Mr. SponsorPants

" ... am I being Punk'd?" Part 2

Part 1 here.

It's funny what you learn and how you learn it.

Well, it's not always funny -- and by funny I mean strange, not ha-ha.

In retrospect I guess there's nothing funny-strange about this at all -- it's just my ego, yet again.

I've tried to write this three or four times since I wrote Part 1, but it always came out much snarkier than I intended.  But then I got it:  That's what I needed to see in all this.  The bits of snark hiding in the corners, like crappy emotional dustbunnies.

You see, it turns out that this rehab which may (or may not) go in on my street -- so laughably close to my front door that it's hard not to see a cosmic punchline somewhere in the offing -- is what would generally be referred to as "high end."

Very high end.

"Luxury concierge accommodations for people willing to pay $28,000 a month (doctors are billed separately) ..."

A concierge.

There's more: 

According to the owner/founder of the rehab it would "cater to Fortune 500 CEO's, Major League Baseball and Soccer Players and entertainers.  Ten percent (two) of our beds would be committed to 'community use' for low/no cost patients, but we'll screen them carefully to fit in with our clientele."

Yeah, I know.  Me too.

I had thought I would be describing the process of finding out about the rehab, and maybe whatever then passed between myself and my neighbor who seems so opposed to its placement here on our street.  I'd wondered if the situation was going to turn out to be a little amusing, and I might have fun sharing it here -- not at her expense -- just the irony of the larger dynamic -- what with me being a big AA booster and her apparent attitudes (not unwarranted, I hasten to add) about addicts in general.

But instead of humor, I found my own snark.  I found my AA arrogance.  And of course, my familiar friend, ego.

You know, for the longest time in early sobriety I never thought I played God -- I thought "playing God" meant you were some kind of know-it-all bully-type.  (And I'm too wiley for that -- I'm the passive/aggressive low-self-esteem charming bully-type, who grinds you down with courtesy and kindness.  Death by butter knife.)  But it is playing God to think that I know how things should be for people.  It is playing God to assume -- albeit not always with a side order of snark, sometimes with the best of intentions -- that my way of getting sober is in any way morally superior or more effective than a method which costs $28,000 per month.

Because the fact is, I don't know.  (Some people only value information they have to pay dearly for, after all.)

Turns out that in trying to write Part 2 of this I saw that my initial reaction to what I learned about the proposed rehab was dripping with reverse-snobbery, and a good sized dollop of God-playing snark underneath it.

If my own financial roller coaster and checkered job history has taught me anything, it's that poverty is not ennobling, and money is not degrading.  Sure, poverty can put you in survival mode, and it's hard not to succumb to fear when you're there.  And money can prey on ego, and engender its own kind of fear (in my experience the fear of not getting what you think you need is a dull throbbing ache, but the fear of losing what you've got is a sharp, acute, stabby kind of thing.)  It's cheap sentiment, populism and reverse snobbery to make the leap that just because someone can and does spend a lot of money to go to rehab that they are ... foolish?  Misguided?  Spoiled?  Grandiose?  Wasting their money?

None of those things are true.

Some of those things may be true.  But I am not an authority on what works for other people -- I must remember that the only thing I can be sure of is what works for me.

It is embarrassing to write here, but my initial reaction to a $28,000 per month rehab had all the sophistication of an episode of "The Beverly Hillbillies":  "Garsh, Jethro, those city folks shure are high steppin when they go to dry out!"  

Sure, I'm being a little hard on myself.  You could make the case that something which appeals to elitism may not be very helpful in dealing with the commonly agreed-upon profile of an addict, which includes a propensity for grandiosity and a generally high level of self-involvement.  (And playing the victim!  Let's not forget the victim stuff!  Oh, and the entitlement!)  Having the concierge swing by the dry cleaners before you go into Group is not a treatment strategy I'm familiar with, I grant you, and the questions it immediately raises for me are worthy of consideration.

But it's not for me to say.  No, really.  That is not a posture I'm striking.  If I'm going to be open and available to newcomers, if I'm going to be open to new ideas, and not be rigid or close-minded,  I must guard against playing God, and watch for arrogance in all things recovery-related.

AA is one way of getting sober.  The 12 Step world has been an amazing, healing experience for me, and for a lot of people I know.

And certainly lots of people try lots of things -- potentially including the Fortune 500 rock-star style rehab -- before they are willing to try AA -- if they're ever willing to.

What I learned from this (so far -- more will be revealed, as the expression goes) is how subtle -- but hopefully not pervasive -- my arrogance can be on certain topics.  How easily my affection for and loyalty to AA alchemizes into something which serves no one -- not the newcomer and not me.

AA is a program of attraction, not promotion.  Thinking that we're the only and the bestest way to get sober is probably not very attractive.

It is the best way for me, yes.  But again, that's the only part of this I can be certain of.

Ah, nothing like an uncomfortable recognition of my character defects and the humbling phasers set to stun as I start the week.

Happy Monday!

Things I learned (or was reminded of) this week(end). An ongoing series.

• In observing alcoholics (myself included) this weekend, it struck me how readily our ego and defiance work together (at lightning speed, and virtually unseen) to perceive a criticism or sleight from someone when none is offered -- that is, someone is talking literally about themselves, but what we hear -- and react to -- is a comment about us -- a comment they were not making at all.

• People make up a lot of rules in their head about sharing in AA meetings that do not exist.  While some sharing is more productive than others -- and some meeting formats request people abide by certain suggestions (no cross talk, for example) -- there is really no "wrong" sharing.

• Alcoholics Anonymous does not try to explain God, it only suggests we seek one, as we understand them.  Being angry or doubtful or cynical or critical of a belief in God is absolutely no barrier to working the 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous.

• Serenity is learning to live with unanswered questions and unresolved issues.

• As it says in the Big Book, when discussing our inventories, "the world and its people are often quite wrong."  Looking at my part in things -- so crucial for my peace of mind and continued sobriety -- is not the same as saying that a wrong thing is not, in fact, wrong.

• Anonymity helps me remain teachable, as well as to hear peoples' shares in meetings with a minimum of filters.

• Listening to a 5th Step is, when done with real attention and a true intent to be of service to another person in recovery, actually very hard work -- well worth it, but hard work nonetheless.

I pray

I pray

not for change in the world,

but for change

in myself.

It's working.

And she's just a slip of a girl, too.

Here I am, thinking I'm all badass and blogging about my .31 blood alcohol level at the time of my arrest for drunk driving 20+ years ago.  Seems that God, the Universe or The Great Whatever never misses a chance to broaden my humility through new perspectives...

The speaker at tonight's meeting had a blood alcohol level of .48 at one point when she was hospitalized and, as she hilariously put it, nibbling her way out of the four-point restraints the hospital personnel placed her in.

.48!

And she's just a slip of a girl, too!

(Nibbling her way out of four point restraints!  I haven't laughed that hard in a long time.)

Five Star Generals

Five Star Generals don't ask for help.

A friend of mine with 34 years clean and sober in AA often makes this observation when the topic turns to alcoholics with long time sobriety who either relapse or take their own lives.  The first time she said it I confess it took me a minute or two to catch her drift -- then I understood what she meant.  Think about it.

And now, a few words from St. Theresa

Regular readers know that I'll take my spiritual inspiration anyplace I can find it.  In the earliest days of my sobriety, the sentiment "If you don't understand God, then that's how you understand God" was a great comfort.  The fact that it came from an old episode of "Kung Fu" didn't phase me in the least.

(Caine was as quick with a spiritual nugget or a beautiful image as he was with a Crane Kick.  I found it enlightening as a kid when the show was first on, and then nostalgic and comforting later, when I was newly sober --  though undoubtedly it would be irritating as hell to be trapped in an elevator with him: "Yes, it is like sunlight upon a stream, the water moves but the light only appears to dance. We, like the light, only appear to move."  "Yeah, uh, that's great, Caine, thanks for sharing, but could you pull the Alarm Button now?")

Today was a one-foot-in-front-of-the-other day.  One in which outwardly I was calm, okay, business as usual -- but inwardly I was anxious, and consumed with self judgment.  Old fears and shames came to visit.  Thanks to the 12 Steps I don't see them as often as I used to, and over the years I've learned to unmask them, or try to ignore them, but they still carry a knife, and know just where to stick it in.  And turn it.

While my rational mind understands that this is a form of self obsession, and I took steps to get out of myself, (lunch with a sponsee, coffee with a sober friend, dinner with another sponsee and then went to one of my regular AA meetings at which I have a service commitment) being able to identify what is happening -- the self obsession, the self judgment, the anxiety -- does not always free me from the effects of these things right away.  Identifying what's happening and taking the right sober actions keep me from being overwhelmed  -- but it does not always take the knife away as quickly as I might like.

Does it even matter what set it all in motion today, mentally?  Emotionally?  A worry about the future, a wish for having made a different choice, the sting of a little rejection ... the news of the world ... I try to regain my perspective, which is of course an attempt to reach for humility.  Sometimes that solution comes to hand effortlessly.  Sometimes humility is a soft blanket -- but sometimes it's like one of those scratchy tags in the collar of a badly made shirt, and every time I turn my head it bugs me, and I'm mad for even having to have it.

But as I said at the top, I will take my inspiration wherever I can find it.  And so, it's ...

St. Theresa of Lisieux to the rescue!

Huh?

Yeah, I know, but roll with it.

According to a number of sources, when St. Theresa was a child, she was offered a handful of ribbons from which to select one.  She responded, "I choose all."

Terry, that is my kind of thinking.  My mother told me that when I was little she once scolded me with the old adage "You can't have your cake and eat it too" -- to which I responded "Then bake two cakes."  Ah, the budding ism.  So cute.

From a very religious family, as a girl Theresa was anxious to go into the nun business, as pretty much all of her sisters and one of her cousins before her -- so anxious, in fact, that she petitioned to get into the Convent early, a petition that was eventually granted. 

Theresa came to speak and write of "The Little Way."  She realized, sitting around the convent, that heroic acts and "great deeds" were not her path, but that she could still accomplish something worthy by making "... every little sacrifice, every glance and word, and the doing of the least actions for love."   

If I'm not a rock star, if I'm not in Juarez, Mexico fighting drug gangs, if I'm not matching tissue samples for sick children ... I can choose to give greater meaning to the simple fabric of my life by "doing the least actions for love."  To me, that means trying to have a loving, spiritual intent behind every small connection with others.  Theresa's the saint, not me -- that's a high bar to clear.  And AA teaches me that it's the action which transforms me -- and my own experience strongly bears that out.  Yet if I take a page from Theresa's philosophy, those actions can be coupled with a loving intent which changes me -- heals me -- further.  Yes, to be clear, the action alone will change me -- and when I first got sober any change was a good, healthy one -- but eventually the action alone is a sterile thing, and the intent becomes more worthy of consideration.

To build muscle you must add weights and thus increase the effort.  Perhaps to build spirit we must do something similar.

Today, as those old pains and shames tried to gain traction I wrestled with some of the questions to which there are no answers (those questions always come down to to the foolish and fruitless "Why?" -- and in my experience God is not in the Because Business.  Religion seems to be, but God -- not so much).

Theresa found her answer to those questions in, as she puts it, "the book of nature."  She wrote:

"I have come to realize, that the radiance of the rose and the whiteness of the lily do not take away the fragrance of the little violet or the delightful simplicity of the daisy ... perfection consists in being what God wants us to be."

I take my inspiration where I can get it.

This stops the questioning and brings me back to what I know to be true:  As a sober alcoholic the best of who I am is found in the 12th Step.  As it says in the book "Alcoholics Anonymous" (AA's Big Book), when talking about working with other alcoholics, "You can help when no one else can." (BB, pg. 89)

Being sober, on some days, must be enough.

When I remember that as a recovering alcoholic I can be of service to someone with a terminal illness -- the very same illness I have been given a daily reprieve from, in a way that others cannot -- that knowledge frees me from comparing myself to "others."  It silences old fears and shames, and excises the pernicious "what if's" and "if only's" chasing each other around in a circle in my head.

It is a way to STOP -- and return to being content with simply who, what and where I am.  And that is what God wants us to be.

The opposite of what we do

Phone call this afternoon from an alcoholic who sounded pretty upset.  A situation at work had gone south -- badly.  They described in general terms what had happened and then said, "So I'm afraid I'm going to wind up beating myself up."

"Uh huh." I said.

"And I wanted to talk to you."

"Okay, but ... I'm not sure what you want me to ... I'm happy to help, but ... what's the question?  Or, I mean, how can I help?"  I know nothing about the line of work they're in, so I'm not at all clear how I can be of service.

 "I wanted your help in not beating myself up." Comes the reply.

"Oh.  Okay. Well ... did you make any mistakes?"  I asked.

"What? What do you mean?"

"In the situation at work.  You know.  Did you ... drop the ball?  Misjudge?  Goof?  We can put it in cuter terms than how I first framed it, but really, the question is, did you actually make any mistakes?"

"No. Yes. I don't know.  That's ... that's not helping me feel better, Mr. SponsorPants.  Did I make any mistakes?  Is that how I should approach this?  Great, see, that makes me feel worse!"

"Well, look.  I also have a real problem with throwing myself under the bus sometimes, so  I understand what you mean when you say 'beating yourself up' -- but that's just an angle on self obsession."

"I know that!"  (I think it would be fair to characterize the way they said that as 'snapped at me.'  Yes, I could write "'I know that.' They snapped at me." and not misrepresent their tone at all.)

"But," I went on -- bravely, I might add, as they have quite a snap -- "it's my fear and my ego at work when I want to rush towards this whole psychobabbley stance that I must be careful not to 'beat myself up.'  Look, I have low self esteem.  Well, wait, that's not true.  Now I have pretty good self esteem, but there was a time when having low self esteem was actually progress for me.  So I get the need to untangle self abuse from self examination..."

"Okay, but ..."

"Wait! Let me finish. But that does not equal, for me, anyway, that I don't take a clear look at a situation and hold myself accountable when I make mistakes.  It's ego and grandiosity for me to approach a job with the idea that I am never going to make any mistakes."

"What if you were a doctor?"

"What if you were a doctor?  What if I were a Martian?  What if you were a Martian doctor? What if what if who cares what if.  If you start with hypotheticals you're on the way to justification.  Or you'll confuse and sidetrack me, which is really easy to do. It is unrealistic and egotistical and grandiose if I think I am going to go through any given 24 hour period and not make any mistakes. Of course I don't think I think that way -- it's more of an attitude, underlying my thought process.  But if a core value in the principles of Alcoholics Anonymous is humility, then I'd better be wide open to the idea that mistakes will be made, by others and especially by me.  And from there make the leap to looking at the mistakes I made honestly, and own it when I have.  Being afraid you're going to  'beat yourself up' does not mean you don't ask yourself what your part in something is.  In fact, to use any facet of the tools or the language of recovery not to ask yourself those questions is pretty much the opposite of what we do.  Or what we try to do.  In AA, I mean.  Fear of what the answers might be is understandable, but it cannot mean that I refrain from asking myself the quesions.  You know, a lot of this is really Tenth Step stuff ... what kind of daily inventory writing do you ... "

I realize I've been ranting, and am starting to repeat myself, and I kind of trail off. Silence on the line.  I wonder if the magic of dropped cell phone coverage has once again left me talking to dead air.  If that's the case I imagine in some ways it is equal parts message and metaphor.

"You still there?" I ask.

"Yeah."

I go on. "Sorry, I ... I think I just made a little speech or something.  I seem to be doing that a lot lately -- I don't know what's up with that, but I'm sorry I got on a soapbox.  But I ... I hope some of that was helpful."

"Yeah.  Sort of.  Actually ... not really."  They answer.  Man, this rigorous honesty is a two-edged sword.

"Well, for what it's worth, try to set aside any fear of what you might discover and write down where you may or may not have goofed -- also set aside any worries right now of who you might have to admit anything to and just write as honestly as you can.  By the end of it -- I mean, after you get some clarity -- you'll actually feel better than if you just sort of not look at your part and rush to use Program stuff to justify anything you did or didn't do.  And just writing it out will help you gain perspective.  I mean the actual physical act of writing will maybe help you keep calm."

"Yeah. Ok. Thanks."

They hang up.  I stare out the window for a while, not at all sure I was any help and wonder who I was talking to.

Sober Experience vs. Time Sober

Speaking at a meeting not long ago, I made a point I often make, which is that "Time is not a tool" -- meaning that of the many tools Alcoholics Anonymous suggests we use to stay sober, however long you've actually gone without a drink or a drug, however long you may be continuously sober -- that length of time is not one of them.  The number on your chip is no ward against relapse.  Nor does it confer any authority, be it moral, spiritual or actual.

I believe this very strongly, in fact.  I don't often talk (here or in meetings) about my time sober unless it's to give context to a larger point.  I think that when people sharing mention how long they're sober, usually (not always, but often) they are grasping at credibility, perhaps trying to give themselves or what they're saying a certain gravity (which may not actually be warranted).

Having been to AA meetings on both coasts, and in more than one country, it seems to me that different regions place greater or lesser emphasis on "time."  Where I live it feels (to me) that more is made of it than maybe there should be.  Yes, yes, yes, the point is to stay sober, not get sober over and over again. If you do then the days add up to weeks, months and years.  But it's a human foible to sort people into better-than's and less-than's -- and putting a number on each person does that more than I care for.  I think it can make it more difficult to listen with open ears, as well.  If I know that someone is ten years sober do I unconsciously give more weight to what they're saying than if I know they have one year sober?  Perhaps.  Time sober is of value -- yes -- because without time sober I cannot accumulate sober experience -- but the time itself is not the important thing.

Part of the point I'm making is the difference between dry and sober, but we've covered that territory pretty well already at Mr. SponsorPants.

Back to the aforementioned speaking engagement I opened this with ...

As the sharing went around, a hand was raised in the back, and I called on a dapper young man, who looked like perhaps he'd just come from his office job straight to the meeting.  "Good for him." I thought.  Mr. Dapper shared about a few things, and then looked at me, his voice going up a bit with that tension which comes from heightened emotion, and said "I really disagree with you about the Time Sober thing."

I arranged my face in Warm Listening Expression #4 (The #4 is a good one.  Very Santa Clause.  Chin up a tiny bit, small smile, no teeth showing, bit of a squint -- really just a crinkling around the eyes --  head tilted to the side, and a slow nod yes once in a while. I make no secret of the fact that I'm an old fraud, and always have been, even when I was a young fraud).  I kept Warm Listening Expression #4 firmly in place and thought to myself, "You cross-talking little prat."  Nod, nod, smile, crinkle, crinkle.

He spoke with a fervent passion about this very thing. He was talking about the value of sober experience (and not time itself), and how it can, should, must be used to help other people. Where I'm not sure he and I lined up was the assumption he seemed to be making that time automatically equaled sober experience.  (Dry/Sober. See above.)  But when it comes to using our experience to help others stay sober, well, I couldn't agree more with him on that score.  Here was a young man who took the 12th Step to heart.  Took all the sting out of the confrontational way he framed it.  (Ok, ok, almost all.)

It is a particular flexing of the humble muscle not to directly respond to something like this.  To not yield to the sweet, gravitational pull from the (very human) need to set the record straight, and correct what they thought they heard you say with the facts about what you were actually trying to say.  In my opinion, to do so is to do a disservice to the group.  Go ahead, sit there and be corrected, even if it's not really warranted.  Because if you respond, the point they're making gets lost in the "No, no, no, what I meant was ..." The whole exchange becomes about the whole exchange, and not about the point of what you said, or what they said.  No one is helped when I try to prove I'm good or right.  Everyone is helped -- myself most of all, perhaps -- when I just allow things to be, and don't force my day in court, no matter how deeply the pull to do so.  Should you find yourself in this situation, remember:

Nod, nod, smile. Crinkle. Crinkle.

After the meeting I didn't get a chance to thank him for sharing, as he ducked out pretty quickly.  And I sincerely wanted to thank him, I thought what he said -- regardless of how he said it -- was spot on.

So it comes back to this:  Time is not a tool.

There is a lot written and discussed in AA for the newcomer, or people early in their journey of recovery -- and rightly so.  But this next part is for the other codgers out there:

The other point which must be addressed here is the slippery slope of ego.  The danger of making your years sober a part of your "identity" in the room.  Not only can it make you an insufferable boor, constantly trotting out stories from your early sobriety, hiding behind the years rather than discussing who you are and what you struggle with -- or no longer struggle with -- today, but it can become a wall you cannot (or, more accurately, will not) breach when you need to ask for help.

Because one thing I can assure you of, even if you haven't felt like you had to ask for help in some time -- you absolutely will need to again some day. That is a skill we must never let atrophy, and although we ask often for help from a Higher Power (whatever that may mean to you, personally), a silent plea to a cosmic entity can become a face-saving stall, when you're really in trouble.  In my experience God works most expediently through other people.  In asking for help directly from other people I am, in fact, asking for help from HP.  (Again and again, it seems, humility is the secret ingredient in almost every aspect of my sobriety).

If you're all wrapped up in being the Grand Poobah in your meeting, with XX years sober, whom people always listen to or defer to (which, I can also assure you, is almost completely in your mind) then you are not only afraid and ego-based, you are selfish as well.  Consider the joy felt when helping other people.  Who are we to avoid taking our turn at being helped, and thus deny others that same opportunity to experience such joy themselves?

Oedipus Shmedipus, I love ya, Ma -- Dodging the will of God

Blame Freud.

When you talk about the story of Oedipus, the modern conceit is that it's shorthand for the complex Sigmund named for it -- the neuroses on the part of some male children to crave the exclusive love of their mother.

But the "marry mommy" element is really a small part of a much richer question in the Oedipal myth, and it's a question many people on a spiritual path wrestle with today:  What is God's will for me? (Or, in the case of the ancient Greeks, Gods' wills.)  And, can I dodge it?

First, in case you forgot, The Story of Oedipus, in less than 300 words:

King and Queen have a son, Oedipus. Oracle says that the son will grow up to kill his father and marry his mother.  (Perhaps the first recorded use of the concept "MILF"). Oh no! In order to avoid this tragedy the King gives his son to a herdsman with orders to kill the baby.  (Herdsmen doubled as hitmen in 5th Century BC, apparently.)  The herdsman couldn't do the deed, passes the baby on to another herdsman, who in turn passes him on to the king and queen of a neighboring kingdom (that was a very well connected herdsman), who raise the boy Oedipus as their own.  Somewhere along the way, the boy learns of the prophecy -- oh no! -- and to avoid killing the man he thinks is his father (but actually is his adopted father, but he doesn't know that) and marrying his (adopted) mother he jumps into his chariot and leaves town.  While tooling around he and his real father (though each don't know who the other one is) meet at a crossroad and have an argument about the right of way, and Oedipus kills his father in the argument.  (It seems that road rage is a much older problem than we realized).  Then Oedipus saves the city he was originally from (but doesn't know it) by killing a tourist-eating, riddle-asking Sphinx, and out of gratitude for that good deed (tourism had been waaay down, what with the riddles and eating) the citizens make Oedipus their king -- since the old king was killed in a road rage incident over in the next county. (Hmmm ... waitaminute! Oh no!) With the old king dead, and Oedipus as the new king, he gets the old king's widow, the old queen (unbeknownst to all, his real mother) as his wife.  Oh no! Prophecy: 3. Oedipus and father: 0.

The myth goes on a bit more from there, with unhappy endings for all.  There are, as with all ancient myths, variations based on century, culture and author, but that's the gist of it.

But the point of this story, and the question it raises, remains, regardless of version, and it comes back to God's will -- or, Fate, in ancient terms.  If you have a Fate, can you avoid it?  Every action that Oedipus and his (real) father take to avoid their Fate merely moves them closer to it. (Oh no!)  But the question of where our will stops and God's will (Fate) for us starts is as ancient as the idea of God itself.

In the West of the 21st Century we believe that you can be anything you really want to be, make your own Fate if you will, and there is more truth to that philosophy for most people in many parts of the modern world today than perhaps at any other time in human history thus far.  Our personal power -- our ability to choose the direction for our lives, seems strong, now.  And if we are not content, we take responsiblility (or lay blame) and make different choices.

When people in AA reach a fork in the road, they often seem to ponder aloud, "What is God's will for me in this?"  As if one choice is "right" -- God's will for them -- and one choice is "wrong" and they can somehow, either accidentally or on purpose, fail to do "God's will" if they choose badly.

God's will as game show.  Do you want what's behind the curtain, or what Julie is bringing down the aisle?

I also hear people struggle with the idea of choosing to do their will instead of God's will, and having a harder time because of it.  A friend recently talked about the idea that "God's will flows" -- that when they're doing God's will everything just falls into place -- the apartment shows up, the job is there ... a sort of alignment with the universe to move you forward with little turbulence and no real difficulty. 

These people apparently don't have a problem recognizing what God's will is for them -- sometimes though they just don't want to do it.

Can you blame them?  What if God's will is boring, or unfabulous, or hard?  I'm sorry, but deep down I just know that God's will for my life includes descriptions like exciting, glamorous and easy.  Is it God's will for some people to be checker's at the Walmart?  Apparently so, since every day the Walmart is open a bunch of people show up to run the registers.

According to the book "Alcoholic's Anonymous," (AA's Big Book) I am supposed to be on "The Road to Happy Destiny" (pg. 164) and elsewhere in the literature it says that God's will for me is to be "happy, joyous and free."

So ... where's mine?  (if you want to read that aloud with a little whine in your voice, that's good.)  Oedipus is just an old myth, we're not working under a Prophecy, I can be anything I want to be.  I can have anything I want to have.  "The Secret" told me so.

Honestly, can't almost all the questions we ask ourselves in AA about God's will for us really be boiled down to that:  Where's mine?

And so it is, that ego sneaks back in, using the language of the program itself to begin its dirty work yet again.  Under the guise of spiritual seeking, wrapped up in phrases like "God's will" and pulled from sentence fragments in the Big Book and other places, a storm of expectation creates a deep resentment not of other people, but of God.

"I've been sober for X years!  Where's my fabulous life?"

You're living it.  It's just not what you were expecting it to be.  Change what you have the courage to change, and accept the things you can't.

"I don't know what God's will for me is!"

Well I can assure you, it's probably not to sit there and spend all your time wondering what God's will is for you, because that's not thinking about God, that's sitting their thinking about you.

"I know I'm doing God's will, everything just falls into place."

That may be true.  But if every time things don't fall into place you think you're not doing God's will, I think you're going to be pretty exhausted fairly soon.  Not to mention wind up living a life much smaller than you might, since God's will is maybe not about things always being easy.  Maybe challenge is part of the deal, too.

"I know I'm into my will, not God's will, on this."

Really?  Ok. You might want to be careful where you drive your chariot for a while though.  Good luck with that. 

An epilogue, of sorts.

The other night, a funny thing happened on the way to the meeting.

Here is an epilogue, of sorts:

  

knock

knock

knock

  

My neighbor answers the door.  "Oh, hey."

"Hi.  I stopped by to return your book.  You were right, the writing is amazing."

He reaches for the short story collection he lent me, standing with the front door half closed behind him, the screen door held open by his foot just enough to take the book when I hand it over.  He stands awkwardly, facing sideways in the door jam, head turned towards me but shoulders angled away, one hand still on the front door knob.  If you were to take his picture right then you couldn't be sure if he was moving forward or backward.  The image is apt. 

"Yeah. Uh, glad you liked it."

Silence.

I press on, already knowing where this is going.  "I especially liked the stories 'Work' and 'DumDum'."

"Dun Dun."

"Oh, right. Dun Dun.  Yeah, amazing.  In just a handful of pages he really gives you a sense of these people.  They are totally believable -- I felt like I was reading a memory, not a story."

We talk a bit more about the book, but despite the passion he displayed for this author when we last spoke he does not seem especially interested in prolonging the conversation.  I address the elephant in the room.

"So listen, did you still want to go to the . . . ?" I gesture vaguely down the street, towards the meeting place -- towards the building he told me he stood in front of last week, unable to enter.  I'm sensitive to the fact that we are somewhat outside, I do not know if his fiancee is home, and I don't know what or if he told her about the conversation we had.  But I do not need to be any more specific, he knows I'm talking about going to an AA meeting with me in about an hour, as he had talked about with such earnestness the other night.

"Um, yeah, you know what?  I think I'll take a pass on that."

"Hey, no problem -- no weirdness, no worries.  If you ever have any questions or anything, my door is always open for that."

"Yeah. Uh, thanks."

  

When I carry the message of recovery it is not my job to worry about what will happen when I do -- my job is simply to carry the message whenever someone asks me to.

In so doing, it does not matter what happens because every time I do it is I who am transformed.