As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind.
To make a deep physical path, we walk again and again.
To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives.
-- Henry David Thoreau
When I heard this I thought... "Not really..."
But then I thought about it and came to... "Well actually..."
The thing is, it's kind of true, in a macro sense.
As I work
to work a program
I have a particular ability to see myself,
to take responsibility for my actions.
And when I see them clearly I am better able,
with the tools of recovery,
to change.
Simple
not
easy.
I'm pretty sure I was born an alcoholic.
As much native intelligence the good lord might have blessed me with,
(and however much that might be or once was is certainly open for vigorous debate)
knowing how to stay sober wasn't in the original programming.
I hear people share in AA meetings fairly often that they felt,
when they were young,
like everyone else just "knew how to live"
but them.
That they did not arrive on Earth with the
Instructions for Living.
The inference, often, is that this is common among alcoholics and perhaps
unique to us as a class.
I don't fully agree with that idea.
Common? Yes.
Unique?
I think that wanders perilously close to "I'm a special snowflake" territory.
Personally, I believe
feeling like everyone else knows what they're doing and you're just faking it is
part of the human condition.
What makes us -- or marks us -- as alcoholics is that
drinking "solved" how that felt.
Regardless,
speaking for myself, ('bout time!)
I had an addictive bent from the very beginning, and once I started drinking it was
freefall;
I felt both special and dishonest,
fancy and phony:
a rented luxury car with bad brakes.
My drinking "career" (as we say)
contained episodes which felt
glamorous and repulsive all at once,
like seeing a beautiful naked body in the water and then realizing
it's a freshly drowned corpse.
The way I lived as a drinking alcoholic titillated me.
The way I lived as a drinking alcoholic disgusted me.
I felt so very clever with all my lies.
I felt so desperately ashamed of all my lies.
For pretty much every alcoholic I've every spoken to,
drinking felt like it solved
everything
while it ruined
everything.
But drinking was part of the original programming.
That I knew how to do from the onset.
Like I said, I am pretty sure I was
born a drunk.
But not drinking? Living sober? That almost magical (sometimes. no, really.) state which feels
both special and plain,
like thick clean socks slipped onto bone cold feet?
As simple as it is:
just... don't drink! (Riiiiiight...)
that's been a totally
learned skill.
And some days, man,
that learning curve is
still steep.
I echo those who feel that if this Fellowship ever falters or fails, it will not be because of any outside cause.
No, it will not be because of treatment centers or professionals in the field, or non-Conference-approved literature, or young people, or the dually-addicted, or even the "druggies" trying to come to our closed meetings.
If we stick close to our Traditions, Concepts, and Warranties, and if we keep an open mind and an open heart, we can deal with these and any other issues that we have or ever will have.
If we ever falter and fail, it will be simply because of us.
It will be because we can't control our own egos or get along well enough with each other. It will be because we have too much fear and rigidity and not enough trust and common sense.
Bob P. (1917-2008), General Manager of the General Service Office from 1974 to 1984, then Senior Advisor to the G.S.O. from 1985 until his retirement.
His story is in the Big Book as "AA Taught Him to Handle Sobriety," 3rd edit. (1976) pp. 554-561, 4th edit. (2001) pp. 553-559.
These words were spoken as part of Bob P's last address to GSO late in the 1980s.
I agree with Bob. P. (even though the word "druggies" makes me giggle.)
The more you try to avoid suffering, the more you suffer,
because smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you, in proportion to your fear of being hurt.
The one who does most to avoid suffering is, in the end, the one who suffers most.
-- Thomas Merton