Mr. SponsorPants

Prone

At one of my regular meetings a little bit ago someone shared some really crazy shit with me.

I try not to be too vulgar here on Mr. SponsorPants ("try harder" I hear some of you mutter), but honestly, that's the only phrase that fits.  It was just some totally crazy shit. 

Now, I can wax empathetic on the how alcohol and heavy (really heavy) use of opiates and amphetamines have done some rewiring of this man's brain; I can illustrate the spiritual illness that warps his perceptions, and describe for you with real sympathy how those elements, and others from his background, have shorted a few circuits.  I can even give you sincere testimony that over the years I've seen him make real progress -- that he is less crazy perhaps than he used to be.

With all that said, he scares the bejeesus out of me sometimes because he appears on the surface to be not just normal, but high functioning.  Classy, even.  You could easily picture him wearing a well tailored blazer, standing on the back patio of a country club and sipping an iced tea.  He "reads" normal on the surface, but when he shares with me the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I whisper a silent prayer of thanks that this man is not careening through the world under the further influence of any chemicals, since I barely feel safe with him at large now.

This time around he has a little less than ten years sober.  He used to have much more time, but relapsed for a while, and I think that's when he really did some heavy brain rewiring.

Whenever I see him at a meeting we chat (I always try to at least say hello, and ask him a few questions about how he's doing -- make some conversation.  I believe very strongly that just because someone unsettles me is no reason that they should not be made to feel welcome in an AA meeting.  My stuff cannot get in the way of that.  And I believe that is a shared responsibility among us all.  Fear, resentment, suspicion, prejudice -- we must set it all aside in meetings to the best of our ability -- an AA meeting is a safe and welcoming place, and it's on all of our shoulders to keep it such).

Mr. Classy told me about an incident he had with a neighbor, and in the course of his telling me about it I became increasingly uncomfortable, as I could see that he was just completely blind to the great big fat part he played in the incident.  Classy told me that he felt the fact that he didn't beat his neighbor to death was a testament to his recovery, and kids, I am not at all convinced that he was exaggerating.  And certainly, I want to go on record as saying that yes, not beating someone to death is a sign of real progress for some people.  I think I will even go out on a limb here and suggest we can raise the bar a little beyond that for the rest of us.  But far be it from me to take anyone's sober triumph away from them.

After I got home and thought about what he'd shared with me I began to wonder what I was blind to in myself.  Just because he seems to have some other issues doesn't mean that he and I don't share a great deal in common through our alcoholism.  I thought about the many people close to me in AA, and the people I sponsor, and how we all struggle with our blind spots.  Even beyond denial, which I think kind of requires me to consider something and reject it as false, I fear I can be totally blind to things, and thus my thinking can be waaaay "off."

Shortly after Mr. Classy told me about his spiritual triumph in not committing manslaughter, I spoke at a meeting, and during the course of my speaking shared (without giving names or telling details, of course) about the conversation Mr. Classy and I had, and how it made me wonder how sick my own thinking still may be.  After all, Classy and I both suffer from alcoholism, so if, through that illness, he's completely blind to some of his stuff then ipso facto I must be blind to some of my stuff too.  Ack!

After I spoke the sharing went around the room, and a woman with a good deal of time raised her hand and she said that she wanted to address this thing I'd brought up, this idea that my thinking might be sicker than I know, based on my interaction with this other alcoholic.

I arranged my face in a warm listening expression, trying on my Mona Lisa smile, which attempts to be pleasant but uncommitted.  (I think Mona did it better.)  And in my head I thought, "Bitch, don't you cross talk me.  I didn't ask for that."  When humans develop telepathy my covers will be soooo pulled.

I shushed that thought, and when I was able to pay attention to what she was saying of course it was something that helped me then, and helps me now.

She suggested that after we've worked the Steps, and had a spiritual awakening as the result of working them, and gotten some traction under our feet in generally applying AA's principles to our lives on a daily basis, we may be prone to that kind of blindness -- we may be prone to sick thinking -- but that is not to say that our thinking is sick to the degree it once was. 

I think that is an important point -- admitting I'm powerless over my alcoholism, remaining vigilant against how it may try to influence my thinking, is not the same as believing that my every thought is diseased.

When I was new to sobriety, in my first year or so, in looking back I believe, yes, much of my thinking was deeply alcoholic.  My reactions, my relationship to the world around me, my (over)sensitivity, all deeply, profoundly influenced -- warped, even -- by my alcoholism.  But years sober, regular meetings, much step work and many inventories later, my thinking is not that way today.

Someone who was obese, and then spent some years on a clean, sane, healthy food and exercise plan eventually loses all, or almost all, of their weight.  They do the work, they keep doing the work, they stick to the work, and their body changes.  They need to keep on their plan, they are likely more prone to gaining weight and falling into bad nutritional behaviors than others, but they are no longer obese as a result of taking healthy steps.

So, too, do our healthy actions change our thinking.

The book "Alcoholics Anonymous" (AA's Big Book), states that we have "recovered" from a seemingly hopeless state of mind and body.  It was a more modern convention to suggest we call ourselves recovering, as the Big Book also outlines that our recovery is "contingent upon a daily maintenance."  I believe the term "recovering" was coined to help us all remain vigilant, not to foster a self-image that sees ourselves as forever riddled with sickness.

And there is much recovery.  Cross Talk Woman (and she wasn't cross talking, really, just to be clear) connected some dots for me.  I have a disease with a mental component, yes.  I must guard against the "curious mental blank spots" than can lead to relapse.  But after doing the work I'm not the same alcoholic, tortured by alcoholic thinking, that walked into the rooms.

Amazingly, of course, this transformation is via a stunningly simple process, the 12 Steps, and is available to anyone who wants it.

Mr. Classy still scares me though.

Poop

On my way home the other day I saw, a few blocks up the hill from me, an AA acquaintance walking his dog.  He's had a tough time staying clean and sober, and although I find him kind of a challenging personality I tend to chalk that up to the pathology which goes along with being a multiple relapser -- that's a hard, hard road, and some drugs are meaner than others, I fear.  So, although he's a bit stand-offish towards me I try to find ways to be sincere and welcoming whenever our paths cross.  (And I'm also very aware that I could be projecting some of that too -- likely his head is far too busy to spare much thought for me, one way or the other -- still, we have instincts about people, and sometimes they're right.  While I want the "hand of AA" to always be there for anyone who needs it, for some people my hand might not be the right hand. For some I don't try to be the hand of AA, I just try to be the smile -- give them space to find the folks that carry a message of recovery best for them).

Our routes were such that he had turned up the road by the time I was close enough to easily yell out a hello, and since I never really feel like he's all that happy to see me I didn't run up the hill to catch him.  (Okay, okay, and the truth is that it doesn't take much to convince me not to run up a hill nowadays).

My path took a left at the next block, back along the way he'd just come.  And there, about halfway down the sidewalk, on the wan little strip of grass trying to make a go of it between the walk and the road, was what appeared to be a large and freshly deposited dog poop.

Now, I think we've all seen enough "Law and Order" to recognize that this is a classic example of Circumstantial Evidence.  It looked as though this was the path he'd traveled, though I did not see him actually walking this stretch, I first saw him at the end of the sidewalk.  He could have been on the other side of the street and then crossed over, for example.  And while he was walking a dog when I saw him, I did not directly observe him walking the dog where the, err, crime was committed.  Nor am I trained in forensic dog poopology (and certainly had no interest in examining the evidence) --  it looked new, but may have been an hour or two old.  I can offer no expert opinion on the matter, be it chronological or fecal (lol -- c'mon, that was good) -- it was totally circumstantial evidence that led me to assume he wasn't picking up after his dog.

Yet there it was, and unfortunately the first thought that leapt to mind, I must confess, was not a kind one -- the kangaroo court in my head tried and convicted him of Felony Poop Abandonment without any of the "Law and Order" lawyers in their chic eyeglasses and expensive suits breaking me down during cross and revealing, through a shocking third act plot twist ("ripped from the headlines!") that it was his uncle's or brother's or au pair's poop, and not his dog's.

And the second thought, clear as the proverbial bell, perhaps equally unkind but strangely appropriate as both metaphor and predictor, was that if he didn't start picking up the poop he'd probably never stay sober. 

 

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.

Mr. SponsorPants Sober Holiday Survival Guide: Remember...

Holidays, families and alcoholics.  A potent combination, be it for feeling gratitude or copping an attitude.  As the old joke goes, no one knows how to push your buttons like your family -- after all, they installed them.

With that said, here is some of the best I can offer when it comes to holiday parties, family visits, and this whole wonderful/terrible time of year:

1. Remember, you don't have to go.  Yes, yes, maybe you should go.  Maybe it's a bad idea for your career, or it would be hurtful or disappointing to someone if you don't go -- those can be compelling reasons to get on a plane or show up at a party -- but you don't have to go.  You aren't trapped, and you can change your mind at any time if you need to -- you can turn that car right around on the way to the airport or before you enter the parking structure.  If you are a real addict your life is on the line, and though we can be prone to drama and selfish decisions, it's better in my humble opinion to stay sober and after the fact determine that you might have been oversensitive or dramatic, than to decide that in advance and force yourself to go somewhere slippery when you're feeling frightened, resentful and trapped -- and then relapse.  Because if you really are an alcoholic then your alcoholism really is trying to kill you -- and you may have taken the holiday off, but it hasn't.

2. Remember, you can leave.  In the middle of a sentence, in the middle of a toast, in the middle of the cutting of a cake, you can, without drama, without a scene, excuse yourself and leave.  If the occasion or the moment seems to indicate a reason should be offered, just say you suddenly feel ill and step out.  It's not even a falsehood, though you may mean emotionally or spiritually ill and others may think the artichoke dip didn't agree with you.  In fact, it doesn't matter if people in the moment believe you or not, or if you have to explain a little more later, or make amends after the fact -- it is better to leave quietly and stay sober than remain at an event and relapse -- because if you relapse, they'll most likely wish you'd have left.  As I've said to sponsees, you can leave with a fork halfway to your mouth, if you have to.  Which leads me to...

3.  Remember, if at all possible, drive yourself and don't give anyone a lift -- not out of selfishness, out of self preservation.   If you have to leave because you are freaking out and you think you might not be able to stay sober then you need to leave -- not wait for someone to dither around saying goodbye or getting their coat or finishing that last slice of pie.  If you do have someone with you, hopefully you can explain in advance that you might have to leave abruptly -- not that you're planning on it, but that you might need to -- so help them have a Plan B for leaving if they want to stay, or perhaps agree that they're willing to leave on short notice with you.  If you're the passenger, be ready to call a cab or walk to the bus stop or at least step outside for some air.  Which brings us to...

4.  Remember, you can leave and then return.  Leaving doesn't have to mean leaving the whole event and going home or back to the hotel or wherever -- go for a walk, get some of that aforementioned air, sit in the car and scream (though the valet may look at you funny) -- and then once you've gotten your equilibrium again go back in -- with an eye on the Exit for Round 2, if you have to.

5.  Remember, don't expect Program responses from people that aren't in the Program.  There you are, flush with recovery and armed with a whole new language to identify how you feel and communicate it with people.  Remember that the family dinner table is not a 12 Step Meeting, and you may start "sharing" rather than talking only to be met with "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."  Or worse (in my book) patronizing smiles that are the equivalent of a pat on the head and a "isn't that nice, dear."  Again: Don't expect people that aren't in a 12 Step Program to act like people in a 12 Step Program.  (And what's the set up there? The evil alcoholic node in that sentence?  "expect" -- expectations of family are some of the deepest -- and often least conscious -- and most lethal expectations an alcoholic can have.  Yes, it's a high bar to clear -- an impossible bar to clear in fact, to have absolutely no expectations of people -- but if you're aware of the mechanism at work it helps keep the resentments from running you ragged.)

6. Remember, for most addicts, maybe = yes.  If you think you might drink or use if you visit certain people or places then that's just a prelude to actually doing so.  Be sure of yourself.  If you're not sure, the stakes are too high to play a people-pleasing game and place yourself at risk.

7. Remember, other people find the holidays difficult and emotionally charged as well -- you're not the only one having a tough time of it -- watch for your ego, and rather than sit in your own upset, see who and how you can help wherever you may be or whomever you may be with.

8.  Remember, "Please pass the gravy" is not code for "Please, now that you're sober, unload all of your pent up anger and frustration you've been stuffing for the past X years, right here right now, during dinner."

9.  Remember, Alcoholics Anonymous suggests when dealing with resentments, we set them on paper.  Even for those of us that are learning we are not door mats it is not necessarily smart to immediately confront a situation head on.  In fact, by writing out a quick inventory (and be careful where you leave that paper lying around if you're visiting home, Bucko) and organizing your thoughts and feelings you can then confront something and talk about the actual thing that caused your resentment, rather than get all tripped up talking about your feelings and anger.  It's a very different thing to say "Please don't make jokes about my job" instead of "I feel angry when you make jokes about my job."  The latter will just create a discussion about your feelings, and that's not what you're trying to do -- you're trying to set a boundary, not invite opinions on your emotional sensitivity level.  If you write out your resentment you can get clarity in your head before you open your mouth -- I've tried it the other way, to spectacularly poor results, I assure you.  And all that is said with a giant IF in front of the idea that it is wise for you to "confront" anyone at all.  Most of the time it probably isn't.

10.  Remember, it is possible to look like you're listening intently to someone while you are actually saying The Serenity Prayer over and over in your head.

11.  Remember, "love and tolerance is our code."  If your family, or your boss, or your employees, or whomever, actually could do any better they probably would.  For particularly difficult, toxic or challenging people try to consider that it is much worse to be them than to deal with them -- keep at the forefront of your mind that those who trouble us are spiritually sick themselves, and are deserving of our compassion (as difficult as it may be to summon for some) more than our criticism.

12.  Remember, you may not have been such a winner yourself on past occasions -- it may take a while for people to "see" who you are today.  Be patient, show who you are now rather than tell who you are now, and things will eventually change.

13.  Remember, miracles do happen -- damaged relationships heal, wounded parties forgive, shattered families come back together ... it doesn't happen the way we may envision it, or with a clever soundtrack and excellent lighting as in your favorite independent film, but it really does happen.

14.  Remember, breathe.  Just three deep breaths before speaking can save a life.  I am not exaggerating.

15.  Remember, it is not your family's job to understand alcoholism or Alcoholics Anonymous -- it's yours.

16.  Remember, it's not your job to diagnose everyone in your family with your magical new sober powers, nor is it your job to whip out your spiritual took kit and try to fix anyone around you.  AA is a program of attraction, not promotion.  When in doubt, keep your mouth shut.

17.  Remember, AA is a "design for living" -- and what that means in the real world is that other people's behavior does not dictate my behavior -- you can't make me yell or behave badly, only I can make me do that.  I am not a doormat, but I don't have to go to every fight I'm invited to, either.

18.  And finally, remember, bring your Higher Power with you -- you're not going in their alone.

     

Why 18 and not a nice round number like 20?  Dunno -- I only have 18 I guess.

Happy holiday to all, and while it is a wonderful/terrible day, it is also just another 24 hours, and one minute at a time, this too shall pass.

Cheers!

Another self-made delusion bites the dust

"Deep down I am selfish and don't like to feel obliged to do what other people are doing..." -- Garrison Keillor, Salon-dot-com, "Christmas Without Translation"

I laughed so hard when I read that in Mr. Keillor's latest holiday essay on Salon.  Here I thought I was eccentric, or even colorful ... and maybe I am, but I think Garrison is onto something with this observation -- I don't like to do what "everyone else" is doing perhaps because deep down it's about my selfishness, not my character.  Damn! So much for my delusions of rugged individuality.

When I first got sober everyone was talking about the "child within" ... finding the child within ... nurturing the child within ... self-parenting the child within.  I didn't want explore that too closely -- after all, given the evidence, I fear my child within is more Veruca Salt than Charlie Bucket.  

  

"I want an Oompa Loompa, and I want one NOW!"

  

So I fear Mr. Keillor's observations are, as they used to say, "spot on."  Deep down I'm not a straight-talking iconoclast -- I'm a foot stomping brat.  "No! I won't do what everyone else is doing!  If they're all doing it then I will do my own thing! I will! I WILL!"

Is it just me, or does it always seem to come back to humility?

Ah well, "Charlie in the Chocolate Factory," Salon-dot-com, even reruns of "Kung-Fu" (that Caine slung a mean spiritual metaphor) I find insight in the strangest places nowadays -- but I turn up my nose at no source for assistance or inspiration -- I need all the help I can get.

Cheers!

The Pencil Guy

I've been to probably 5000 or so AA meetings in my life.

I tell you this only so you'll have some context when I say that, in all the meetings I've ever been to, I've only twice seen someone use a prop when they were speaking.  (And thank God for that.)

Speaking in an AA Meeting is an impromptu thing -- the only guidelines offered from the AA literature are that we share our experience, strength and hope with each other -- and it is commonly held that when we speak we share "what it was like, what happened, and what it's like now."  That's a good rough guide, and while there's no "wrong" way to share it is definitely very different than making a speech.  People do not prepare notes, nor do they memorize anything -- pretty much they just take a deep breath and talk, with only those two broad suggestions as to how to organize their thoughts.

So when I was sitting in a 7am meeting once, some years ago now, and the speaker got up to the lectern, I was puzzled when someone next to me whispered to their friend, "Oh, it's The Pencil Guy." You could hear the caps when they said it.

It wasn't a meeting that was in my usual orbit, but at the time I was sponsoring someone who needed some moral support in changing their meetings around, so I agreed to meet him there for a while.  The great thing about those early morning meetings of course, is that everyone who is there made a real effort to be there -- not a lot of Court Cards at a 7am meeting, believe me.  The not so great thing is that it is 7 in the freakin' morning.  But I digress ...

So The Pencil Guy got up and shared, and I regret to say that nothing in what he said really stayed with me over the years ... except the bit with the pencil.

Towards the end of his speaking, he pulled a regular #2 pencil out of his pocket, and held it up for us all to see.  "This is how I think of myself and alcoholism." He explained.  "I'm the pencil.  And alcoholism broke me."  He held the pencil out in front of him and, one end in each hand, bent it slowly until it broke -- when it snapped the break was very jagged, and strangely I remember it broke with a little "pop" rather than a "snap."  (There's a breakfast cereal joke lurking inside that sentence, but I can't quite dredge it up.)

"Now, you can actually put this pencil back together," he held a broken half in each hand, and almost like an amateur magician, showed them to us before demonstrating that by carefully fitting the two halves together -- the jagged edges of the break fitting fairly securely -- you could in essence "fix" the pencil.  "You even have to look pretty carefully now to see the break in it." He was right of course, the seam of the break was hair thin now.  "And, if you hold the pencil carefully, away from the break, you can even write with it."  He held the pencil near its point, and scribbled on a piece of paper from the Secretary's notebook.  "So, now that it's put back together, it pretty much looks like any other pencil.  It even works more or less like any other pencil.  But it has this weakness ... this structural flaw.  And if you apply even the slightest pressure to it in the wrong way, or if you aren't careful when you're using it, the pencil breaks apart again."  He held the pencil higher on the shaft, tried to write, and the halves buckled in his hand and the pencil came apart again.  "That's me, and my alcoholism -- that's what I try to remember.  AA put me back together, and I go out into the world walking and talking and looking pretty much like any other shmoe out there -- but I have a structural flaw -- my alcoholism.  And with just a little pressure in the wrong place... " he over did it by breaking the pencil again to make his point right there. 

The meeting's reaction to this performance was mixed, as you can imagine.  Some eyes rolled, some seemed intent on his point, some were clearly lost in their own head... not that different from the reaction to any other speaker actually, prop or no prop.

Speaking at meetings isn't a performance, it's not teaching, we don't use visual aides or power point to illustrate what we're trying to say.

But I've always been glad I saw the pencil guy, it made such an impression on me.  For years in fact I kept a broken pencil on my desk to remind me of the idea -- it got lost in a move somewhere along the line, and now all I have around me is pens -- but the image, the idea, that my alcoholism is like a structural flaw I need to always be aware of, has stayed with me...

Shooters - Quick shots from Meetings

    

"Expectations are resentments under construction."

         

Mistaking the symptom for the disease

Epilepsy is a chronic neurological disorder characterized by recurrent, unprovoked seizures.  These seizures are transient (meaning they come and go) symptoms due to abnormal, excessive or synchronous neuronal activity in the brain.  (Thanks, Wikipedia!)

The seizure is the dramatic, visual part of the disorder -- but the actual problem lies in the brain's neurological activity.  If you saw the symptom but did not understand the disorder you might assume that the problem is the seizure.  In other words you might logically mistake the symptom for the disease.

And surely the symptom requires a response, to avoid injuring oneself or others, but responding to the seizure is not actually getting to the heart of the problem at all --  dealing with the symptom alone leaves the actual disorder untreated.

The same is true of alcoholism (all the "isms," really).

Drinking is the dramatic, visual part of the disease -- that's the symptom you can see -- like the seizure of an epileptic, or the spots and itching from chicken pox -- but the actual cause of the symptoms -- the disease -- is a different thing entirely.  Yes, the drinking (the symptom) requires "treatment" (as in total abstinence from alcohol), to avoid injuring oneself or others, but treating the symptom alone leaves the disease itself untouched.

After all, alcohol is only mentioned in Step One of the Twelve Steps.

Or, to put it another way, alcoholism the disease actually has very little to do with alcohol.

 

 

Never say no to an AA Request, Part 3, the finale.

"If I weren't doing all this stupid 12 Step stuff, I'd have more time to ... "

To what?  No, really. What?

AA is, as the literature puts it, "a bridge back to life."  But a bridge must be anchored at both ends -- one side of my metaphorical bridge must remain firmly in AA.  Let me rephrase that: For me, one side must remain firmly planted in AA -- perhaps it would be different for you. 

An addict's thinking is influenced by their addiction.  If the 12 Step "world" is the treatment which reduces that influence, then it is no great leap to say that the less time spent in and around AA, the more an addict's thinking will revert to being primarily influenced by their addiction.  Personally, I have noticed a real change in my thinking the (few) times along the way my meeting attendance waned.  Again, that is my experience -- and to be clear, my direct experience, I am not just parroting something I've heard (countless) times in meetings.  The tenor of my thoughts becomes darker when I have less AA in my life -- if you don't believe that's true for you, then by all means cross that "bridge" keep going and don't look back.  If you're right, then ... congratulations!  You have many more evenings during the week free and the quality of the coffee you generally consume will likely improve.  (No offense to my friends making gallons of coffee at AA meetings across the country, but ... gourmet it ain't.  S'okay, most of us aren't drinking our coffee for the taste any more than we drank our liquor for the taste, either.)

If you're wrong, then ... things might get pretty bad, if you're a real alcoholic.  And not everyone who needs to make it back is able to, once they go out.  I have personally known plenty of people who decided that they didn't feel like continuing to do the AA deal, for whatever reason (some of those reasons quite plausible, in fact) and ultimately not one of them had a good experience with the experiment.  I'm sure there must be some, somewhere, that have, but I don't know them.  Nor do I know anyone who knows them.

20 years down the road I have seen and experienced enough to believe all this down to the marrow of my bones -- but still, still, every so often I think something along the lines of what I said at the opening of this posting, "If only I didn't do so much AA I could finally take up fencing ... tap dancing ... Kung Fu..."  as if AA prevents me from doing any of those things if I really wanted to.

As I've observed before (and would cleverly link to if I could find it in my own damn blog) staying sober and helping another person achieve sobriety is my primary purpose, not my solitary purpose.  If I decided to stop going to my Tuesday night AA meeting and instead took a class in Combat Feng Shui (You hung the mirror facing south?  Good Lord! Was anyone hurt?) that would not be such a terrible thing -- my sober habits are such that I would find a different meeting on a different night so that I wasn't going to fewer meetings, I would merely be going to different meetings.  AA doesn't have to get in the way of anything, so if I believe that it is, perhaps something else is going on.

When I catch myself thinking that AA is "getting in the way" of doing other things, for me it's just alcoholism using my incipient curmudgeonism (yes, I just made that phrase up and no, that does not make it any less real a condition) to get me to perhaps do less AA.  Because the funny thing is, I'm never standing there at the registration desk for the Air Conditioner Repairman Seminar and finding out that a meeting I have a commitment at falls on the same night that the seminar is scheduled.

I generally catch myself thinking that I'm "doing too much AA" when I'm alone and crabby (spell check wanted to know if I meant "crappy," which makes me want to invent the word "crabpy," to describe the dual state of being crabby about feeling crappy).  Those "too much service, too many meetings, too much too much!" thoughts always seem to show up when I'm hungry, angry, lonely or tired -- (H.A.L.T. for the new kids) -- especially angry.  And lonely.  (Because only the alcoholic mind suggests that the remedy for loneliness is to cut back on an activity that places you with lots of people.)

Absolutely, there are times when a different routine in AA might be a welcome change, but different, for me, should never equal less.

Drunkenfreude -- Susan Cheever

The always insightful Ms. Cheever wrote a piece for the NYT that both identified an interesting phenomenon and gave me a new book to ferret out ("America Anonymous" by Benoit Denizet-Lewis).

And if you scroll down and read the Comments on her essay , you'll find a wild mixed bag, much more mixed than I expected -- some of them worthwhile, some of them off the mark, some actually hostile -- and some quite illuminating, though perhaps not in the way the commenter intended.