Drinking Again

I have been kept sober since the day I walked in to recovery and asked ‘those people who stay sober one day at a time’ to help me. For six years I have been alternatively glad to be sober and not so glad to be sober. Every time one of my friends decides to drink again or returns to the program for help, it sets off a storm of thoughts and emotions in my head.

I would suspect that this same thing has been happening in these rooms for over 75 years. I suspect it is part of the recipe that works to keep us from taking the first drink. When these folks return, their suffering is acute, their confusion is running high and their health is at a low. More than a few times this has been served up to me on a day that I show up at a meeting with thoughts of drinking, again, running around in my little pea-brain.

So far, I have only had two friends that returned to drinking and seem to be doing fine. How many leave recovery never to return, and live happily-ever-after? I will never know. These thoughts run through my mind over and over as the years go by. The thoughts persist even though I have found nothing but friendship, love and laughter with these people. 

On a day when I am courting feelings of discontentment with my sobriety and a friend decides to drink or use again, it is not unusual for me to feel left behind - the nerd, the loser - going to another meeting on a Friday night. Confused and stunned, I sit there and wonder what it is all about. I get engrossed in thoughts of myself and what I might be missing out on. My mind begins to eat away at my resolve to stay sober.

That is where this power we talk about that keeps us sober so important. Thus far, I have kept doing the things that are suggested in the book our program is based on and have continued to hang out with people in recovery - thus far the thinking subsides and I am kept sober another day. I wake up the next day, almost without exception, so grateful that I did not drink. I am filled with relief that I do not have to go through the pain of early sobriety again.

The physical suffering of sobering up is not the only thing that I do not want to repeat. I also do not want to have to go though the confusion and fear that I see my fellows endure on their return. And, I certainly do not want to repeat that first year of discomfort that comes with ego-leveling.

Of course all the thoughts I ponder of what it would be like to return to sobriety after drinking would be moot if I were to drink and never make it back to recovery. I have known a couple that relapsed and died before they could come back. I know many others that were incarcerated before they could return.

There are a lot of things in the process of recovery that keep me sober, I think that the relapse of my fellows may be one of them. Yesterday, I got to share an evening with someone I love that has returned yet again from a relapse. Again, his journey has set a storm of thoughts and emotions off in my head. Again, I have been kept sober one more day.

Hold that thought...

James

Keeping the Faith

The subject of faith popped up a couple of times in my day yesterday. Since I am more Pagan than Saint, my faith has not been in the magical powers of a deity. Although, just in case, I pray to one every day! Maybe someday it will evolve into a more traditionally religious kind of faith.

After being dragged through a number of tough times sober over the last few years, my faith in the guiding principles of the Steps has increased immensely. My faith that, when applied, the principles will enable me to match calamity with serenity has bloomed. I am sure today that the principles will solve all my problems, not just the drinking problem, if I choose to practice them.

Each principle has an opposite. I have gotten the chance, with a little time, to see what happens when I choose dishonesty over honesty, for example. I have chosen the way of both in my sobriety. Many times my mind says, “Lie, Lie, Lie!” I have more faith every day, that if I do the uncomfortable thing and be honest, all will turn out better.

This goes with all the other principles of the Steps - exercising hope as opposed to pessimism, trust as opposed to skepticism and courage as opposed to avoidance. Results have been better when I chose the way of integrity instead of dishonorable motives, practiced willingness instead of stubbornness and bent to humility instead of relying on self. Treating others with love rather than intolerance or contempt has paid off numerous times, as well as placing value in justice rather than protection of an unhealthy ego. Perseverance, meditation and service have given me so many more rewards that their opposites. Although, of course, my mind still says “Quit, go for the quick high and relax.” I often fall short, and make a less than optimum choice.

These are the principles, when practiced, that have changed my life. They are what I believe will keep me safe through coming trials and tribulations. 

Having said all that, I still pray to God at least every morning and every night and usually many times throughout the day. At first, being some sort of heathen/pagan/christionoid/buddhist was a confusing and uncomfortable for me, but you guys said just keep coming back. You said you prayed and you were kept sober, so I did too and will continue to pray my ass off.

Like our literature says, the important thing for me was to quit the debating team. That was getting me no where. It tells me all I have to do is seek. Today, I am comfortable with my beliefs being fluid, because in the mean time, my faith in the principles, the steps, the process, the program is strong enough to get me through the day.

Hold that thought...

James

Bluebirds and Posies

I haven’t seen many posies or bluebirds lately. If I am still sober after passing through this current challenge to my sanity, I will emerge with an even stronger faith in this process and way of life.

If it seems to you that I have sounded a little frantic in the last month, searching for the right tool to use to get me through one more day, you are right. When I hear someone pulling out the one-day-at-a-time card for an extended period of time, I begin to worry a little about them, too.

The fact is that I have been experiencing something for the last couple of months that is affecting my thinking and emotions for physiological reasons. It is something I have not chosen to share about publicly as of yet, but I have been relying heavily on my sponsor, my fellows who live the 12-steps, friends, prayer, meditation, exercise, diet and writing. All these things I have learned from my teachers.

I am sure I will share about it once I have moved through it. I have chosen to take on this hurdle on the heels of quitting smoking a year and a half ago. Someday I will look back on this time of lunacy and be so grateful it is over. I will be so grateful for the power that pulled me through it, and I will be able to share about it. I know this because it has happened over and over again in my sobriety.

Anyone that knows me well, knows that I go for long periods of time when it seems bluebirds are singing all around me and posies are sprouting from my ass. They also know that I also go through periods when I seem to be frantically seeking solutions and desperately rummaging through the tools and techniques you guys have given me to get through the day.

The fact is that peace of mind is fleeting for me these days. I am given it everyday when I get up, go to the gym, share with you guys and do my prayer and meditation. But then, I walk out my door and it is replaced with frustration or discontent within an hour or two. Again, I use or apply some of the suggestions I am given in recovery and I am granted a reprieve. It may only be for minutes. But, I get to do this again and again until I am taken safely through the day and ultimately, I hope, this trying period.

This is how my faith grows in this ‘design for living’. This is why I no longer fear my insanity quite so much. This is why I am sure I will be okay if I don’t run, don’t hide and don’t take a drink.

Stick around and you’ll see posies sprout from my ass again. It is guaranteed to be nothing if not entertaining.

Hold that thought...

James

The Writes of a Slacker

When it comes to writing, I have always been a slacker.

In college, I would go to the first class to get the syllabus and check for papers to be written or essay tests. If there were any, I would shop around for the classes without them, then go to adds-and-drops and redo my schedule to avoid as much writing as possible.

So, a day and a half after my last drink (up until now), I walked into the office of a psychologist. When I walked in, I told her that before we were through she was going to tell me I needed to go see those people that help people quit drinking. She said to sit down. After I told her what I had been up to the last few years, she said she would not treat me if I did not go see those people. I said okay. I went that night and have been going ever since.

Now, the other thing she suggested I do was to keep a journal. I said okay. I had shared with her that I was having periods of depression that seemed to come out of nowhere for no reason. She said if I kept a journal I might start seeing some patterns. In12-step meetings, a heard a lot of people talk about writing, inventorying and journaling. I thought cool, that goes right along with what my therapist said to do.

I started a journal right away. I recorded my prayer to be kept sober in the mornings and my thanks at night. I kept track of how many meetings I made. I wrote about what went on in the meetings, the people I met and my fears. I did this consistently for about two years, then sporadically for another couple of years. For the last two years I had just turned to writing to do an inventory when my derrière was on fire.

This blog, motivated by ego I am sure, is resulting in my return to writing in recovery. It is becoming a sanity-saver. Except for a couple of black eyes from cranky readers, it has been a pleasant and enlightening experience. Even the shots from critics are good for me.

One friend of mine likes to say that writing things down helps to hold his thoughts still, so he can get a good look at them. Our literature says it helped 100 hopeless alcoholics get sober in the 1930s and it has been working ever since. My therapist said it would be a good idea and she rocks.

It still feels like a chore. I can still think of tons of things to do with the hour a day I spend on this writing thing. But, one day at a time, I am writing again. If I had to say what the greatest benefit of it is for me, it would be that it helps me get a little more honest with myself and others. That’s not easy for me. On Twitter the other day, someone shared “Every time I try to be honest, I lie.” I would not have understood that statement when I first got into recovery. Writing, among other things in the program, has allowed me to see why someone would say that.

Thanks for the love, tolerance and patience you have shown me as I grow up in public. Thanks for giving this slacker a second chance.

Hold that thought...

James

Wresting

Easy does it. Who would have thunk it?

An ex-boss once told me that I had a “sense of urgency” about me. She told me she was glad that I had it due to the nature of our deadline oriented work, but I might want to ease up a bit. I am one of those folks recovery literature talks about that is “a victim of the delusion that he can wrest satisfaction and happiness out of this world if he only manages well.” I  looked up the word ‘wrest’ and it says: to twist or turn; pull, jerk or force by violent twist. That’s me alright.

I read once in some Buddhist literature that approaching tasks with “ease and attention” is most effective. My innate style, although, is the first - twist, turn, pull, jerk or force by violent twist. So many of our meeting rooms have slogans framed on our walls as reminders of these age-old bits of wisdom. A friend of mine who is not in a 12-step program referred to them as our “bumper sticker philosophies”. Works for me.

I don’t think it would have ever crossed my mind that easy would ever do anything, except maybe get me out of those dime store Chinese finger handcuffs. I have always been sure that I better worry, calculate, pre-meditate and endlessly cogitate on anything I plan to do. Then, it would behoove me to bear down on what ever the task may be, like my very life depends on it. And god forbid anything goes wrong. If it does, I better fix it quickly before anyone finds out what a loser I am. Thinking like this does nothing to keep me sane or serene. It is no more effective than the easier, softer way either.

So, as I face today, I will try to remember “Easy does it”. Life throws enough twists, pulls, jerks and violent twists at me without me creating more. Today I will focus on approaching things with ease and attention.

Wish me luck. 

Hold that thought...

James

 

Getting Me Down

The first time I ever went snow skiing, I read a brochure before we started. It said that skiing was a sport that tries the human spirit. I remember thinking, “Why am I doing this?”

Life is like that for me sometimes. Last week was one of those weeks that really tested my spirit. It was a touchstone of my spiritual condition. My spiritual condition proved to be not-so-great.

As a beginner skier, so much energy is wasted by fighting every turn, every rise and fall; falling and getting up over and over. That is what last week reminded me of. I found myself off in the trees several times. A couple of times faced with moguls as far as the eye could see. Once getting blindsided by an inconsiderate, fallible fellow skier. I found myself praying for someone to get me down from that mountain before I hurt myself. When I get like that, I start to think, “Why am I doing this?”

Something did get me down off that mountain safe and sound. Turns out that I was safe all along. Literally millions of people on this planet faced real problems last week. Mine were self-created and mostly imaginary. If it weren't for the love and guidance of my fellows, I would become lost in this delusion like I was years ago. Now, I just have shorter little trips into that place and eventually I am led back to safety.

At some level as I struggled -  I knew that my regular meeting with my sponsor, a meeting with a sponsee, twice daily prayer and meditation and a spattering of meetings would carry me through the week safely. I then planned a day off to make this weekend a three-day affair.

This weekend, I surrounded myself with the people that I love and I draw so much strength from. Morning, noon and night I spent with my people. As always the effect on my outlook and attitude was amazing. Heart to heart talks, helping someone in a worse condition than myself and going out and having pizza with a troop of rowdy recovering alcoholics were just a few of the things that refreshed my spirit and renewed my optimism. I have been pulled back to reality - the reality that i am one lucky son of a gun. As I begin a beautiful day off, I feel happy to be alive. My house is clean and I am back to the gym. I will try to eat healthier today.

It takes a village to keep James on track - and now and then the ski patrol. Occasionally you guys carry me down the mountain and sometimes you tell me to quit my bitching and ski. On a few occasions you have just rolled my ass down. Somehow, I am always taken care of.

Thank the gods, it works when you work it.

Hold that thought...

James

p.s. new logo - no more briefs! yeah!

Knifed

The Dalai Lama Facebooked me this morning - well, me and few thousand of his closest pals.

He says love, compassion & concern for others are REAL sources of happiness. Hmmmm. He says if I have them in abundance that I will not be disturbed by uncomfortable circumstances. If I nurse hatred that I will not be happy even in the lap of luxury.

Wish I had more of that stuff. Sometimes the compulsion to hate (really too strong of a word) is so powerful. Usually the urge is fueled by some self-righteous indignation or some perceived wrong done to myself. Or, it could have something to do with that knife sticking out of my back. Of course, in my life, there is always some happy, joyous and free 'doo-dah' nearby to tell me that if I were to examine that knife closely it would most likely have my fingerprints all over it.

Anyone who relies on the 12 Steps to negotiate life knows what is in store for me if I chose to deal with a resentment with the steps. We also know what's in store for us if we don't. Sometimes I feel like I just can't take the leveling of pride one more time. Sometimes King Baby wants someone else to humble their effin selves. As hard as finding my part in a situation can be, it pales in comparison to cleaning up my side of the street.

So, once more on this road to happy effin destiny, I get to make that third step decision - claim my part to the person whose knife is wedged between my shoulder blades or continue to nurse that resentment. Either way there are consequences. Again, I get to choose - be 'right' (or should I say righteous) OR be happy.

Honestly, still sticking with righteous here, contemplating the happy thing. More will be revealed they say.

Hold that thought...
James

Desire and Gratitude

Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; but remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for. - Epicurus (341 BC - 270 BC)

I am reminded that I begged for sobriety. I longed to own a house. I hoped for this life I have today.

Now ungrateful, I curse because I can not douse my angers and fears with alcohol. I resent my home for tethering me to discontent. They say happiness is an inside job. They say if you can’t be happy in your own backyard, you’ll never be happy anywhere. They must be happy freekin' mother effers.

So, desire for what I don’t have, desire for people to behave differently, desire for my day to have been easier, desire for anything other than what I already have - leads to discontent. 

There are many happy moments in my life, but they usually do not seem to coincide with thoughts of myself and what I don’t have or what I am not getting. When I am mulling over the good people in my life, a half-smile frequently creeps over my face. When I am thinking about how those ‘other people’ are making my life difficult, I get a crease between my eyebrows and everything in my life starts to look worthless.

Fear and anger turn my magical, magnifying mind from a positive, grateful perspective on my life to one that is very negative and uncomfortable. I become rather useless to others and a drag to be around. I get very discontent. I start to want to change the way I feel - muy pronto.

My experience tells me that I can not sit here and think or write myself into ‘not desiring’ anything. Experience tells me to take note of this self-centered focus, thank my higher power for what I have, get up, go shower, kiss the dogs and turn my thoughts to someone that may need my help. Put one foot in front of the other and do the next responsible thing and my thinking will eventually change.

I will eventually bump into some gratitude if I don’t run, don’t hide and don’t drink.

Hold that thought...

James

Life is Dukkha

Life is Dukkha.

I was reading a little bit about Buddha's First Noble Truth this morning after reading a blog post by a young addict struggling with physical pain and the urge take pain pills. I Googled the Buddha's quote while pondering suffering. I was remembering that as a young pampered prince, it was seeing a suffering man that set the Buddha off on his journey to enlightenment.

First let me say, I am in no way an expert on Buddhism. I can hardly spell it, much less teach it, but I am much more respectful of the followers of these teachings than I am the followers of any other religion.

So, remembering the Buddha's first noble truth as "Life is suffering", I Googled it. Turns out the Buddha didn't speak English. Go figure. He actually said that life is 'Dukkha." First it made me snicker. Sounds a little like "Life is Doo Doo", but that would be more like James First Less-Than-Noble Truth.

There is really no English translation for Dukkha. He describes Dukkha as suffering, but also as anything impermanent or changing, or any state which is dependent on anything else. So, Dukkha can also be happiness or bliss or any other state which is subject to change, which is just about anything.

So when I am having a shitty day, is it because life is Dukkha? When I am having a good day is it because life is Dukkha? No, the Buddha might just be suggesting the shit or the bliss is something fleeting. That I just need to pass through it, gently, today. Not cling to it, not judge it, not resist it, not fear it, just pass through it. Of course I could always be completely wrong.

Today. One day. Just for today. One day at a time. Sounds like there are a few "Noble Truths" lurking behind a few of the slogans in recovery.

So, as I trudge my road today, I am likely to step in something resembling Dukkha. I will most likely be okay if I just recognize it as just that, Dukkha, and just keep walking, no fear, no clinging, no resistance.

Let's try this one more day.

Hold that thought...
James

Exposed

Keeping my thoughts to myself seems to keep me focused on problems and negativity. Communicating my thoughts to others seems to lead towards solutions, hope and/or gratitude. When I lay my crazy thinking bare, the flaws are exposed and I am shamed into looking at things differently.

Some mornings I can hardly even imagine sitting down in front of a keyboard and sharing my gloomy, maudlin, bitchy, depressing thinking with anyone. When I do it anyway, something interesting happens. When the light of day is shone on my self-destructive thinking it seems, most of the time, to have the effect that bucket of water did on the Wicked Witch of the West.

I guess in a way, sharing comes with accountability. Unfortunately, I feel very free to abuse myself in the privacy of my own cranium. My goodness gracious, what would the neighbors think If they saw me commiserating with this struggling, recovering, fallible child of God. Behind shuttered windows, I sit here sharing a cup of coffee with him, running endless over his shortcomings, flaws and fears - stoking the fires of his pessimism. Shameless.

Of course everyday is not like this. Many days I wake full of enthusiasm, hope and contentment. Some days I am somewhere in between those extremes. But, the days I resist writing or sharing are the days when I am not feeling so good, ironically the days that I really need to do it. I can hardly contain myself when everything is coming up roses. I could ramble endlessly to all who are kind enough to listen, but on the dark days - I resist.

Lately, I have been wearing life like a horse hair robe and sharing has been difficult. Experience tells me though, that persistence is in order, and I must keep laying my thinking bare. So there.

Hold that thought...
James

Small World?

It’s as if someone out there is trying to get my attention.

Within 24 hours, two different people presented me with a completely new-to-me concept. They both used very similar words to describe an idea that, in my 50 years, I had not heard before. The effect was electrifying.

Both of these messengers questioned the idea of coincidental connections between people being the result of a ‘small-world’ effect. Both suggested a ‘big-connection’ cause instead. Each of these folks, within a very short time, suggested that unseen connections exist between certain humans, a web of connections actually. Both of these people are new friends of mine. Both entered my life at about the same time from different directions. Both delivered the same message in the same weekend. Strange but true.

The concept is important to me because I believe that isolation and addiction go hand in hand. The urge to avoid intimate contact with the human race tugs at me constantly as if it is a huge dark star to which some immutable law of the universe keeps me tethered. What I am becoming aware of though, is that I have not been consumed thus far by that force, so there must be a countering force that is keeping me connected and safe.

My instincts tell me to avoid connection with others, when intellectually I know that this is poison for me. Recovery offers me a way to stay connected within a very safe structure.

The timing of this pairing of messages is also interesting because lately I have been exploring other tools for connectedness. Writing this blog, joining a recovery community on Twitter and putting works of creativity out on Tumblr are new things I have been experimenting with. In marketing we talk about using social media to “push” messages. I have been playing with pushing myself out there in a more global way. I have been making some interesting connections with people in other countries and within other cultures.

My degree of connection with others is affected by the amount of action and transparency that I am willing to exercise. Is that connection already there, but unnoticed if I do not take the action? Is it merely converted from a potential to kinetic connection when the action is taken? The reason that I suspect this, is that so little action is required of me to make such powerful connections. Sometimes it is just walking out the door, going to a meeting or making a single phone call. An extremely meaningful encounter can result from just one tweet or just one post.

If someone out there is trying to get my attention, I am fairly sure they didn’t mean for me to complicate the message to the degree that I just did. It is a little heavy for a Monday morning. Hope I didn’t give anyone a headache. I think I am going to go take a couple of aspirin, have another cup of coffee, take a shower and had a fabulous day.

Toodellooo.

Hold that thought...

James

Stuck on Stupid

Not feeling good? Trying overeating a bunch of crap. Try charging a bunch of stuff on a credit card you can’t pay off. Try sleeping all day. Try drinking until you wake up outside in your own pee.

I think that is what they mean by ‘stuck on stupid’. Through experience, I know that I start feeling positive, hopeful and full of life when I do the opposite of everything I just mentioned above. Does that stop me from trying it again and again? So far, not (expept for the drinking and peeing part).

Wallowing in the mire of my self pity and destructive tendencies used to be something I had no antidote for, hence that kind of behavior used to be a very dangerous thing for me to dabble in. The last two days’ descent into the muck was sparked by not feeling well physically and trying to take a little break from a exercise and writing. For most people that would not be such a difficult thing. For this recovering alcoholic and addict, it can be tricky. 

The difference today is that I knew where I was going to be last night. I knew that it was going to make everything better. Once I got my lame ass to this meeting set out under a giant hack berry tree, under the hummingbird feeders, on a bluff just off the bay....everything began to be okay. Two hours with folks in that beautiful setting discussing spirituality and fellowship transformed me yet again. It led to having a long leisurely dinner with a new friend discussing the meaning of life and Star Wars pillowcases. Once again, I went to bed knowing that my life is a gift and that I would most likely be getting up and going back to the gym in the morning - that everything was okay.

In the midst of my self-inflicted mood, I posted some dribble about my little struggle on Facebook and a friend who naturally thinks a little differently from me suggested I spend some time with friends. I knew he was right, and I knew where to find them.

So the bad news is that I still behave at times like I am being ‘none too smart’. The good news is that I don’t have to stay ‘stuck on stupid’ indefinitely if I do not want to. Any time I wish, I can seek out my fellows, come to the table and join the conversation. I don’t have to talk. I don’t have to entertain. I don’t have to do anything but just suit up and show up. Eventually, the process unwraps me from around my own axle and I can breathe again. I can smile again.

By the way, one of those things I charged yesterday was Bluetooth headphones for music at the gym. Used ‘em this morning, love ‘em. They rock.

Thanks again guys.

Hold that thought...

James

Pooped

I am getting a little pooped. When I get pooped, I tend to get a little poopy.

This morning Blogspot was down, and I thought I was going to have an excuse for not writing a blogpost today. No one is making me write this blankity blank blog, so I shouldn't have to have an excuse to take a break. Right?

The problem is, my breaks turn in to long periods of inactivity. Whether it is going to the gym, dieting or blogging, it seems to be all or nothing for me. It really is a shame, because after awhile exhaustion begins to set in. I start wanting to quit whatever it is. I start to search for some noble reason why I just can't keep it up - an excuse that I can live with.

The truth is, moderation would solve everything. In the first teaching he delivered after his enlightenment, Buddha described the Middle Way as a path that led to liberation. The reality for me is that this is not something I can achieve completely alone and through shear will.

Applying the principles and tools of the 12 Steps is a way of letting a power greater than myself discipline me. Seventeen months ago I quit smoking. When I did, I returned to the gym. Have I been consistent with it? No. I go hard and heavy and then fall off and gain weight back. The difference this time is that, for the first time in my life I renewed a gym membership at the end of the first year. I am currently back at it for almost two months now. The not so great thing is, I have been every day now for almost three weeks. I am beginning to get tired. Maybe there is a power out there that will help me to take a break tomorrow and return Saturday.

Since I am straight-skinny, but still gay-fat, I have been on an unrelenting, restricted diet for eight weeks. I have taken a baby step towards the Middle Way. I have begun eating out once a week with a friend.

I have been taking a break from blogging on Saturdays. Maybe I need two days a week off. Balance is a bitch.

Poopy James is not pleasant.

Hold that thought...
James

Wanna Play?

I used to play. I used to draw and paint a lot when I was a kid. I did it just for the fun of it. There was something so uncomplicated, simple and pure about it. I was not out to impress anyone.

I remember getting my first camera. I took pictures of my dog and my family. I took pictures of fields and cows. My friend and I made little stages and set up miniature scenes populated with figures made of modeling clay and took pictures of them. This was back when creativity was play for me. 

My therapist used to talk about self-actualization. I had an inkling as to what this meant. I looked it up and saw that basically it meant coming to be all that I have the capability of being - reaching my potential. She saw in me so many untapped resources and talents. Fear of failure and lack of motivation had me frozen like Bambi on Highway 9.

At some point. exploring and cultivating my talents naturally, through play, became forced, laborious and scary. This happened in part, I believe, because I began doing some of these things as a career. So naturally, my work was judged at every turn. There was constant pressure to create something quickly that everyone loved.

I became calculating, tentative, self-conscious and self-berating when I tried to paint. As my life got more and more nuts, these traits manifested themselves in many areas of my life. Trying or doing new things started to feel way too risky. Fear and self-centeredness began to bind me tighter and tighter.

I eventually turned to others for help. I sought help through a church, a psychiatrist, a psychologist and a 12-step program. I read self-help books and studied Buddhism. All roads seem to lead in the same direction. They all seem to result in a release from this self-limiting state.

I was reading observations of Abraham Maslow who said -

Common traits amongst people who have reached self-actualization are:

• They embrace reality and facts rather than denying truth.

• They are spontaneous.

• They are ‘focused on problems outside themselves’.

• They ‘can accept their own human nature in the stoic style, with all its shortcomings’, are similarly acceptant of others, and generally lack prejudice.

These are not unusual traits of those in recovery who I think of as “old-timers who work a good program”.

That description also seemed to fit my therapist and other people who I saw living very fulfilling and peaceful lives. I find it fascinating that these traits either lead to, or are a result of, ‘being all that I can be’.

All I know is that the longer I stay sober, stay in integrity, help others and put one foot in front the other, my fears and self-consciousness seem to be lifting. It is exiting. I have begun to write, take pictures again and get into physical fitness. I am enjoying my work again. Maybe someday I will paint again.

At times, I am even beginning to feel a little playful.

Hold that thought...

James

Breathe

Pausing and taking a breath? Sounds simple, huh? Not for this hothead.

My ego is sensitive to others opinions, posturing and attempts at control. It responds as if it being attacked by a lion on the savannah. Pausing, breathing and restraint of pen and tongue are first in priority. It has taken a lot of pain and practice to make as much progress as I have today, but it’s a long road to Tipperary for this recovering asshole.

The last few days I have been having one of my “spells”. Some may call it a not-so-healthy spiritual condition. I suspect it is, once again, that my pride is out of level. My advisor defines a leveled ego as being right-sized. I have spent a long time in recovery beating myself up for not being able to stay right-sized. I am beginning to think that I may be ordinary in that sense.

See, that’s the problem. My instincts cry out at being ordinary. I was watching a documentary last night on stress. Scientists have determined that the lower down on the social or economic pecking order we are, the more stress we experience. This is evidently true with human’s or baboons. So, instinct drives us to be better-than or to dominate those around us. Watching baboons, one scientist observes that low ranking individuals spend most of their days picking on and asserting some kind of false dominance over their fellows.

Nature compels us to do this it seems, because stress shortens our lives, so being better-than is a strategy for survival. The documentary cited studies showing brain cell damage, lower immune system response and a long list of conditions brought on by stress.

While my urges to dominate, retaliate, humiliate or subjugate may be natural, they are not good for me. Ironically, they even create more stress. The answer? Breathe, pause, pray, say good morning to someone and smile. Make something pretty, do something useful, help someone, contribute, give.

First, always, I must breathe.

Hold that thought...

James

Faker

For most of my life I considered myself neurotic. Even in the good times, depression and frustration were lurking around the corner to take me down. Towards the end of my drinking though, they were near constant companions. 

Anger, negativity, worry and sadness seemed the norm in the house I grew up in. I was so determined not to be like the rest of my family, so I tried desperately to be happy. Ultimately, I would just tell myself that I was happy. I would tell myself that I refused to be depressed. I would just put on a mask and fake it. With the help of the right combination of drugs and alcohol, I was able to pull this off for a good, long while.

In the last few years of my drinking though, the mask was coming down. It was becoming increasingly harder and harder to get through the workday without people seeing what was really going on in my mind.

I had such an issue with anger and frustration. Most days, the people and situations at my work, were something I barely endured. In my mind, a successful day at work was one that I got through without anyone knowing how angry or miserable I was. The fact that my coworkers often looked at me with a little fear in their eyes seemed okay as long as they didn’t call me on it. I will never forget going off on someone at work and them looking at me and saying, “You just aren’t a very happy person, are you?” That made me very, very angry.

I was in so much fear that each day was going to be the day that I would totally loose all control. My solution was to hold on until I could get home and take a drink. Of course the next morning meant waking up with awful dread and fear of the day to come.

Today, I don’t try to manage my moods. I am not a person that can control my moods. I don’t get to decide how I feel anymore. The idea that I could, was only an illusion for me anyway. I am so thankful for the person in the program that said to me, “It’s okay, not to feel okay.” My feelings and moods don’t scare me like they used to. I don’t have to hide them. Why?

I now have so many tools, so much help and so many people who know exactly who I am and love me anyway. My darker days are now more transient. Without drugs and alcohol, they go as freely as they come  - if I use the tools of prayer, meditation, writing, sharing honestly with others and giving myself to service no matter how I feel.

I was nuts today. I struggled today; but I am going to bed sober with faith, based on experience, that tomorrow will most likely be different. I will go back to work - back to share the day with coworkers that I have a good relationship with. I will meet with my fellows after work and I will share with them honestly that I wasn’t so great yesterday, and I will not be judged. I have nothing to hide today.

I am safe. I am loved. It was a good day, because I did no harm to myself or others, and I go to bed clean and sober.

Hold that thought...

James

Dear Momma

Happy Mother’s Day. You never call. You never write. :-)

You were in such pain the last time I saw you. I often lay in bed and picture what your face must look like now - relaxed, full of joy and at total peace. Your exit from this world was almost unbearable for us. I thought watching you suffer was going to kill us all, but it did not.

When you left, a part of me was destroyed - it came very close to killing me, but that was my own fault. As if the pain of loosing you was not enough, I made your pain about me. I could not stop thinking about all the things that happened to you that last six months. I worried that some of them were made worse by my inexperienced caretaking. The only thing that eased that guilt was remembering Mary Joan saying, “James, any decision that you and your Dad make - out of love - cannot be wrong, cannot be a mistake.” Thank God for her. That was 17 years ago.

Grief is a long journey no matter what, but Momma, I hurt so badly and drinking made it feel better. Drinking made everything feel better. Because of that, I drank more and more over the next ten years. I am grateful you were not there, because you would have worried about me. I would not have wanted that.

I drank almost everyday for 10 years. I dreamt of you almost every night for 10 years - almost always you had cancer. I got lonelier and lonelier. I got angrier and angrier. I never went back to Reno. At first that was a choice and later I was incapable of making a move that big. I lost most of my friends and did not make new ones. Every year that went by, more alcohol was needed to exist.

Ten years after you died I walked into the rooms of recovery and everything changed. In one day, my whole future changed. I found people who had hurt as bad as I had, and they weren’t hurting like that anymore. They said if I wanted a way out, they would take me and lead me, love me, care for me until I was better. They said there was one condition though, that I pass on to someone else the same gift they were giving me.

It has been like magic. After not too long, I realized that I wasn’t dreaming about you every night. When I dream about you now, you are rarely sick. Thanks to this program, I can dream of you and think of you, and not feel like someone is punching a hole through my chest.

Since then, Daddy and Julie have joined you, and we miss you all. Because of these new friends of mine and the Power they hooked me up with, I did not have to drink when they died.

Time has marched on here, I am 50 years old now. I still love you as much as ever. I appreciate so much all the sacrifices you made for us kids. I appreciate the love you gave us. I just wanted to let you know that my life is so good these days. I feel for the first time that I fit in this world and I enjoy most of my days. I am okay.

I hope you have wireless internet up there. Surely they have Apple in Heaven. Oops, maybe not. Damn that Eve. Have you given that bitch your two cents? They say women have periods because of her!

Give Daddy and Julie a big hug for me. I love ya a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck. See ya soon.

Hold that thought...

James

Sour Grapes

I found myself standing in front of a large, oil-on-canvas Norman Rockwell painting last night. I am not an Americana kind of guy. Which is probably just a case of sour grapes. There is nothing wrong with Americana, I just have never felt like an eligible candidate or welcome in that club.

This painting stood out from the others in the exhibit with their flat, graphic-illustration quality. It had dimension, warmth and a magnificent glow. The slightly overplayed light washed over an elderly couple - obviously gazing into a fireplace not included in the composition. The sat with serene faces, snuggling on their sofa. 

The woman’s face is what I cannot forget. The look of serenity - so pure and simple. I could only imagine the thoughts playing through her mind. As I looked at that peaceful face, I could not imagine resentment or regret in her ponderings. I could not detect any signs of self loathing or disappointment. There was not a flicker of condemnation or judgement.

She looked as if her thoughts must be uncomplicated, accepting and calm.

Sorry, Norman Rockwell or not, I don’t consider that Americana. I can imagine that experience on anyone’s face on this planet. We are all eligible. When I think I’m not, I am just deceiving myself. In the last few years, I have had a touch of what I saw on that woman’s face. I like it.

Hold that thought...

James

Sorry Son of a Gun

When I got into recovery, I was not surprised that one of the steps was making amends. I must have learned that from popular culture. Initially, it was the least of my worries.

By the time my sponsor and I began working on the ‘grudge list’ we made in step four, I was beginning to worry about approaching the people that I believed had wronged me and claiming my part in the conflict.  I was, although, anxious to make amends to the people whom I had harmed, but had no anger towards.

My guide was always there to pull me back from the clutches of the future and help me to concentrate on the step I was on. He would assure me that by the time I got to that step, I would be ready. He was right. I was able to make my amends with a number of people that I really love, some of whom I was very angry with when I stopped drinking. Most of the relationships survived but a couple did not.

Something magical happened when I found my part in the scenarios surrounding my resentments. Recognizing something, anything I had done to contribute to the conflict was powerful. I began to forgive. I began to suspect that I may not have been the victim I thought I was.

Something even more amazing happened when I claimed this as honestly as possible to the other person. Ignoring what they might have done to me, I shared my shortcomings and stating a true desire to not repeat the behavior. After quietly letting the other person share their thoughts and perspective, the anger that remained diminished even more.

I did this to unload the weighty, guilty mess I walked into recovery with. But now the process is committed to my memory and I have to use it fairly often to keep my relationships relatively healthy and my conscience as clear as possible.

Today, I have a deep faith in the effectiveness of the process and direct experience with the gifts I receive when I humble myself and do it. But, often I still balk. My ego will say to me, “It’s not that bad, it will all pass if I just act like nothing happen. I should just keep my head down all will be forgotten. It’s not like I’ll drink over this little spat.”

Truthfully, I occasionally take this attitude and ride out small resentments, and yes sometimes it does pass without me having to take that unpalatable action. To what degree are relationships compromised? I won’t ever really know. How much does it affect my overall attitude and days following? It is hard to quantify.

When I let too many of these resentments fester - first my serenity goes and all my relationships begin to suffer. The effect is cumulative. I become restless, irritable and discontent. This sets me up for all kinds of trouble.

Going the route of letting the resentment pass with no action is also a long and painful process even when it works. Dealing with it as suggested is like pulling that adhesive bandage off quickly. It’s over faster, but with a sharp pain to the ego.

Honestly, I have a couple of little ones rolling around in my head right now. Time will tell what I do with them.

Hold that thought...

James

Duck and Cover

Please, dear God no, not another mistake.

No one could make me want to run more than my Dad. He was a good man and always did his best raising us, but he scared the bejesus out of me. His mood was usually serious and he rarely smiled. He also had a way of belittling those around him when they made a mistake. The only thing that would usually rally him from his easy chair was the need to discipline or make a drink. The opportunity to make a smart ass or condescending comment was often the only words he was motivated to utter.

For a child growing up in my house, the result of a mistake was almost always harsh criticism, discipline or ridicule. It really didn’t matter whether it was a mistake made out of a misjudgment or out of happenstance. If something was broken, then you should have been doing...fill in the blank. If we woke Mom or Dad up from a nap, it didn’t matter how or why. I always felt I was walking a tightrope. So when my Dad’s little sissy boy fills up the lawn mower with water instead of gasoline (both in red cans I might add), it was not a pleasant experience. I remember a tool pouch and a coffee mug hitting the wall of the garage. Other kids certainly had it much worse, but that kind of stuff has always rocked this guys world.

So by the time I got kicked out of the house at six years old to go to first grade at a Catholic school, I was already conditioned to cower after making a mistake. My brother’s nature was to rebel and fight back but mine was to duck and cover. I just happened to get “Sister Mary Humilate-the-Little-Boy” for my first grade teacher. That did not go well. It began about 10 years of trying to be invisible in class. It always seemed to me that teachers and kids alike seemed to really get a kick out of teasing and embarrassing me when I would try to answer a question out loud in class.

These are the only two things I can think of that might have led to my extreme aversion to making mistakes. All my life I’ve thought that very disturbing feelings, self-flagellation and retreat were normal reactions to making mistakes. It has only been in the last few years that I have begun to be told otherwise, thanks to a great therapist and a wonderful spiritual advisor. My grandmother new it, I remember her often  yelling at my dad as he went for his belt, “He didn’t go to do it!”

There are so many negative consequences to this misconception of mine that mistakes aren’t a normal part of living and learning. The self-berating and fear make me so judgemental of myself and ultimately others. This fear drives my ego to demand more of myself and others than is fair. It sets unreasonable goals for myself and others to obtain. It makes me feel at times - so worthless and a failure. It is all a lie I tell myself.

Today, I choose to believe my therapist and my spiritual advisor. There is absolutely nothing wrong with making a “mistake”. When a misstep is made I just need to make note of it, without judgement, and take corrective action to do differently in the future. Go figure.

My thinking, though, is so slow to change. I need reminders of this often by people who love me, and I need to remind others and forgive their mistakes. Everyday that I do this, I get a little better.

There is no mistaking the gratitude I feel today toward my teachers.

Hold that thought...

James

Under the Lash

Under the lash of alcoholism and addiction, I have been forced to find a spirituality that I am becoming a little more comfortable with every day.

My sister and I both sought help from a 12 step program, she at a very young age and I in my mid-forties. She was somewhat connected with it for the rest of her life. She remained very troubled through the years. We didn't speak the last three years of my drinking and using. We were reconnected via my ninth step amends. In the process of the amend, she said she no longer attended meetings because she found the "God talk" unbearable. I had been struggling with the same thing from the first day in the program.

Six months later she committed suicide. My sponsored had already shared with me that he believed everyone treats their alcoholism one way or another. We either drink, do drugs, find a spiritual (or meaningful) life or commit suicide. Loosing my little sister came with a flood of thoughts and emotions, but her gift to me may have been a wake-up call. I needed to find out why other people's opinions and beliefs made me so crazy or it just may kill me. I had to uncover my part in the whole mess.

She and I had so many traits in common that seemed to be tied to my animosity toward religious people. Her death was the catalyst for an extensive inventory, fifth, sixth and seventh step for me. The prayers for help that emerged in the seventh step are now a part of my daily eleventh step. The process has been effective enough for me to still be comfortably attending meetings six years later. I am also able to share (outside of meetings) my experience with others who do not share the mainstream religious beliefs of most people in the deep South of the USA.

The way our founders crafted and set down the program has never made me uncomfortable, as they took great pains to design an all-inclusive spiritual path, defined only by the individual. But, many times as people take turns sharing their "experience" in the rooms it can sound like everyone is voting for the denomination or deity of their choice - intended or not. Damaged people like my sister and myself can feel unwelcome anywhere, on the fringes of society and possibly damned to hell for being who we are. So, as compelled as I can sometimes be to share my personal spiritual beliefs in a meeting, I try to bite my tongue and remember that someone's comfort in that room is more important that any ego-driven urge to do it.

If it wasn't for the book our program is based on, old-timers with sufficiently leveled egos and the help of an awesome sponsor, I would have fled by now. Of course it was only the lash of alcoholism that kept me around long enough to do the work required to get some relief from my fears.

Surely. I will meet some of you as I trudge the Road of Happy Destiny!

Hold that thought...
James

Children of Chaos

I wasn’t too long in recovery before someone brought Rule 62 to my attention. If you know me, you know why.

The term is from a book on the traditions of the program I belong to. It tells a story of a grandiose group of recovering alcoholics who dreamed up a grandiose plan. To execute the plan, they decided that 61 rules and regulations would be required. Well their plan did not come off like they hoped, and it sent the group spinning. After the dust settled, the head promoter of the plan proposed Rule 62: “Don’t take yourself too damn seriously.”

The book refers to us alcoholics as “Children of Chaos.” For me this term fits, and it meant that for many years I spent a great deal of time devising plans to manage and fix my life - to keep myself out of trouble. Managing chaos required a great deal of complex, serious and self-centered thought. It also made me crazy.

Sobriety and a new design for living has taken me out of harms way, but my mind still comes up with all these grandiose plans that require complex thought and planning on my part. My brain still thinks it needs to come up with a master plan that will make everything perfect.  Adrenaline pumps as I run countless scenarios, coming up with an endless list of rules for myself and others to follow.

It all sets me up for resentment and disappointment at myself and those around me. Overestimating my power and importance causes me to over-react when things go wrong because my ego is completely entwined in the situation. I take the “failure” personally and become overly angry and frustrated with myself and anyone else involved.

Before I complicate this concept any further, I will tell you that when I first came into the program I could not, as hard as I tried, understand what taking myself too seriously meant. I consider myself intelligent, but I found this impossible to really understand - kind of like Einstein’s theory of relativity. It sort of gave me a headache.

I am a gardener and this analogy helped me to finally picture what taking myself too seriously meant. I asked myself, “What would taking a garden too serious look like?” I thought, it could be ripping all the plants out because a worm ate one of them. It could be seeking retribution because someone stepped on one of my seedlings. It could be flogging myself for using the wrong fertilizer mix. It could be losing hours of sleep trying to come up with a way to manage how many blooms would open the next day. It could be coming up with 61 rules for myself and my friends to follow that would ensure a  picturesque and perfect garden.

Interesting... The other day,  I put a picture of my garden on Facebook so everyone could see how talented I am, and a friend responded with a compliment for God. A comment on his great work and artistry. On another day that really would have ticked me off.

See why I need you guys?

Hold that thought...

James

Today's the Big Day

They say we alcoholics and addicts that need a 12-step program have a daily reprieve from drugs and alcohol. One day of immunity only....ever. When I first got to the program, I thought that was truly the lamest guarantee that I had ever heard of. For Pete's sake, Walmart gives you 30 days.

A lady who had been sober for over 30 years, one day at a time, asked me just how many days of sobriety did I need at one time? What would I do with them?  How many days can I live at one time?

That helped me to begin to understand the idea that I didn't need more than a daily reprieve. So what do I do the next day to get another repeive? All I have to do is participate in my recovery, again for one day. Our literature calls it the maintenance of my spiritual condition. I do it by getting up in the morning and asking my higher power to keep me sober, I almost always either work with another alcoholic or addict or make a meeting; and I thank my Higher Power for keeping me sober at before I fall asleep. If I have had any troubles during the day I sometimes do a 10th Step. That's an average 24 hours of my program for me. Simple and easy most days.

Now is this everything the literature suggests I do? Absolutely not. Do other people do more? yes. Do other people do less? Have I done less? Have I done more? Yes, yes, yes.

Have I been kept sober up until today? Yes. Is my life continuing to expand, blossom and heal? Absofreekinlutely.

I was in so much fear of relapsing in the beginning, even though my actions were evidence that I was working very hard in recovery. I was making it the top priority in my life, but I was still in intense fear. I had been pulled from the fire and the thought of returning was terrifying. Since I was actively participating in the process, I am fairly sure I would have been kept sober without that degree of fear. It was part of my journey, though. I wonder if it was a requirement?  I am mostly free from that fear today.

I am so content with the gift of just one more day of this awesome new life. My days are ridiculously full. I can hardly remember what boredom is like. I have so much living to pack into this one day.

When days are hard and sad, when tragedy has graced my door, I have a full day to delve into the solution. There is so much help available to me each day that I could never tap it all. Writing , praying, meetings and a whole army of people just waiting to hug me, sit with me and share with me how they were kept sane and sober through similar situations. Too much, to many to pack into one day. That is bounty and it can only be had today.


Thank you all so much for today.


Hold that thought...
James