures we achieve in either medium. Pretty empowering, huh? If we do well in these circumstances, its a major ego-boost, right?
Which is interesting, because the most crucial corollaries between recovery from addiction and The Path are a heightened sense of awareness and the absolute elimination of the ego. These are the objectives, anyway. Now some in AA might argue with me on this, and as I don't argue this could prove frustrating. Sorry...
We hear in our meeting rooms with great regularity, "Give it over to God." For those of us successfully recovering in the program but who aren't believers in a conventional God model, though, what many of us hear is, "Get out of yourself already." The God thing can be a real challenge for many, and I think that's too bad, because the point is not so much to have a powerful omnipotent vigilant being to watch over us and take up our individual burdens when the need arises, as it is to recognize and admit our insignificance and inability to, on our own, overcome the vast forces of the universe outside of our selves, or the greater challenge of the ego we confuse as our selves. So, the ego is the enemy, and full awareness is our ability to recognize the enemy when it rears its head, ignore it as the fallacy it is, and accept our connectedness with the universe in all its manifestations. I guess I've often thought of the separate stand-alone God man created in his image to be sort of a manifestation of humanity's ego, but that's probably a philosophical discussion best left for another time.
So, what's my point? Well...
As I am rapidly approaching the one year anniversary of committing to making alcohol powerless over me, and accepting myself to be powerless over alcohol without help, I continue to stumble soberly along the spiritual path, seeking a keener understanding of myself, an awareness of and growing disdain for my ego, a sense of connection with all manifestations of the universe, a desire for a simpler and saner life coupled with a grudging acceptance of the one I have. Daily I come upon answers to questions asked and unasked, but each one spawns another. It is as when we develop more powerful telescopes and microscopes and other investigative tools and techniques, and come to realize that the better we see, the more there is to see. I detect no lessening of this phenomenon in my own physical or spiritual life, nor in the endless quest for understanding that too small a contingent of mankind is engaged in. And so, recognizing the incredibly finite nature of my mortal existence, and hoping to derive as much from it and contribute as much to it as I can, I am settling comfortably onto the path which reveals itself to me each day, a path which is connected to all other paths, which connects me to all other beings, which meanders through and is dependent on the totality of the universe seen and unseen. And I am committing myself to being grateful every day for the gift of my human life, for self-awareness despite the fallacy of the self, and for a mind and spirit that allows me to put it all in a wonderful wondrous harmonious context and to marvel at its fantastic intricacies.
In closing, let me say that in sharing these meager thoughts I do not intend to belittle any reader's belief in some particular manifestation of God. I am comfortable in my own lack of understanding of the unknown and unknowable, and pray the same for all my friends. For some God is Allah, and for others the Judeo-Christian God as portrayed by Charlton Heston or James Caviezel; for some Vishnu or one of his pantheon of lesser Gods. Many consider earth to be God, or Mother Nature. My wife, who was raised Jewish, is certain that God is a Golden Retriever, and who am I to say otherwise? The point is that, for the addict or alcoholic, or really for anyone of curious mind and searching spirit, the image we conjure up to establish a relationship with our higher power is insignificant relative to our having that relationship. I love to paraphrase a quote I once read but can't now lay my hands on, attributed to Buddha, perhaps from his dialogue with Ananthapindika, in which the Buddha is reported to have said, "There is so much in life that we can know, and so much that we can never know - it is best to focus on that which we can know."
Following is a light rewrite of the traditional 12 steps that I generated in my earliest days, to help me get beyond the "God thing" which too many in need find a barrier to joining the program that has helped so many. If it helps you, feel free to adopt it as you own.
12 Steps to Sobriety for Non-Christians, Atheists and Agnostics
1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
3. Made a decision to align our will and our lives with our Higher Power.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5. Admitted to our Higher Power, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
6. Became entirely ready to allow total alignment with our Higher Power to eliminate all our defects of character.
7. Humbly aligned ourselves with our Higher Power to remove our shortcomings.
8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10. Continued to take personal inventory and, when we were wrong, promptly admitted it.
11. Sought through study and meditation to improve our alignment with our Higher Power, seeking only knowledge of our proper role in the Universe and the power to carry that out.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these Steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
A Suit of Armor...
So, I've known for a long time that I'm more than a little weird. I have shared that already, yes? Okay, good. I thought so...
Apparently my therapist and my wife's therapist are in cahoots, because they've both determined without collaborating that I live inside a very robust suit of armor. Heck, I guess even my older Sis' therapist figured that out a long time ago, although in reference to my father - the tree from which I didn't fall too far. I've never questioned him on how he came to be the way he is, and am not at all certain that particular analysis might be true. I always felt him to be warm and caring toward me. Can a suit of armor be semi-permeable? Hmmm...
Anyway, this is all something of a revelation for me that I'm having to deal with, and its not easy. Only a short while ago, if you had asked me whether I was open and warm and caring, I'd have said yes without hesitation. I really do have a deep sense of empathy, feel the pain of others, am not ashamed to shed a tear. Just shed one this morning, in fact, over a story a Facebook friend wrote for a national magazine.
I fret over the fate of mankind - constantly. I hurt for victims of war and pestilence and natural disaster. If I come across an accident, I am the first out of my car trying to render aid. If a co-worker suffers a loss, the destruction of a relationship, some personal pain or suffering - I'm the first to lend comfort. Hell, I've been known to cry when shipping a puppy off to a good home. So, I'm a warm caring softie, yes? Well, maybe not so much...
I first came to realize some disturbing facets of my character back around the time of my initial semi-breakdown in the spring of '08. I had run myself a bit too ragged in the early grass-roots stages of the Obama campaign - keeping too long hours juggling campaign obligations and work, drinking too much, eating too little and too poorly, carrying more of a burden than was perhaps prudent. Most critically, I had let my energy reserves run so low that I found myself huddled in almost a ball in my bedroom, crying inconsolably, feeling lost and confused and afraid, and I'm pretty sure I was most afraid of me. Energy reserves, I know now, are very important - just to get through life and maintain some sort of mental and spiritual balance, and even more so if you have the added task of generating and maintaining an impregnable suit of psychic armor. Of course, when you don't know you have this armor thing going on, its kind of hard to focus on maintaining it...
So, what was my epiphany? Which I didn't recognize as an epiphany at the time? That I love mankind as a whole, but have little patience for individual human beings. I apparently make exceptions for strangers in pain, but these exceptions are temporary and only for strangers. And, if you're someone I really should care about - someone who loves me and truly cares for me, in whose life I play a central role and who should be able to rely on me for support? Look somewhere else. I'm too busy emoting about the world to care about you. Besides, you've been around me enough you should have picked up my strength. You should be resilient and strong and self-reliant, not some simpering weakling looking to me for support. I've got more important concerns to address. Hmmm... Can you say, "Asshole?"
Mahatma Gandhi famously said, "Be the change you want to see." I've always described myself as a "forest person" rather than a "tree person," and I think that remains largely true. However, I'm slowly coming to realize that I'm not God. Quite a letdown, let me tell you. In the end, I'm just another tree in the forest, and a pretty fucked up one at that. I may stand taller than the trees around me, and I may have developed the ability to generate some really lush foliage, but at the end of the day, I'm just another tree, and one with some really severe structural issues that need to be addressed. I'm working on them...
And, while my first responsibility is to be as strong and healthy a tree as I can be, I need to be considerate of the trees around me, the saplings below me, the soil in which we all grow. And I need to remind myself constantly that the health of the forest, to the slight degree I can affect it, depends on me being the best steward I can be of the gifts I've been given, and to do everything that I can to ensure the health and growth of those trees nearest me. My sphere of influence is very finite, but strongest right where I stand and nearby. And how brilliant was it for me to think I could ensure the health of the forest while my own spot was rotten and withering?
So, my lesson of the week is to remember that I'm not God, which I have to tell you is a real letdown. Oh, I mentioned that already? Yes, but still...
And so I have to take off this armor, this ego, this cloying fear-filled sense of self that won't let others near me and won't let me share of myself. And I need to set it aside. I've known this, conceptually and intellectually, for some time, and have been working on it sporadically and rationally. And half-heartedly. But it takes quite a bit more than this. Actually, a lot more than this. It takes the full focus of the body, mind, and spirit. It is an intense emotional and spiritual exercise, but one I know I can do. If I can just figure out how to get these buckles undone on this damn heavy sweltering constraining suit of armor. Hey, not as easy as it sounds, smart ass. We trees don't have opposable thumbs, you know?
Apparently my therapist and my wife's therapist are in cahoots, because they've both determined without collaborating that I live inside a very robust suit of armor. Heck, I guess even my older Sis' therapist figured that out a long time ago, although in reference to my father - the tree from which I didn't fall too far. I've never questioned him on how he came to be the way he is, and am not at all certain that particular analysis might be true. I always felt him to be warm and caring toward me. Can a suit of armor be semi-permeable? Hmmm...
Anyway, this is all something of a revelation for me that I'm having to deal with, and its not easy. Only a short while ago, if you had asked me whether I was open and warm and caring, I'd have said yes without hesitation. I really do have a deep sense of empathy, feel the pain of others, am not ashamed to shed a tear. Just shed one this morning, in fact, over a story a Facebook friend wrote for a national magazine.
I fret over the fate of mankind - constantly. I hurt for victims of war and pestilence and natural disaster. If I come across an accident, I am the first out of my car trying to render aid. If a co-worker suffers a loss, the destruction of a relationship, some personal pain or suffering - I'm the first to lend comfort. Hell, I've been known to cry when shipping a puppy off to a good home. So, I'm a warm caring softie, yes? Well, maybe not so much...
I first came to realize some disturbing facets of my character back around the time of my initial semi-breakdown in the spring of '08. I had run myself a bit too ragged in the early grass-roots stages of the Obama campaign - keeping too long hours juggling campaign obligations and work, drinking too much, eating too little and too poorly, carrying more of a burden than was perhaps prudent. Most critically, I had let my energy reserves run so low that I found myself huddled in almost a ball in my bedroom, crying inconsolably, feeling lost and confused and afraid, and I'm pretty sure I was most afraid of me. Energy reserves, I know now, are very important - just to get through life and maintain some sort of mental and spiritual balance, and even more so if you have the added task of generating and maintaining an impregnable suit of psychic armor. Of course, when you don't know you have this armor thing going on, its kind of hard to focus on maintaining it...
So, what was my epiphany? Which I didn't recognize as an epiphany at the time? That I love mankind as a whole, but have little patience for individual human beings. I apparently make exceptions for strangers in pain, but these exceptions are temporary and only for strangers. And, if you're someone I really should care about - someone who loves me and truly cares for me, in whose life I play a central role and who should be able to rely on me for support? Look somewhere else. I'm too busy emoting about the world to care about you. Besides, you've been around me enough you should have picked up my strength. You should be resilient and strong and self-reliant, not some simpering weakling looking to me for support. I've got more important concerns to address. Hmmm... Can you say, "Asshole?"
Mahatma Gandhi famously said, "Be the change you want to see." I've always described myself as a "forest person" rather than a "tree person," and I think that remains largely true. However, I'm slowly coming to realize that I'm not God. Quite a letdown, let me tell you. In the end, I'm just another tree in the forest, and a pretty fucked up one at that. I may stand taller than the trees around me, and I may have developed the ability to generate some really lush foliage, but at the end of the day, I'm just another tree, and one with some really severe structural issues that need to be addressed. I'm working on them...
And, while my first responsibility is to be as strong and healthy a tree as I can be, I need to be considerate of the trees around me, the saplings below me, the soil in which we all grow. And I need to remind myself constantly that the health of the forest, to the slight degree I can affect it, depends on me being the best steward I can be of the gifts I've been given, and to do everything that I can to ensure the health and growth of those trees nearest me. My sphere of influence is very finite, but strongest right where I stand and nearby. And how brilliant was it for me to think I could ensure the health of the forest while my own spot was rotten and withering?
So, my lesson of the week is to remember that I'm not God, which I have to tell you is a real letdown. Oh, I mentioned that already? Yes, but still...
And so I have to take off this armor, this ego, this cloying fear-filled sense of self that won't let others near me and won't let me share of myself. And I need to set it aside. I've known this, conceptually and intellectually, for some time, and have been working on it sporadically and rationally. And half-heartedly. But it takes quite a bit more than this. Actually, a lot more than this. It takes the full focus of the body, mind, and spirit. It is an intense emotional and spiritual exercise, but one I know I can do. If I can just figure out how to get these buckles undone on this damn heavy sweltering constraining suit of armor. Hey, not as easy as it sounds, smart ass. We trees don't have opposable thumbs, you know?
Saturday, May 15, 2010
...and smell the roses
Having just this morning finished reading Stephen King's Under the Dome, I am reminded once again how much I have to be grateful for, and how rarely I truly am. To live a life that affords me the leisure hours to enjoy more than 1,000 pages of fiction, in a country and a world that allows King and armies of other artists to engage in creative activities that have nothing to do with providing food, shelter or clothing, but which bring endless enjoyment to so many? I mean, how lucky are we, and how lucky am I? Very, very, very...and never sufficiently appreciative.
Reading King's book I am reminded of how much we have, and how much can go wrong in life. Sure, it's science fiction, but he draws from many plausible aspects of reality. Like, how would our lives be if we really had a truly self-serving despotic government, insufficient air or water or food for survival, insufficient energy to run our businesses or cook our food or warm our homes, non-existent police protection, or worse - law enforcement bent not on protecting freedom and rights, but on subverting these. I and we are fortunate to live a modern and actually quite challenge-free existence, compared to what King depicts, but also compared to the reality that too much of humanity still faces on a daily basis. So...
So, how does life bless me? Let me count the ways:
1. I am alive as a human being. In a universe that is endless in every measure, I have the good fortune of being composed of just the right elements in just the right configuration under just the right environmental circumstance to be a human being. I am allowed to be self-aware, to be able to seek and understand the deeper meanings of my life, of God and the infinite, of history, of science and all the material and energy and non-material aspects of existence, and to manipulate much of this to my own end. All of humanity that has ever existed or will ever exist comprises less than a single grain of sand in the endless ocean of the cosmos, and yet I get to be part of this human experience, if only for a nanosecond in the infinite life of the universe. How cool is that? How much greater a blessing could one ask for?
2. I have a family and friends who love me, despite my myriad flaws and weaknesses and frailties and shortcomings; who recognize and respect me for who I am, forgive my transgressions, share my hopes and dreams, bolster me when I’m down and humble me when I’m a bit too up, and who allow me the to play the same role in their lives.
3. I have material wealth and comfort and freedom beyond the imaginings of even royalty less than a millennium past, have never suffered a single moment of true hunger or thirst, nor felt the relentless and inescapable exposure to the many ravages that nature can bring against us puny mortals.
4. I have my health, which now includes my sobriety. And as the old Yiddish Bubbes would say, “When you have your health, you have everything.”
Certainly, I have much more than these few things of which to be grateful, but I think these will suffice for now. I think it is entirely possible that one could obsess over enumerating all of the many things for which we could or should be grateful, to the point that we run out of time to actually enjoy the experience of being grateful. I should know, as I’ve done only the tiniest bit of the former and virtually none of the latter…
So, as I proceed through this day, and hopefully every day that follows, I am going to try and recognize and be thankful for the blessing of being an imperfect human – part of an imperfect species among a universe of imperfect species, part of an imperfect family among a planet of imperfect families, living in an imperfect state in an imperfect country on an imperfect planet floating through an imperfect solar system in a universe comprised entirely of imperfect solar systems and planets and species and countries and states and families and individuals. And all of these are part of an incredibly perfect universe. I will be grateful, because I’m pretty damn sure that, at the end of the day, life just doesn’t get any better than this!
Carpe diem!
Reading King's book I am reminded of how much we have, and how much can go wrong in life. Sure, it's science fiction, but he draws from many plausible aspects of reality. Like, how would our lives be if we really had a truly self-serving despotic government, insufficient air or water or food for survival, insufficient energy to run our businesses or cook our food or warm our homes, non-existent police protection, or worse - law enforcement bent not on protecting freedom and rights, but on subverting these. I and we are fortunate to live a modern and actually quite challenge-free existence, compared to what King depicts, but also compared to the reality that too much of humanity still faces on a daily basis. So...
So, how does life bless me? Let me count the ways:
1. I am alive as a human being. In a universe that is endless in every measure, I have the good fortune of being composed of just the right elements in just the right configuration under just the right environmental circumstance to be a human being. I am allowed to be self-aware, to be able to seek and understand the deeper meanings of my life, of God and the infinite, of history, of science and all the material and energy and non-material aspects of existence, and to manipulate much of this to my own end. All of humanity that has ever existed or will ever exist comprises less than a single grain of sand in the endless ocean of the cosmos, and yet I get to be part of this human experience, if only for a nanosecond in the infinite life of the universe. How cool is that? How much greater a blessing could one ask for?
2. I have a family and friends who love me, despite my myriad flaws and weaknesses and frailties and shortcomings; who recognize and respect me for who I am, forgive my transgressions, share my hopes and dreams, bolster me when I’m down and humble me when I’m a bit too up, and who allow me the to play the same role in their lives.
3. I have material wealth and comfort and freedom beyond the imaginings of even royalty less than a millennium past, have never suffered a single moment of true hunger or thirst, nor felt the relentless and inescapable exposure to the many ravages that nature can bring against us puny mortals.
4. I have my health, which now includes my sobriety. And as the old Yiddish Bubbes would say, “When you have your health, you have everything.”
Certainly, I have much more than these few things of which to be grateful, but I think these will suffice for now. I think it is entirely possible that one could obsess over enumerating all of the many things for which we could or should be grateful, to the point that we run out of time to actually enjoy the experience of being grateful. I should know, as I’ve done only the tiniest bit of the former and virtually none of the latter…
So, as I proceed through this day, and hopefully every day that follows, I am going to try and recognize and be thankful for the blessing of being an imperfect human – part of an imperfect species among a universe of imperfect species, part of an imperfect family among a planet of imperfect families, living in an imperfect state in an imperfect country on an imperfect planet floating through an imperfect solar system in a universe comprised entirely of imperfect solar systems and planets and species and countries and states and families and individuals. And all of these are part of an incredibly perfect universe. I will be grateful, because I’m pretty damn sure that, at the end of the day, life just doesn’t get any better than this!
Carpe diem!
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Life Sux, and then...
So, I’m a month and a few days shy of completing my first year of sobriety. A few days ago we suffered the first death of someone I knew in my AA group, although I know there will be many more to come. Actually, we’ve had several die recently – most of them, thankfully, of old age or natural causes. At least as natural as the ravaged body of an alcoholic will allow. Not this one, though. Only forty years old, good looking and healthy in appearance, and with a young daughter he loved dearly. Too soon. Too young. Too sad…
I’m no stranger to death – have been intimate with it for most of my life - perhaps more so than many of similar age and background. Since my teen years I’ve buried many – strangers and relatives and old friends and new, from natural causes and murders and accidents and suicides and sickness. I really don’t fear death – haven’t for some time. But, as one of the women at tonight’s meeting said, a sober death can be beautiful. A drunk death cannot…
I didn’t know this young man well. Our group is large and it takes a good while to get established and come to know everyone, but being one of the younger group, he was more open. He generally had a smile on his face, was well liked by all, loved by many. I knew him by name, and we talked a bit on occasion. Although I’m a relative “newcomer,” I came into the program with a sponsor from day one, and never went to a single newcomers’ meeting until about a month ago. It happened to be on the day after this fellow had come back in from “out there.” He was angry at himself, and sad, and confused, and embarrassed. And obviously in deepest spiritual and mental agony…
Almost everyone in the program slips in the early going, and I know he had a few times. He wasn’t forgiving himself this night, though. Not even close, despite all our condolences, best wishes and support. He and I did the man-hug thing, and I told him I was pulling for him and knew he could make it. He tried to smile when we broke, but the eyes that looked back at me were those of a broken spirit. I didn’t know then and don’t know now that I had anything to offer him – he’d been around a lot longer than I. I wish now, though, that I’d tried…
The program allows for forgiveness – in fact demands it. Nobody sits in judgment of anyone else, because we all know that the prodigal returning to our room can so easily be a foreshadowing of ourselves, or the faded image of those who are now decades sober, but who had their own missteps before finally finding the true path. We are directed to “turn it over to God.” I’m not a big God guy, but know we have to get outside of ourselves if we are to survive. This disease is all about being inside ourselves, hating ourselves, hiding from ourselves, killing ourselves. It’s a very dangerous place to stay for any length of time. A drunk alone with himself is locked in the death grip of his own worst enemy, and it is a battle too many don’t survive. Most of the victims go to their grave never having admitted they were alcoholics or addicts. He knew exactly what he was, but couldn’t get away from his boogeyman…
Years ago, when considering a career choice, I’d thought about going into counseling. My mother advised me that I didn’t have the patience for it – wouldn’t tolerate the patient or client who refused to recognize the wisdom of my prescribed treatment and adhere to it. While she was wrong concerning so many things about me through the years, on this one I’m afraid she was right, at least then. My ego was totally unwhupped at that point, and remains pretty stubborn even today...
I’ve found myself wondering lately how much I’ve really changed, being only an infant to sobriety and introspection and spirituality and such. I know I’ve grown over the years – well remember being violently angry at my first friend who committed suicide before I was even out of my teens. Over time I’ve come to realize these are troubled souls. All of them. Some actually do perform the act out of malice, trying to hurt some in the worst possible way for actual or supposed transgressions. Most, however, are just desperately sad and lonely and hopeless, and dealing with things the best way they know how…
I’ve not yet learned the details of my fellow alcoholic’s death, and may not. They don’t really matter, to me at least. I am told he died drunk. For an alcoholic who knows he’s an alcoholic, that’s suicide, whether fast or slow. Some fights are just tougher than we are...
Rest in peace, young friend.
I’m no stranger to death – have been intimate with it for most of my life - perhaps more so than many of similar age and background. Since my teen years I’ve buried many – strangers and relatives and old friends and new, from natural causes and murders and accidents and suicides and sickness. I really don’t fear death – haven’t for some time. But, as one of the women at tonight’s meeting said, a sober death can be beautiful. A drunk death cannot…
I didn’t know this young man well. Our group is large and it takes a good while to get established and come to know everyone, but being one of the younger group, he was more open. He generally had a smile on his face, was well liked by all, loved by many. I knew him by name, and we talked a bit on occasion. Although I’m a relative “newcomer,” I came into the program with a sponsor from day one, and never went to a single newcomers’ meeting until about a month ago. It happened to be on the day after this fellow had come back in from “out there.” He was angry at himself, and sad, and confused, and embarrassed. And obviously in deepest spiritual and mental agony…
Almost everyone in the program slips in the early going, and I know he had a few times. He wasn’t forgiving himself this night, though. Not even close, despite all our condolences, best wishes and support. He and I did the man-hug thing, and I told him I was pulling for him and knew he could make it. He tried to smile when we broke, but the eyes that looked back at me were those of a broken spirit. I didn’t know then and don’t know now that I had anything to offer him – he’d been around a lot longer than I. I wish now, though, that I’d tried…
The program allows for forgiveness – in fact demands it. Nobody sits in judgment of anyone else, because we all know that the prodigal returning to our room can so easily be a foreshadowing of ourselves, or the faded image of those who are now decades sober, but who had their own missteps before finally finding the true path. We are directed to “turn it over to God.” I’m not a big God guy, but know we have to get outside of ourselves if we are to survive. This disease is all about being inside ourselves, hating ourselves, hiding from ourselves, killing ourselves. It’s a very dangerous place to stay for any length of time. A drunk alone with himself is locked in the death grip of his own worst enemy, and it is a battle too many don’t survive. Most of the victims go to their grave never having admitted they were alcoholics or addicts. He knew exactly what he was, but couldn’t get away from his boogeyman…
Years ago, when considering a career choice, I’d thought about going into counseling. My mother advised me that I didn’t have the patience for it – wouldn’t tolerate the patient or client who refused to recognize the wisdom of my prescribed treatment and adhere to it. While she was wrong concerning so many things about me through the years, on this one I’m afraid she was right, at least then. My ego was totally unwhupped at that point, and remains pretty stubborn even today...
I’ve found myself wondering lately how much I’ve really changed, being only an infant to sobriety and introspection and spirituality and such. I know I’ve grown over the years – well remember being violently angry at my first friend who committed suicide before I was even out of my teens. Over time I’ve come to realize these are troubled souls. All of them. Some actually do perform the act out of malice, trying to hurt some in the worst possible way for actual or supposed transgressions. Most, however, are just desperately sad and lonely and hopeless, and dealing with things the best way they know how…
I’ve not yet learned the details of my fellow alcoholic’s death, and may not. They don’t really matter, to me at least. I am told he died drunk. For an alcoholic who knows he’s an alcoholic, that’s suicide, whether fast or slow. Some fights are just tougher than we are...
Rest in peace, young friend.
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