Humility is nothing else but a right judgement of ourselves.
-- William Law
Pride makes us artificial and humility makes us real.
-- Thomas Merton
There is something in humility which strangely exalts the heart.
-- Saint Augustine
True humility is contentment.
-- Henri Frederic Amiel
Life is a long lesson in humility.
-- James M. Barrie
When considering myself, qualities I have, etc., -- hopefully along the course of self-examination and not self-obsession -- sometimes my assessments are off, and it is low self esteem at work (perhaps fueled by fear and alcoholism, but certainly able to do a number on me without any assistance from those two delightful companions).
But sometimes it's not low self esteem.
Sometimes I'm just being realistic.
From the book "Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions", pg. 67:
"Else why would we consume such great amounts of time wishing for what we have not, rather than working for it, or angrily looking for attributes we shall never have, instead of adjusting to the fact, and accepting it." (italics mine)
I can try to achieve anything, try to be anything, and if I keep my sobriety first and work to keep some kind of spiritual connection going I'll get a wonderful result -- but that doesn't mean I am guaranteed the specific result I wish to achieve.
Sobriety, AA, the 12 Steps, et al, are not white witchcraft or The Secret or any tool in which I can fashion the Universe -- or myself -- into exactly what I think it/I should have/be.
I seek, I try, I live in the process -- and when I'm really on my AA game I gracefully accept the result, and ultimately myself.
And with practice, that acceptance equals deep gratitude and self love -- which is a life saving act, as untreated addiction is an unstoppable, progressive slide into self loathing and ultimately spiritual and literal violence against oneself.
When it comes to certain things about myself, seeing without drama, without self-pity or longing, what I am not -- and what I will likely never be -- is not an exercise in negativity, it is acceptance of reality -- and if one is so inclined, of God's will as well.
And if you read this and it feels like I'm talking about excuses, or "giving up" or not setting and achieving goals, then either I wasn't clear or you're missing the point.
If you cannot accept help with an open heart, then the sad truth is that you probably cannot give help with an open heart.
However we judge ourselves when we ask for or receive help, it is very likely we consciously (or unconsciously) attach that same judgment to those we are helping.
Perhaps the best way to address this is to practice asking for help, since that is often the harder and more humbling thing to do -- that, and pray for a more open heart.
(I suspect -- though it may be just a fancy on my part -- it is this prayer which God is most glad to answer.)
What you DO:
zoo keeper, cop, nurse, diplomat, janitor, masseur, tennis pro, court reporter, agronomist, teacher, rolfer, taxi driver...
you get the idea.
What makes you WHO YOU ARE:
Telling the truth regardless of the situation/lying to avoid consequences
Being a good listener/being a bad listener
avoiding responsibility/stepping up
being open to new things/being shut down
being tolerant/intolerant
following through/quitting
getting busy/procrastinating
judging/accepting ...
you get the idea.
What I DO, as in, how I make my way in the world, is not what makes me who I am.
HOW I BEHAVE is what makes me who I am.
Lots of great people and worthwhile institutions try to show alcoholics and addicts how to move through the world, how to conduct ourselves... how to behave.
For me (and, I think its safe to say, countless others) it wasn't until I came to AA and journeyed through the 12 Steps that I found a message which could penetrate my sick, self-centered fog and help me amend myself -- help me learn how to be someone who is the same person regardless of where I am or who I'm with -- help me line up the person that I think I am with the person that I actually am.
The freedom -- and the power -- which results from that journey is that other people's behavior does not dictate my behavior -- I do.
The healthy people around me can inspire me, but when I encounter spiritual sickness in others it no longer bullies me or impacts me like it used to.
And thus, other people do not define who I am -- only I can, now.
This freedom, this power, this journey, is available to anyone who wants it, and who is willing to do what AA suggests. (Of course, wanting it and being willing to do what is required are two very different things.)
Sometimes it seems like the world tries to tell me that what I do is who I am.
When I go to an AA meeting, I get it all sorted out again, and I remember the truth.
I remember who I am.
art by Eugenio Recuenco
Humility is the one thing that can save me from myself.
It keeps me willing. Helps me be teachable. Let's me laugh at myself.
Its presence or lack inside a recovering alcoholic
is probably the biggest factor between being dry and being sober.
I had a whole different post planned to write.
And I would rather have done that -- answered a question via email -- than talk about the rude insight I had just a little while ago. But much like the Princess and the Pea, as I sat at my computer, fingers on the keyboard, no matter how I tried I just couldn't get comfortable. That little pea of truth, as unattractive as it was and uncomfortable as it felt, wanted out. I think to have written an answer to a question tonight would have been hiding behind dispensing my experience as a balm to my ego.
This is a bit of a leap, but it's got the same flavor to it as the reasoning above: When I speak at meetings, I usually don't say how much time I have sober. Now, there is nothing wrong with saying how much time you have, and certainly I'm blessed to live in a place where many people with a good amount of time participate in meetings regularly, so it's not as though I'm always the biggest dog in the room every time I speak (though sometimes I am -- which really means nothing in and of itself too, as you know -- just context). But I've noticed that, when I have the impulse to roll out the number of years, it's because I'm uncomfortable in the moment. In other words, my impulse does not come from a place of service, it comes from a place of fear. And ego. I'm trying to compensate for some perceived lack, some imagined slight, some projected judgment from someone(s) in the room by saying something like, "in my XX years sober... ." To do it like that would be an attempt to add gravity to my persona, to artificially pump myself up with an allusion to a false hierarchy. Not only would that would be wrong, it would undermine any sense of authenticity I have in myself.
For a long time in sobriety it does not matter why you do something, it matters much more what you do. But eventually that changes -- and by that I do NOT mean that the why becomes more important than the what -- only that the why gets important in its own way, too.
Writing an Email Questions post right now would have been the same as rolling out my time sober at a meeting -- I'd have been doing it out of ego, as a way to compensate, not out of service and a desire to help. And try as I might, I just couldn't sit on that pea.
I was talking to a friend on the phone this evening -- we've known each other for many years, and he is sober a long time.
The conversation meandered some, as we hadn't caught up in a while. He mentioned a big meeting he used to go to, which prompted me to say, "Oh, I'm going to be speaking there this Monday." I went on to add how it was the first time I'd ever been asked to speak at a meeting via FaceBook, and how odd and funny that somehow felt.
So naturally then we chatted about FaceBook and speaking at meetings. Over the years he has heard my tired story many, many times.
On the topic of FB, I said, "I've seen some people put up little notices on their profiles, saying things like 'Hey, I'm speaking at such-and-such meeting, and it would be great if people showed up to support me.' I just don't get that. What the hell, right?"
"Well, you know," he said, "it's different for them than for you now."
"Yeah, but ... I don't get that. I mean..." I went on to rehash what I'd just said. Making a little speech about it I fear.
The conversation moved on, we talked about lots of other things, had some laughs, and committed to doing a better job of keeping up and maybe going to a meeting together and grabbing a bite some time soon.
After the call ended, I had that feeling I've come to know so well. That little *ping* on my recovery radar, which usually precedes a few butterflies as I connect some dots to form a picture I'd rather not look at.
I suddenly had an uncomfortably clear memory of my making that same little speech about asking people to "come and support you when you're speaking at a meeting" more than once -- and how it was colored with varying degrees of superiority and disdain. I could see myself clearly, in fact, doing that with a few sponsees.
I realized that when I was making that observation it wasn't about "not getting it" at all. It was a subtle trumpeting about how I was so above that. It was really about my telling people that I was so different, so evolved, so much better than that behavior. Making sure I looked like a tough cookie, so experienced, yet so humble. (I would give a lot not to have typed that. But it's the truth.)
It was pure ego on my part.
It was the worst kind of grandstanding -- a speech about other people's behavior as a gambit to underscore something "special" about myself.
As crude in its way as asking people, "Does this shirt make me look fat?" knowing perfectly well it doesn't, but only so that people will tell you how thin you look. (A metaphor in my case, believe me).
There is always more to learn about how to be more truthful with myself and more authentic with others.
There is always more to see when it comes to the threads of ego which are woven throughout some exchanges I have, and the subtle posturing I am capable of.
There is always more work to do.
