Mr. SponsorPants

every 500 meetings

 

"The fellowship will get you drunk!" he thundered from where he sat, sharing (at length) his experience, strength, hope, and then more of his experience.

I leaned over to my friend.  "I didn't know this was a two speaker meeting."  I whispered.

He glared at me, then hissed. "Quiet!"

Just then a wizened crocodile of an old timer -- I think he drank with the guy who did Lois Wilson's hair or something -- looked in our direction and gave us a frown (the same one I give people who talk in meetings, rigorous honesty forces me to confess).  I managed to appear innocent, leaving my friend to look like the Chatty Charlie to Crocodile Dundrinkin'.  He turned back to the face the front of the room.

"You know I hate that." I whispered again.

Furious that I wouldn't keep still my friend gave me his best withering glare (which, I must admit, is very, very good.  I think it can, at full strength, actually sour the milk in a new mother's breast) and moved a seat over, out of whisper range.

"Coward" I mouthed at him. 

I was being bad.  Dreadful.  Rude.  Juvenile.  Inappropriate.  Selfish... and I couldn't seem to get myself in check.  One of my Great Spiritual Teacher's had taken it upon themselves to "instruct" us via their sharing, and they'd struck one of the chords which drives me absolutely bonkers.  "Okay, SponsorPants" I muttered to myself, "Count down 100 breaths and not another word."  I closed my eyes and tried to leave my body, focusing on my breathing and keeping count with each exhalation.  My GSP wound down around breath number 68, and I managed to regain a modicum of decorum shortly thereafter.  The meeting came to an end.

"What is wrong with you?" my friend asked, on the way to the car.

I shrugged.  "Every 500 meetings I get to be a horse's ass.  Relax, I won't do that again till we're at a meeting some time in 2013.  Besides, that one gives me fits, and I cannot stand that expression.  They thunder that bull about the Fellowship getting you drunk and suddenly everyone in the meeting is nodding agreement like they're sitting in church -- Our Lady of the Sanctimonious -- and the Reverend had just started giving out confirmation numbers for their reservation at the Rapture."

My friend looked at me for a minute.  "Do you rehearse this stuff, or does it just unspool, kind of on its own?"

"On its own."  I answered.

"Just what I thought."  He nodded to himself. "Well, it confirms my personal theory as to why God gave you so many sponsees." 

"Because of the way I express myself, you mean?" I asked.

"No.  Because you are so very, very sick that God knows you need extra help in getting out of self centeredness."

"Walked right into that, didn't I."

"Yep."

"But really, how alcoholic is that, to claim 'The fellowship will get you drunk.'" I was still fuming.

"Explain."  My friend commanded.  "Not that I could stop you if I wanted to."

"Well come on, it's just so alcoholic to find someone -- or someones, in this case -- to be the bad guy rather than taking responsibility for ourselves.  It's not the fellowship which will get someone drunk..."

"You're being too literal." my friend interrupted.  "You know perfectly well the point they're making is that you must find a way to depend on a power greater than yourself, some kind of HP connection, to stay sober."

"Yes I get that's the point, but how it's being made is still nails on the psychic chalkboard for me.  It's not the fellowship which gets us drunk.  It's our unrealistic expectations, our ego, our resentments, towards people in AA which will get us drunk -- it's on us, not on them, not on the fellowship."

"A good point, but undermined by your juvenile inability to be quiet back there."

"Every 500 meetings.  I get one brat attack every 500 meetings."

"You made that up."

"Maybe."

"You know what I'm going to pray for tonight?"  He said it with a kind of earnest wistfulness.

"No, what?"  I asked.

"For God to send you more sponsees.  It's worse than I thought."

 

The Slogan Shotgun

Sitting at a table, alone at the sidewalk cafe, taking a breath from the social whirl that end-of-year brings, drinking coffee and people watching, my phone chirped in my pocket.  I don't check who's calling, I just answer the damn thing -- for me personally it's a bad habit to "evaluate" each incoming call -- if I can answer I answer, if I can't I can't -- who's calling is not part of the criteria.  So I was caught off guard when the voice on the other end of the phone was The Ex.  (Please note, I did not say "an" ex -- it was "The" Ex.)

We spoke.  Exchanged warm holiday wishes.  Talked about having lunch some time.  It was pleasant. The call ended.  I went back to drinking my coffee ... except now my mind was full of memories.  Of roads not taken, doors not opened, things that didn't go the way I had thought they once would.  We were,  I like to say with the distance of a few years, like The Golden Violin -- we fit together beautifully, but we could not make music.

Sitting, staring into space, I see coming down the sidewalk a man I know from AA.  Inwardly I sighed, as he's always bugged the shit out of me he's always been a great spiritual teacher for me, in that every time he speaks I think he's a pompous ass, too in love with his time sober and some bullshit perceived status he seems to think that it gives him how differently we approach recovery.  We've known each other in the way you know someone that has roughly the same time sober as you do, and who attends a few of your regular meetings -- which is to say that we know each other intimately from a distance.

He stopped at my table

"Hello, Mr. SponsorPants."

"Oh, hey Mr. Thimble."

"How are your holidays treating you?"

"Fine, fine.  You?"

"Fine?  When I walked up it looked like you had an awful lot on your mind."

"Oh? Well, yeah, I suppose.  Just got a call from The Ex.  Was sitting here thinking about holidays gone by, roads not taken, that sort of thing."

"We Shall Not Regret The Past Nor Wish To Shut The Door On It."

And I swear when he said it you could hear the caps.  For the new kids, that is a line from the book 'Alcoholics Anonymous,' -- AA's Big Book -- and it occurs in the part of the book that describes the 9th Step -- which is about making amends.  It is a sentiment from a larger description (loosely referred to as 'The Promises') about how people who follow through on that step generally feel once they've begun it.

I of course felt irritated that he was A) quoting the Big Book to me -- I know perfectly well what the damn book says, thankyouverymuch.  (I'm not above being a pompous ass myself, of course, which is why I find it so irritating in him.)  And B) that he was slapping a label onto how I felt without really listening to me or thinking about what I was saying.  I wasn't regretting anything, damnit.

"I'm not regretting anything."

"Oh? Then what would you call it?"

"I would call it being wistful.  Maybe a little melancholy.  Considering how funny life is that what you think will turn out one way just goes another.  How the best laid plans can go astray, without any bad guys involved, just ... the way things work out."

I want to say he offered me a condescending smirk, but it was probably an attempt at a warm smile, and my own personal bias read it as a condescending smirk. 

Or maybe I'm half right, and it was a warm, condescending smile.

He tilted his head sideways, and leaned in a little, voice lowered in an attempt to sound... confidential?  Paternal? "Sounds like regret, to me."

I narrowed my eyes and snapped "Sounds like you need a better vocabulary, to me."

He pulled back, a little startled I think, opened his mouth, thought better of it, closed it, gave me a curt nod and walked on -- which, I should point out, is evidence suggesting that one of us in that particular moment was a wee bit more spiritually fit than the other -- and it wasn't Your's Truly.

More than 20 years sober and I'm spitting like a cat at an AA acquaintance who paused at my table to say hello.  Nice. 

So. Anyway, here's the thing of it:

Just writing it out I can see my side so much more clearly than I did just stewing on it thinking about it.  How my own existing bias with this man colored the whole interaction -- he may have been trying to be helpful, in his way -- even if my interpretation of events is not wholly inaccurate, he was quite possibly still trying to be friendly and helpful. 

"... we step on the toes of our fellows and they retaliate.  Sometimes they hurt us seemingly without provocation ..."  That's another line from the Big Book (pg. 62), and it's in the part that explains the 4th Step, which is, in the broadest terms, about looking at our part in things.  If the next time I see Mr. Thimble he is cooler towards me than usual -- which is certainly likely -- I now know, just from this writing, what and how I stepped on his toes.  In fact whether or not he was a pompous ass is not the point -- the point is that I was short and unkind -- insulting even.  Of course a large part of me wants to use his behavior, or the phone call I got, to justify my behavior.  But that doesn't cut it, in sobriety.  Other people's behavior, or life circumstances, does not dictate my behavior.  The principles of Alcoholics Anonymous dictate my behavior.  (Well, that's the goal, anyway.)

I am not blaming myself, nor making myself bad or "wrong" -- I am looking at my part in an exchange -- it's worth saying again here at Mr. SponsorPants that blame and self examination are two very different things.  And then, by examining my part I can eventually discover how my own character defects (being overly-sensitive? Egotistical? Pompous? Closed-minded? Judgmental? Check, check, check and check) come into play -- and that eventual discovery and examination helps me keep those defects on a shorter leash next time around -- and maybe become free of them someday.

Likely I owe Mr. Thimble an amends -- not for the thought I expressed so much as how I presented it.  Or maybe for the thought, too, I'll work some more AA mojo on the whole thing and then probably invite him for coffee to clean up my side of the street -- which will be good old fashioned contrary action for me (the coffee invite, not the street cleaning).  Just because you have some days under your belt doesn't mean the basics don't apply, in my humble opinion.

But there's another thing I want to consider.

It's a problem I think of as the AA Slogan Shotgun.  Beyond looking at my part in this specific exchange, I think it's maybe not the best thing in the world to just throw AA Slogans in people's faces without thinking -- sometimes of course a gentle "Easy Does It" is the exactly right thing to say -- but often I fear trotting out some slogan and slapping it onto someone as a quick-fix label is a kind of one-upsmanship -- or perhaps even a subtle form of aggression.

AA slogans, like "Live and Let Live" or "This Too Shall Pass" or "Easy Does It" or "First Things First" or "Think Think Think" exist because they are simple embodiments of important things for a recovering alcoholic to remember, and their very simplicity makes them easier to recall in times of duress. 

But as we listen to each other, and offer occasionally unsolicited input -- which again, can sometimes be a helpful, even lifesaving thing to do -- I've come to believe we need to temper that practice with a caution against rushing to throw some book quote or slogan at someone out of ... impatience with listening to their problem?  A false sense of superiority?  The need to appear to always have the answer?  Some dark combination of all three, perhaps, with even darker things hidden underneath, too. (Ego ego ego).

But the part of this that stings the most?

I know I have probably done to other people what I feel like Mr. Thimble did to me -- and he may not even have done that to me, it could just be a dark projection of my own resentment and ego.  *sigh*  Again I say, thanks AA for all the insight, but I'm not sure I care much for what I insee, on occasion.

And so it goes -- I learn, I amend, I try to remember and then apply what I learn.  Hopefully I get a little better at it each time.

AA Slang: "Acting Out."

To put it simply, "acting out" is a phrase people will use to describe when they're indulging in some sort of negative behavior (or something that they think is a negative behavior) because of a particular uncomfortable feeling.

Although the phrase is tossed around in meetings with such abandon one would think that it was coined in a 12 Step environment somewhere, it's actually a term from the therapeutic world, and has varying interpretations when considered in the different contexts of parenting (children's tantrums), psychotherapy (the struggle to act on desires forbidden by the Super Ego and yet desired by the Id), criminology (anti-social behavior as a motive for criminal acts) and yes, addiction. (Tantrums, forbidden desires, anti-social behavior -- gosh, we're always found in such good company, aren't we).

In addiction "acting out" is a compensating behavior.  One way to look at it is that we relieve stress by substituting a behavior for a feeling:

"I had that big job interview late in the afternoon so after lunch I went to the candy aisle at the supermarket and really acted out."

"I saw my ex with their new date last night and I couldn't get it out of my head.  This afternoon I took the credit card I had just finished paying down to Saks and completely acted out."

"I was so stressed about my appearance in court that when that guy cut me off on the freeway this morning I totally acted out.  I must have chased him for three exits trying to catch him and flip him off."

In my humble opinion, kids, I think we begin to do ourselves a disservice by over using what is essentially half a phrase.

"Acting out" has become vague shorthand for any number of behaviors and feelings.  If the point of self examination, be it sharing at group level, with a sponsor, or via some writing (an inventory, journal, etc.) is clarity, then by not finishing the phrase "acting out" I'm keeping myself unclear about what was driving me.

For myself, I try to name what I was acting out, and be specific:

I acted out my panic that I would make a fool of myself in the interview by practically inducing a sugar coma when I inhaled a giant bag of M&M's. Wait. I lied. Two bags.

When I saw my ex it brought up all the old jealousy and rejection, so I acted all that out by shopping myself back into major debt in one short afternoon.

I had so much fear and anger about my court date that I totally acted it out by chasing the driver who cut me off across multiple lanes for three exits, just to try and flip him off.

My point is not that you should have some sort of formula for what you say; nor am I trying to tell you what or how to share.  My point is that if I'm going to be as honest with myself as I possibly can be (and honest with others in an effort to be of service to them), then I need to get in the habit of connecting the dots when I speak about what I'm feeling and what I'm doing.

Sometimes I believe it's possible for me to act out and not even know what I'm acting out over -- it can be difficult for me to see, for myself, the cause/effect of the (scary/negative) feeling and the compensating/acting out behavior.  And this problem is intensified when I am lost in the guilt or self-loathing that repeatedly acting out in the same self destructive way might bring.  I'm so busy feeling terrible about over-(younameit)-ing that it can be even harder to see what triggered me.  The "feeling terrible" part (guilt, and it's snarky cousin shame, and my arch-nemesis, fear) thwarts calm, rational reflection and eventual insight.

(Or, in an even more insidious twist, the self loathing and remorse that comes from the self abuse of continuing to "act out" in a certain way actually becomes a form of self obsession -- and alcoholism is a disease of self obsession, so the more that I'm fueling my self obsession the more I'm fueling my alcoholism.  Gah! What a nightmare! Hold me, I'm scared!)

That's where sober friends, a sponsor, and a regular written 10th Step (Step 10: Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it) can make all the difference in the world.

We all need help looking at our stuff sometimes -- it's a "we" Program, after all -- and I believe it when they say that partly why AA works is that we're not all sick on the same day.

Cheers!

AA Slang - The road gets narrower...

Oh boy, does that road get narrower.

I remember when I first got sober and started going to meetings, the crusty old timers in the rooms at that time (and man, did they ever intimidate me) sharing about dealing with their lives, their character defects, their commitment to applying AA's principles on a daily basis, with (mostly) real grace and humor.  (Not all of them of course.  As I've stayed sober these many years now -- and I think after 20 I can get away with that phrase and not be accused of grasping or grandstanding -- I'm keenly aware that as you remain sober in AA you can either be a shining example or a horrible warning -- so choose wisely, Grasshopper.)

And as they shared, with a mixture of amusement and maybe a little frustration, they would often observe that "the road gets narrower."

How keenly today I share those kind and patient souls mixed emotions as I've come to experience that myself.  The road does, indeed, get narrower. 

In one regard it's riffing off a phrase commonly used in AA, as it is part of a passage often read at meetings -- it's the very last paragraph in the book "Alcoholics Anonymous" (AA's Big Book) before the collected personal stories.  I've heard it so many times I could probably recite it by heart, but when I can remind myself to listen to what I'm hearing I'm often moved by it:

"Abandon yourself to God as you understand God.  Admit your faults to Him and to your fellows.  Clear away the wreckage of your past. Give freely of what you find and join us.  We shall be with you in the Fellowship of the Spirit, and you will surely meet some of us as you trudge the Road of Happy Destiny.  May God bless you and keep you -- until then."

It's a lovely, semi-poetic recap of the essence of the 12 Steps, and a promise, which for me, in more than 20 years has never been broken, that there will always be someone to help me do the sober deal.  When I've truly needed it, I've never been alone in AA.  (Unless of course I was having a lovely little pity party for myself, hiding out at home with the shades drawn, not answering the phone and convincing myself that "no one understands!" Sob!  Of course if you push people away in AA you can be alone.  We're sober, but we're still just people. Push us away enough and eventually we will go away. We'll always welcome you back, but we're not really that big on chasing you down.)

It's worth noting here, too, that when they wrote the above passage I believe "trudge" meant much more "to walk with purpose" than "to walk with a heavy burden."

So when people in AA share about the road, and the road getting narrower, it's a gentle riff off of that quote from the Big Book, and perhaps also just shorthand for living your life.

And the "narrower" part?  Well, that my friends is an expression of the fact that, as we stay sober, the things that used to "fix" us seem to no longer fix us.  The old coping behaviors don't help us cope the way they used to.

For example, when I was newly sober, I was really thin, because in the last few years of my using all I did was drink. Why eat? It'll just bring you down and it's a waste of good booze!  After I got sober of course food became a great comfort to me.  A great comfort. (Hmmmm ... maybe the road wasn't getting narrower, maybe I was getting wider!)  Weight issues not withstanding, food, as an escape, doesn't work for me anymore.  I still try to use it as an escape, of course, but sadly it just doesn't fix me -- or the fix is so fleeting as to be worthless. 

This experience seems common among people in recovery.  Sex, workaholism, food, compulsive exercise (always wished I'd gotten hit with that one), smoking... whatever your fall-back fix after booze and drugs is (or was), eventually it just didn't provide the comfort and release that it used to.  The road gets narrower.  And narrower...

And eventually there's really only one fix left...

Shopping!

Kidding!

No, that one stops working too, believe me.

The last fix left is the one that never stops fixing, and I'm afraid it is a spiritual one. (Who am I? How did I become this person? I laugh aloud sometimes, as I type things like that -- well, not in a crazy "I'm the Joker, Batman, and I'm hear to kill you!" maniacal way, more a bemused chuckle -- I hope -- that I write such things and mean them wholeheartedly.)

I say "I'm afraid" because it's not a very sexy answer.  It's the kind of idea that's easy to mock -- and I don't mean you out there mocking it, I mean me, in my own head, when I'm riddled with doubt and fear and my alcoholic thinking is alive and well and my alcoholism has me by the throat.  It's not a very "sophisticated" answer, either, and although it is elegantly simple it is not always easy to apply.

For example, I think the Dalai Lama is very cool, but secretly, truthfully, I don't want to have to do anything different in my life or make a lot of effort to be like him.  I'll wear the fundraiser prayer bracelet or something, so everyone knows I'm down with Dalai, but I don't want to stop doing what I want to do, for the most part.  In a grudge match between the King Baby inside me and the beautiful example of His Serene Holiness the Dalai Lama, well... let's just say that King Baby doesn't fight fair.  The Big Book describes alcoholics as "self will run riot" which for me is the 1930's speak for "I do what I want to do, and I don't do what I don't want to do."

But that's the punchline!  That's the road getting narrower.  By all means, keep doing what you want (which I know can look like "need to do" in your head), within the framework of Steps and Meetings -- which is, after all, in incredibly wide and somewhat felxible framework.  Stay within those broad boundaries and you'll be able to stay sober, which is of course ultimately the point (first and always, it all starts and finishes with staying sober).

But as you stay sober, and you keep doing your other little fixes (eating away the fear, shopping away the resentment, screwing away the loneliness) eventually, after a while, they sort of stop working.

Then, as you keep doing them they really stop working. And you find yourself overweight, or in debt, or sleeping with people and not feeling very good about the experience -- and the fear, or the resentment, or the loneliness, comes rushing back in almost as soon as you finish chewing or set the shopping bags full of stuff down on the table or put on your pants.

And then sometimes, if you persist, those fixes start to actually hurt.  In many ways I have to say it hasn't been AA, or a sponsor, or even God that has schooled me the most... it's my "ism". 

And what a harsh teacher it can be.

I sincerely hope that some of you reading this don't need to have nearly as many lessons from your "ism" before you change as I've had to have from mine.  (But if you do, take heart, you're not alone in the incredible, stubborn, blind pigheaded willfulness of your learning curve.  Hmmm, that sounded a lot nicer and more comforting in my head.)

When it comes to "fixing" here's the secret, and I learned it the hard way:  I will never be able to change how I feel by trying to take something in.  I will never be able to let go of the fear or the resentment by consuming -- be it food or goods or people.  I cannot fill the hole inside by taking things in -- the only way to shrink the hole is to reverse the flow.  It's by giving (of myself, of my time, or my experience, to help others) that I am healed and literally "fixed", that I am filled -- not by taking in. Damn these cosmic paradoxes! But really, that's been the secret for me -- and then, it's not that the road gets narrower, it's that my life gets bigger. 

I wish I had a sexier answer for you.  Given the background noise of life in the 21st Century, I'm afraid by comparison that seems awfully simple.

Oh well.  It's the only answer I've got, because it's the only answer that has proven to always work for me.

Cheers!

Some Liquor I Planned

SLIP

Some Liquor I Planned

I used to hear it said quite a lot in Meetings that

Ok. Wait. When I was new I used to hate it when some crusty oldtimer would rant about how they "never hear this" and they "never hear that" in meetings anymore.  I used to sit there and think, "I'm new -- how the hell was I supposed to be saying this all along for you to be hearing? I've never heard this before you just brought it up! You're the one who heard it all the time and then stopped saying it. What the hell are you wagging your finger at all of us for?"

Let me start over.

One of the things I used to hear that made a big impression on me (much better) was the phrase, "some liquor I planned" in the context of discussing a slip.

(For the new kids, a slip is when someone who has been sober drinks or uses again.  Personally, I prefer the word "relapse" -- slip sounds a little coy, to me.  But I don't know of any cute slogans who's initials make up the word "relapse."  No doubt some tortured alcohol counselor somewhere, in a fit of Power Point presentation authorship, came up with something clever, but I've not heard it yet.)

But the idea behind the sentiment "some liquor I planned" is that putting the drink to your lips (or the straw to your nose or the pipe to your mouth or the bump to your ... you get the idea) is actually the last stage in a slip -- that the actual drinking or using is just the culmination of a process you started well before you actually picked up.  Over the years, watching people come in and then, either quickly or after some time sober, relapse, I think there is a lot of truth to this.

In fact, I can even say in my mind it's almost become kind of a countdown, watching people go through this process -- that they are, in fact, working the Steps backwards on their way out the door: 

(12)They stop going to meetings -- because you really can't carry the message of AA if you're not going to meetings -- face it, when the bag boy says "paper or plastic" he doesn't want to hear about a spiritual solution to the problem of alcoholism.  People in meetings do, but when you stop going, you get to stop carrying the message.  Who has time for meetings anyway? My God! AA is supposed to be a bridge back to life!  I don't want to spend my nights sitting around a church basement or some preschool rec room with a styrofoam cup full of crappy coffee on a folding metal chair listening to a bunch of people complain!

(11) I don't have time to meditate. You don't understand, I can't sit still. I'm not a morning person. I fall asleep when I meditate.  I don't have time to pray ... well, sure, I pray, I mean, I say a prayer in the car on my way to work most days. Well, usually.

(10) Promptly admit I'm wrong? I'm not wrong. Besides, you can't look weak, people will judge you -- or worse, take advantage of you. And I can't be bothered to write every night -- well, I mean, I forget. Whatever.

(9) I didn't do anything to them that wasn't totally justified.

(8) Apologize? To that asshole? You gotta be kidding me.

(7) I don't need to change -- I need to get smart. 

(6) Listen, it's a tough world. That's not a defect, that's how you get along in life.

(5) I could never say some stuff to another person -- then they'll "have it" on me.

(4) Morality is all relative anyway. Besides, anyone would be angry after what they did to me.  And screw writing -- I didn't come here for some bullshit homework assignment.

(3) God? Right. If I depend on God nothing will get done -- besides, have you even got clue one what is going on in the world? No God has anything to do with this life.

(2) AA is nice for people who really need it, but I've gotta have practical answers. And I don't have time for all that going-to-meeting stuff -- in fact, if it comes down to a Yoga Class or a Meeting, I'm going to Yoga. I feel better there. (A guy actually said that to me, kids.  When he said that he was driving a really nice car. Years later I saw him on the street in San Francisco. Literally. On the street in San Francisco. Lotta things could have happened to him I suppose, but it sure looked like alcoholism at work to me.) 

(1) My life is fine, and yes, thank you, some wine with dinner would be lovely.

My favorite thing about AA is that we're not selling anything.  You want to work the Steps forward?  Most of us will kill ourselves trying to help you do that.  You decide to work 'em backwards?  We're going to reach out our hand, we're going to share our experience, we're going to perhaps in a clumsy or arrogant way try to suggest that what you're doing is dangerous... but ... go ahead, if you really want to.  But If you want to stay, if you want a solution to your alcoholism, and all the other "ism's", we're here for you, if you want it.

If you want it.

Fake it till you make it.

I once had a sponsee, years ago, that hated this expression.

"Fake it till you make it."  He would rant and carry on and pound the table (really) when it came to the idea that he should model his behavior on an ideal rather than just be "rigorously honest" in his behavior at all times when it came to how he felt.  I learned so much from sponsoring him.

Here are 6 things that I learned, among many valuable lessons from that time:

1. Don't wear a white shirt to coffee with a sponsee that pounds the table.  Spills are almost a foregone conclusion in such situations.

2. When people start using one AA suggestion to counter a different AA suggestion, then something is up.  I know for myself, when I start "lawyering" the ideas that AA lays out for me to try, that is, when I start arguing and negotiating and "what if-ing" (well, a little of that might be trying to wrap my head around a new idea -- especially the "what if" stuff) I'm likely acting out some level of ego and/or fear.  (Oh my God, what else is new. When am I NOT acting out some level of ego and/or fear? <sigh>). Something in my idea of what the AA suggestion is asking me to do frightens me.  Under the resistance is usually fear.  Under the anger is usually fear.  Under your chair right now is usually fear! Look out! The calls are coming from inside the house!

3. Rigorous honesty does not mean that I never smile when I don't feel happy.  Only a child gives vent to every passing emotion. (And how childish have I been, along the years? I tremble in my baby booties to consider it.  There is, for example, a big difference between childish and childlike.)  Rigorous honesty means that I speak no untruth;  that I am honest with myself about what's going on with me. (That is so key.  In the opening paragraphs of Chapter 5 in the Big Book, pg. 58 for the Highlighter Brigade, it suggests that maybe the folks who aren't able to make AA work for them are those that are "constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves."  It also says, to paraphrase loosely, that you can be an aluminum-foil-hat-wearing-paranoid-nutjob, and still get sober if you have the capacity to be honest.  Ok, to paraphrase very loosely.)  Rigorous honesty means that I am cash register honest.  It doesn't mean that I lose all ability to be socially appropriate or diplomatic, as a situation may warrant.

4. "Fake it till you make it" is really just telling you, in shorthand, that you don't have to buy wholesale all of AA's suggestions at once.  Just fake it for a while, that's fine.  Fake your interest in what people in meetings are saying (it never occurred to me that they might be doing the same!).  Fake your willingness to read when you're asked, just pretend you're a willing reader.  Fake your desire to go out for fellowship after the meeting. Just fake it ... and eventually you may find that you don't have to fake anymore.  It's not about being false or artificial, it's about being into action.  And it's about taking a break from the ego-based bullshit debating society.  Stop, for a while, evaluating every suggestion that comes your way as to whether it's something that interests you or something you want to do.  Most alcoholics don't want to do anything (except get loaded. Highly motivated on that score).  Stop being King Baby, and only doing what you want. Fake the 'want' part and that frees you to start doing.  And if you start doing (what AA suggests) then you start changing.  And for most of us, change is a good thing -- the sooner the better, frankly.

5. This is not just for people that are new to AA.  After you've been down the path, it's so easy to become jaded. To "rest on our laurels" as the literature talks about.  After time in the Program my rationalizations can become a sly con, using the language of Recovery itself to start to pull me out of the rooms.  Fake it till you make it, for some crotchety longtimer like myself, is as valid a suggestion today as it was when I was new.  In fact, it is a deadly mistake, I believe, to start to sort AA's suggestions into things "for Newcomers" and "for me."  It's not like AA presents you with "The Secret Writings of Lois Wilson" when you turn 10 years sober, and you get all the cheats and loopholes.  Sadly, there aren't any.  Trust me, I've looked.  No, I've searched.  None to be found that aren't merely a cleverly disguised Exit sign.  So when I feel jaded, when I feel bored, when I feel "been there done that" -- Fake it till you make it.  Just do it anyway.  And, after some time sober, I am glad to report that the feelings of cynicism, and boredom usually pass very quickly. 

6. Sponsees that pound the table should really consider ordering decaf.