Showing My Assets

I have been told by some that I am not as bad as I make myself out to be. Granted, the people that usually say this to me are not in a 12-step program. Frankly, I do eat it up when they lavish praise on me.

One of the books we discuss a lot in recovery offers a perfect description of me which at first sounds very contradictory. It describes me as an egomaniac with an inferiority complex. I remember vividly the first time I ever read that statement, and I instantly identified.

At last, someone gets me. I take every backdoor approach I can think of to convince myself and everyone around me that I am a previously undiscovered jewel - long-overlooked and placed on this Earth to delight, entertain and enlighten, this day and for all to come. I fantasize that James will at last be widely recognized as the person whom everyone wants as a friend, the person everyone wants to marry and the person that attracts all to his feet to lap up each pearl of wisdom as it falls from his lips.

I do this out of fear - fear that my assets are lacking. Fear that they are not sufficient to provide what I require to survive this life. I fear that if I just list them outright, you will judge and condemn, you will spot the spin; and I will be labeled a phony, a self-deceived idiot and everyone will again laugh at me.

I can talk endlessly at meetings about myself, yet when the literature or my sponsor ask me to list my assets and the things I have done right along side my shortcomings, I start to sweat. That does not give me the opportunity to qualify each with an "if", a "but" or an "unless". It does not give me the opportunity to craft the presentation to appear and sound humble, tentative.

All these thoughts have come to me over the last 24 hours as, in the interest of balance, I considered a blog listing my assets - I have waxed on a bit already about my shortcomings.

Squirm, squirm

Okay, here goes, assets without crafted, qualifying spin.

squirm

I can be trusted.

I am funny.

squirm

I am a good writer.

I gossip little.

I routinely engage in self sacrificing service.

I am generous.

I am a good dancer.

I am a peace loving person.

I am dedicated and loyal.

I am passionate.

I am punctual.

I am artistic.

squirm

I am intelligent. (See I want to say relatively, but I won't.)

Oh, Baby Jesus that hurt. Dame Risa says, "Courage is the opposite of cozy."

I'm sure that if I continue to participate in the process of recovery the list will evolve. Some things may come off the list, others might be added. Based on the state of my spiritual condition, things on the list will come and go. More will be revealed. 

I am sure from time to time I will be able to count on my fellows to give me a good, swift kick in the assets whenever needed.

Okay, I am an above average writer, who desperately needs and editor and proofreader. Now, that felt good!

Hold that thought…

James

Unbalanced

In the rooms of recovery, I have often heard someone in the first year-or-so speaking of needing to find a balance between the time spent on their program and their "normal" life. My observation has been that these statements so often precede a relapse. I could be wrong, as I often am, but my reaction to my observation seems to have served me well. I consciously decided that the words "too many meetings" were not going to come out of my mouth. I decided to avoid the word "balance" altogether in early sobriety.

A knack for maintaining balance has never been in my portfolio of assets. I have some very good qualities, but that is definitely not one of them. Shoot, for the last few years of my drinking, to maintain any kind of balance, I had to lay on the floor! Seriously though, things have always been all or nothing, clinging or running, obsessing or avoiding. If something feels good, I want to do it until I am sick of it. I have historically been as good at managing the balance in my life as I was managing my drinking and using. Without help, self-seeking motives and justifications step in and color my judgement on how I need to achieve this balance. Things like, "You need fewer meetings and more time for yourself. More TV, yeah that's the ticket." This is the same kind of thinking that kept me miserably intoxicated for so long.

My program has a wrench for every nut. It is a spiritual program of action that will work in all my affairs, not just for my drinking. So, I was encouraged to just concentrate on making it my top priority and emerse myself as much as possible in it. One of the results of trying my best to do that, has been the development over time of constructive and healthy interests outside the program. Exercising or visiting friends or family are now on my radar. Today, I find it challenging to find the time to write and work with others. Slowly, good, healthy living is being introduced at a natural pace into my new life.

These developments are in no way a result of my managing, strategizing or planning. They are a result of unity, taking and practicing the 12 Steps of recovery and self-sacrificing service. Those things plus a healthy dose of prayer and meditation are transforming my life. All I have to do is show up and participate.

I would still describe my life as more out of balance than balanced, but the progress I am beginning to see is a wonderful gift. At first I was just really grateful that I could navigate my way through a room without falling. Now, I'm grateful that with help I am able to navigate through a life that is becoming a little richer and a little more varied every year.

Thanks for keeping me on my feet.

Hold that thought…

James

Big Bad Wolf

I make a really bad "Lone Wolf".

By the time I got sober, I was telling myself a lot of lies. One of the biggest of all was, "I don't need 'elfin' anybody." Now. I know I need you guys like the air I breath. My friends and family have truly become the chewy nougat in my Snickers bar. (Some of my friends, of course, the nuts.)

I think this lie of all the lies, was the one that almost killed me. It was the one that kept me from really seeking help for so long. I am fortunate that in the intervening time, I did not kill myself or someone else. There were half-assed attempts at seeking help for years. I sought help from three different priests, a spiritualist, meditation teachers, a psychiatrist and a couple of therapists. The psychiatrist fell asleep in our last session, woke up and called me Bob. My name is not Bob. The last therapist I saw probably saved my life because she told me that she would not treat me unless I attended a 12-step program.

I went to my first meeting that evening. I saw her for the first four years of my sobriety. She was interested in my program of recovery and I shared a lot about it with her. She thought it ironic that so much of the comfort and sanity that I was being given was being given to me through people. You see, I had made it clear to her from the get-go that people were a thorn in my side. They did not understand me, they did not appreciate me and worst of all they were ganging up on me. The dirty bastards! Co-existing with people had been increasingly unbearable. I had a rather large ball of contempt and anger in me. So, I agreed, it as very interesting and unexpected that my it was beginning to look like people would be at the core of my solution.

Years had gone by since I had really made any new friends. I had left a network of quality friends in another state, when I returned home to care for my mother. I was driving away the friends I had left. I remember thinking that if I wanted to hang on to the handful of friends I had left, I needed to avoid them, because whenever I spent time with them there was conflict and trouble. They had every reason in the world to back off from me. Of course, I could not see that then.

In working the Steps, I have been led through a process that has healed some of those relationships. It improved my relationship with my Dad, Sister and Grandmother before they died. But most importantly it is giving me quality relationships with new people in my life. By nature, I am a loner. Which would be okay if it didn't make me miserable. It just doesn't work for me.

I believe today that separation from my "pack" is poison for me. Recovery gives me a safe place and a structure that helps me stay connected with positive and loving people. (Considering they were the hardest party-ers out there, they are also a lot of fun.) Ask any of my good friends or family and they will tell you that I suck at staying in touch. So without the structure I find in recovery, I am fairly sure that I would once again gravitate away from people and towards alcohol and drugs.

As time goes by, I have found other tools that help a lone wolf like me to stay connected to folks. This blog is one of those tools. With a little time in sobriety, I have experienced times of connectedness and I have also gone through periods of emotional disconnection from my fellows. When I am feeling connected with my pack, I am loving you guys, I am content. When I throw up my walls and retreat, things get dark and I start getting restless, irritable and discontent.

Today, I'm loving you guys.

Hold that thought…

James

Shadowy Figures

James, see those shadowy figures out there? Those are people - people with their own loves and losses, disappointments and dreams, pains and losses. One simple tweet really made me think yesterday. This guy posted a message that said something like, "I have a friend who is going through a really hard time. Please be kind to people, you never know what problems they are dealing with."

That tweet poses two huge challenges for me. First of all being kind to people is not always easy, especially if I see them as getting in my way. (I am also a recovering dickhead.)  Second of all, I get so wrapped up in my stuff that at times it is difficult for me to humanize people, especially if I do not know them. Some of this is due to human nature, but without some sort of direction, I can be particularly self-centered.

It is hard for me to remember that the grocery sacker's mother may be at home dying of cancer; the person that just got my order wrong may not know where her child is; and the driver who did not use his blinker may be busy contemplating suicide. It is very difficult for me to imagine the world through other's eyes. My reality shines so bright in my own mind that it, so often, blinds me to the joys and the pains of those around me.

On the other hand, when the tables are turned and life throws something my way that feels unbearable, I can get appalled at the insensitivity of my fellows. In periods of mind-bending pain or grief, like my mother's illness and death - people going about their daily lives around me seems almost obscene. My mind says how can they be laughing right now? How can that person be complaining about this or that? Of course reason tells me that is not rational thinking.

In hard times life still requires us to pull up our boot straps and trudge on with daily business. At work we do our best not to show our troubles, not to bring personal problems into the workplace. We try not to have a breakdown in the grocery store. We try to rise to life's challenges through hurt and worry. We become actors so we can make it through our day. Some of us are better at it than others. The very best of us occasionally become overwhelmed.

Since I usually don't know what challenges people are dealing with, I guess the best thing would be for me to treat people with kindness all of the time. It would be nice to think that I made someone's journey through a dark day easier instead of harder without ever even knowing it. To do this with any consistency, I need constant reminders from people like the guy on Twitter last night, people like my friends and my teachers. 

I need reminders to slow down, take an extra minute with people. It takes conscious effort at times for me to smile, bite my tongue and have patience with folks. I hope I can remember to practice some of this today. It really is nice to run into kind people when I feel like life's kicking my ass.

Sometimes I really have difficulty conjuring you guys into existence. (Thanks for that line, Mo.)

Hold that thought…

James

Down the Bunny Hole

Well now that was weird. And to think that I can be so hard on myself for still being confused about spirituality and religion six years into this quest for a higher power.

Before I give you a quick snapshot of my brush with an "observance of Easter", I will digress.

When I was a child Easter was like Christmas but without presents. Well there was that basket that my Mother so lovingly made for us at the foot of our beds when we woke. In it were such pretty colors. A chocolate bunny; shiny, plastic eggs that contained red hots or dimes; dimestore, baby chicks with real, fuzzy, yellow feathers and stiff wire legs and those nasty boiled eggs. Granted those eggs were pretty on the outside, but inside it was still a boiled egg. Gross.

Then there was church. Church but with clothes even more uncomfortable than usual. Church, a little bit longer than usual. And I was a little boy already growing uncomfortable in that place. The first sign of trouble for me and church, was this strange, fuzzy feeling I would get in my special place when I looked at the huge naked man nailed to the cross on the wall. Now, ladies get as judgy as you want, but you guys - you can't tell me that if it was some bare-breasted, naked lady-god nailed up there….well, nuff said. We guys are just built that way.

After church, was the Easter egg hunt, ehh, I could take it or leave it.

Then for years and years, Easter was just another Sunday for me.

Now, I am on a path to seek some kind of spiritual life. I am urged to remain open-minded, to seek every day. So one does not have to seek to hard on Easter. So many people walking around sporting "godandcountry" hard-ons. Many taking the opportunity to bask in their beliefs and spread 'em around. I got people who had crack-pipes in their mouths six months ago, mass-texting "He has risen." I got irreverent Twitter friends tweeting all kinds of Jesus jokes. Happy Zombie Jesus Day! Endless Cadbury Egg sexual innuendos ricocheting around in cyber space.

Then there is the gathering of what is left of my decimated family. What used to be a very large gathering of the Klan is now, not so much. Only a couple of Grand Dragons left. I have teased my family for years that the only difference between our gatherings and the Ku Klux Klan's is we are just lacking some robes and a cross. You see, I come from uneducated (but white) peasant stock in rural South Texas. So our holidays have always been a coming-together of some very kind, loving people and some very bigoted, angry, loving people. Even the haters have loved me and I love them. What's a boy to do?

I spent some beautiful hours with family I dearly love yesterday. Jesus didn't come up but we got caught up on family news, ate too much delicious bar-b-que and sat in the garage while the smokers smoked.

After over-eating and missing my work-out at the gym, I got to a meeting of the 12-step group I belong to. There we discussed, spirituality, religion and the all-inclusiveness of our program. Most people, due to demographics, are "Christian" around these-here parts. I suspect, down deep though, they would be more comfortable if everyone were "Christians". I personally wish they could come up with a different word for it. I still get the willies when I think of myself as that.

Personally, I am kind of glad that today is just another Monday, not Good Monday, Ash Monday or Palm Monday - just Monday.

Happy Monday! Oh yeah, by the way, he is still "risen" today too.

Hold that thought…

James

Ca-ca-ca-Courage

I was listening to someone new in sobriety share his story last night and was so inspired. Since then, I have been contemplating courage.

I have thought myself Mr. Chicken my entire life. I have felt everything from discouragement to shame to hopelessness over the fear I have felt for years. I missed the memo that said - feel the fear but do it anyway. It was in the rooms of recovery that I heard the saying that goes something like, "Courage is not the absence of fear, but doing the right thing in spite of the fear."

When I was newly sober, I had no idea what I was doing. There was no clarity of thought. They say that I wrapped my arms around the program and jumped right in. All I know is that it was terrifying to walk into a room of strangers, much less talking to a room of strangers. I had been isolated in the latter years of my drinking. I was in terrible fear that I would drink, that I was doing the wrong things, saying the wrong things - constantly questioning myself and feeling embarrassed.

I would have never believed I was being courageous. I did not feel courageous. But, as I watch the newcomers desperate enough to keep coming back, hopeful enough to come early or stay late and broken enough to ask for help - I see pure courage. Courage that does not come from moral fortitude or strength of character but from a very strong, yet obscured, desire to live and love.

I don't think they, or I, do it because we "get it". I think we do it because we have lost all faith in ourselves and want so desperately to have faith in something that can pull us out of misery.

Somehow my courage was born out of some kind of surrender. I had been in a state of fear for years and was not able to take any effective action to change the destructive course I was on. Why August 11, 2004? I don't know. I just know that I could not go on like I was. The deplorable and hideous idea of going to a 12-step program seemed to be my only option.

I was really kind of baffled as to why I could not bring myself to commit suicide. I had constant morbid thoughts of wanting to be dead. But, that is where that "very strong, yet obscured, desire to live and love" comes in. The thoughts that I did not care, that I wanted to die were just more lies my disease was telling me. By six months into recovery, I realized I wanted to live and be loved more than anything in the world.

The minute I ceased single handed combat with my disease, I was given courage. I was given the courage to walk through the doors of recovery in spite of incredible fear. I was given the courage to go back everyday and sit amongst people I was sometimes so uncomfortable with. I was given the courage to say, "My name is James and I am an alcoholic." I was given the best six years of my life.

Thank you all.

Hold that thought…

James

How Tequila Can Save Lives

I needed a stiff drink at six years old when my mother had to pry my fingers off the mailbox post to get me to go to school. I can remember holding on to that post like it was yesterday.

I blamed my problem with other kids and teachers on so many things for so long. Bad parenting, being raised in the country in isolation, caretaking for a sick baby sister, being a sissy, being unattractive, ad infinitum. Turns out, I just need a shot of tequila.

My real problems began when my parents threw me out of the house and made me go to first grade every day. Spending the day with a bunch of barbaric hooligans and a psychotic nun was terrifying to me, and it did not get any better until the summer after my sophomore year in high school. The nine years in-between consisted of dreading going to school, getting there at the last possible second to avoid encountering any of the natives, trying to be invisible all day, being teased, truing to hide humiliation, getting out of Dodge the second the bell rang at the end of the day and again back to the stomach-churning dread of having to go again the next day.

I was a bully's dream come true. I had a target on me the size of Dallas. I lived in such shame for not being able to fight back. I talked to no one about it, I was very, very angry. I just kept telling myself that one day we would be adults and it would be better. I used to pray that when I woke up I would be an adult. I had such hate in me for those happy, shiny people at school.

When the Columbine shootings occurred, right or wrong, I immediately felt compassion for the shooters. Why? Because, I remember vividly sitting in class making my mental list. Visualizing myself bringing a gun and shooting them. Who was first, who was second, etc. Of course, I could not be more grateful today, that I could not do it. Primarily because they did not in any way deserve it and secondly many of them became wonderful friends later - after that magical summer when I was 15. The summer when my friend's older sister agreed to buy us a bottle of liquor and drive us around the country roads and let us get drunk for the first time. That girl saved my life.

Finding liquor was the turning point for me. Before, I had been plagued by a condition that caused all the witty and intelligent thoughts in my brain to vanish the moment attention was turned on me, rendering me a bumbling idiot around the people that I so wanted approval from. Then this magical substance appears that allows my real thoughts and words to come out of my mouth. It allowed me to be funny, more comfortable and finally to fit-in and make friends.

So began great years with great folks. Alcohol-and-drugs was my medicine, not my problem. When alcohol turned on me and spun my life out of control, I had to put it away lest I be locked up or die. I am convinced without the drinks and drugs I would have committed suicide long ago. I truly believe it kept me alive for a very long time.

Now I am back to where I started - living life with this condition of mine, this disease, this dysfunction - whatever you wish to call it - without my medicine. Bottom line is for whatever reason, I am not equipped to negotiate life and people with help. An attempt at a spiritual life through a 12-step program is now doing for me what alcohol did for me for so long without the crazy side effects. I owe my wonderful life, my friendships, my sanity all to a very wonderful group of people.

So, if you are still enjoying your alcohol, my hat is off to you, and please have a stiff belt of very expensive tequila for me. nom, nom, nom

Hold that thought…

James

Matters of Opinion

It is being revealed to me the degree to which my opinions can disturb me and those around me. In my previous life, I valued my opinions above all others', and even felt a strong social responsibility to enlighten and guide those around me. It turns out this is just another aspect of my character that has not served me well nor has it been of benefit to my relationships.

I once read a quote that said that our opinions are the shovels with which we dig our graves. Whether this is true for others or not, I have no idea.  For this recovering, opinionated asshole it certainly applies.

When I follow my instincts to inform those around me of how to vote, dress, run their businesses, what to think, who to date, who not to date, what not to think and how their thinking is flawed they are usually very ungrateful an resist me. I find this very irritating. Surely they don't understand what I am saying. Maybe I just need to keep rephrasing my opinion in different ways until I hit on a presentation they can understand.

I have always felt extremely passionate about my right to my opinion and my right to express it. The darndest thing happens though when someone not only disagrees with me, but belittles my opinion. Something kicks in and I want them gagged and removed. "Security to aisle five, security to aisle five. Please remove this person, they are making trouble." So, as you can the help I have received is very powerful indeed. I have not drank, been hauled off by security, had to have someone hauled off by security, nor have I pulled anyone's hair in over six years. Amazing. Although, I have had to make amends for loosing control on a number of occasions.

When I was making my amends the first time in recovery my sponsor made a suggestion. He proposed that I ask the folks who I thought I owed no amends to - if they thought I owed them any amends. A co-worker responded to my inquiry that yes indeed, I did owe her an amend. This friend said that every time she had a different opinion than I had, I made her feel stupid. Swallowing doses of truth like this about myself has been an important part of this journey. I have been called condescending more that a few times in my life.

A popular question in the rooms of recovery is, "Is it more important for you to be right or to be happy?"

It turns out that a healthy connection to other human beings is necessary for my serenity, sanity and recovery. I am also discovering that if I am not open to other's experience, ideas and even opinions I begin to revert to all the ways of thinking that got me into this fix in the first place and I begin to loose the gift of serenity. For this recovering alcoholic and addict a serenity deficit can be dangerous.

There is certainly a need for opinion, social reform and debate on this planet. I am just learning that I am not well equipped to take on those tasks. There are other areas, though, where I can use my strengths and talents to be of use and make valuable contributions to mankind.

It takes a village, to keep James' mouth under anything like consistent control. So I would like to take this opportunity to thank the Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed, Krishna, Lao Tzu, Bill Wilson, Bob Smith, Ghandi, Dalai Lama and countless others for the progress that I have made.

It's probably better for me to go to a meeting and let the donkeys and elephants duke this one out.

Hold that thought…

James

Grow Up!

Someone wise once said, "The lesson will continue to present itself until it is learned."

I don't know about you people, but when a lesson presents itself in my life, getting to the other side is rarely enjoyable. That is true whether the lesson is learned or not. Being a person that has a rather powerful aversion to discomfort, for most of my life my solution has been staying anesthetized or distracted from the lesson.

This tendency was even reflected in my traditional education. I did not enjoy attending classes in college, so I would either find something 'better' to do or I would get very high before going. Squeaking by with very low but passable grades, I did not have to retake any classes. I suspect if I had they would have seemed just as difficult and new as when I passed through the first time 'unteachable'.

In real life though, this approach was killing me. Though therapy and the intensive daily regime of a 12-step program, I am becoming a tad more teachable every day. I did not realize that I had been repeatedly experiencing different variations of the same lessons. For example, life has a seemingly inexhaustible supply of scenarios to run to teach the value of honesty. Don't even get me started. If you were to place every lesson on honesty I have flunked - end to end they would probably reach to the moon and back.

I hear people say that every difficulty in life is an opportunity for growth. I believe that if I am not teachable, listening and willing to seek help, it is just another opportunity for pain and/or self destruction. If I am not in the right place mentally and spiritually, what doesn't kill me certainly has the possibility to make me nuts.

You may say, what does this have to do with growing up. (Or you may not.)

Well, I believe that it is these valuable lessons, if learned, that mature me emotionally and spiritually. While normal people were showing up for life's lessons, I was smoking in the boy's room. Of course one does not have to be an addict or alcoholic to be unteachable, that is just the way I roll.

Many people in the rooms of recovery believe that an addict or alcoholic ceases growing emotionally and spiritually when they begin to rely on alcohol and drugs to negotiate life. So at 44 years old I walked into sobriety a emotional teenager, and am now in my early 20's. My therapist who is not in recovery nor specializes in any kind of addictions had already diagnosed me "emotionally immature". Ouch.

I buy all this hook, line and sinker. Why? It explains so many things that have so long baffled me about my difficulties, especially in the area of relationships with friends, lovers, coworkers, bosses and family. It explains why, without help and direction, I still react to situations like an emotional teenager. It also explains why things have gotten better since 2004 when I decided to seek help.

So, I am growing up in public. Making mistakes, doing some makeup work, going for tutoring, retaking tests and growing up a little every day. As much as I would rather look 20 if I am going to have mental and spiritual acne, it just ain't so.

Seriously though, I live a charmed life today, and I am so grateful to have the opportunity to take this journey.

Hold that thought…

James

Scary

God, getting back to a blog is as hard as getting back to the gym!

Thinking of fear this morning. Scary, huh? We recovery-types talk about fear a lot. Some even refer to it as an evil and corroding thread. If that's not enough to scare a guy, I don't know what is.

In my years of emotional isolation - that would be from birth to about age 44, give or take a few good years here and there - I experienced a lot of paralyzing fear. My Momma would have called it worry. I read countless self-help books and burned my share of smudge sticks, but the consequences continued to mount. I would occasionally get high on some new book or meditation and get just a glimpse of what freedom from fear would be like. It would be this brief moment of "OMG, I can do anything I want to. What am I doing sitting here like an idiot?" Then it would pass and I would remember that as soon as I stick my neck out that door, sure as shootin' there will be some asshole just waiting to lop my head off.

Fear masqueraded in my life as legitimate concern - concern about how I look, I mean someday you may want to hire me or maybe even bed me; concern about every word I choose to use, after all it could be used in some kangaroo court to condemn me for being a homosexual or even worse a liberal or just concern that if I do not present correctly no one will want to play with me.

As much as I lament over the seeming cruelty of aging, the truth is that life for me began at age 44. With the help of a lot of people with a common solution for a common problem I have commenced to outgrow fear. That fleeting feeling of freedom I discussed earlier, well these days I get to experience that feeling on a regular basis. Although still very intermittent, it comes now many times a week.

If that isn't just the shits. So happy this morning.