This All Meant, Of Course (Step Twelve continued)

This all meant, of course, that we were still far off balance.  When a job still looked like a mere means of getting money rather than an opportunity for service, when the acquisition of money for financial independence looked more important than a right dependence upon God, we were still the victims of unreasonable fears.  And these were fears which make a serene and useful existence, at any financial level, quite impossible.

Rarely do I experience a “this was meant for me to read it right now” moment, but this is one.

These were fears which make a serene and useful existence, at any financial level, quite impossible.

The nature of my job is that it happens, from time to time, that I worry about losing my job.  It is regulated my many entities and the regulations and regulators fill volumes.  My job is not protected or unionized in any way.  If I am wrongly fired, the most I will get is unemployment payments.  Another aspect of the nature of my job is that I work with fragile, fragile people.  The fragility and the regulations and rules all combine to give me many opportunities every single day to do the wrong thing.  And sometimes I do the wrong thing.

So it happens every few years, I think, that I worry about losing my job.  That is happening now to me.  And as usual I won’t know for some time how this particular situation will play out.  It is not unlike waiting for tests results in fact, it’s a lot like that.  Because all the while I know that while I’m focused on this, some other thing could be conspiring right now to bring me down.

Which it hasn’t.  Not yet.  Not one time that I worried, was I in danger.  And my worries are couched in the cushiest of human circumstances that anyone ever had.  It embarrasses me to list them.  But there they are.  If I lose my job I will not lose my – health insurance – marriage – children – home – pets – lifestyle – retirement – friends – sobriety – or anything else, really, but my job.

I love my job.  I’ve been at it for almost 14 years and the experience and relationships are irreplaceable and precious.  They are also not mine forever, but only for a time, and I don’t know how much time.

I have never looked at my job as a mere means of getting money.  It’s hard work and it doesn’t pay well at all, not compared to what it asks.  It has always been an opportunity for service and sometimes that service can be quite humble, like wiping someone’s butt.  Financial independence rather than a right dependence on God?  I have more of a problem with this one.  Financial independence is important, and I don’t know that I could be serene without it.  Depending on God is great, as far as it goes, but I know that as I write, people are starving to death for a lack of food, and that they could be me.

Am I missing something there?  I know that I have far, far, far more than I need or deserve.  I’m not really afraid of starving to death because of my circumstances, I think that I won’t ever starve to death.  I don’t feel special or blessed or chosen in that way, just lucky.

But back to me and my job.  The lesson I keep trying to learn better is that these times teach me I have only today.  Today I have the job.  These times help me appreciate, during the hard times at my job, that I have it and I love it all the more for having been afraid of losing it.  That keeps happening to me, and I’m glad.  I’m acquiring more serenity and appreciation as I get older and that is all good.  And all due to the program.

And I feel like a bit of a failure that my anxiety peaks so high on these occasions.  There’s something I’m missing.  I’m not done learning yet.

 

February 18, 2012 (this day)

Last year at this time Carole and I were walking around the city with the dog, taking pictures of fading ads, and this year we…….are not.  Her knee still hurts.  For me, it seems to be a repeat of 2009, for which interested parties can consult The Menopause Chronicles.  She’s also constantly getting a sinus infection, but that may have been true last year as well.  Last year we had ancient and dying pets and this year we have kittens about to mark their first birthday.

We’re all crawling toward death!  Still I have hope that her artificial knee and my change of life will lead to good things for both of us.  We’re just not there yet.  She informed me yesterday that her friend is having a hysterectomy next month for exactly the symptoms I’m having now.  I am a freak for not wanting surgery or drugs.  Carole didn’t say I’m a freak, it just seems that everyone, most importantly the doctors, have a fix for this, and it isn’t time, it is medical intervention of some sort.

This all relates to my program (really) in too many ways to count.  It’s an excellent mental exercise to deal with this uncomfortableness not knowing how long it will last.  Could be over tomorrow, could go on for many more years (although my lack of hot flashes lead one doctor to tell me that makes her think I’m not nearly there yet).  I do not want to chemically, hormonally alter my healthy body to relieve symptoms.  I do not want to go into the hospital, charge the insurance thousands of dollars, go under anesthesia, and have a healthy organ removed to relieve symptoms.

I want to be brave and patient and cheerful.  I want someone (anyone) to understand and commiserate and tell me she made it through fine and so will I. Or that if I can’t make it through, I’ll have the drugs or the surgery and all will be well.  What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.  Kumbaya!

Yesterday it took me 15.5 second to generate this gratitude list regarding my female reproductive system.  This is how the program works for me:

• I didn’t start my period early
• Although I had long, frequent, painful periods, it was nothing that handicapped my life
• I got pregnant right when I wanted to, immediately
• For two pregnancies I had two children – a girl and a boy – as perfect in every way as human beings can be
• I didn’t have a premature menopause
• I’m not having one that requires medical intervention
• So far I have no tumors, cancer, polyps, infections, or other bad, scary things
• Should I have those I have access to the best medical care in the world

This too shall pass!!!!!!

 

December 31, 2011 (this day)

The view from the hospital window.

It has all been so very complicated, simple, and unrelenting.

Carole is recovering, at home now.  My mother is here to help.  My daughter is here to visit and help.  My son pops in to eat.  Carole’s niece came through on a visit to friends.

I’ve been back to work.  End of the year craziness has my work partner threatening to retire.  It’s been a hard year at work, ending with lay offs.  As 2012 begins, we will have to take care of the things that those who are laid off used to take care of.  Already that is unmanageable.

My home group’s meeting is falling on New Year’s Eve tonight, like it did on Christmas Eve last week.  Every year, Carole and I have a party after the meeting on the Saturday between Christmas and New Year’s. This year we debated a little bit (she wanted New Year’s, I wanted Christmas) until it became apparent we would have to party, we would tend to her knee.

Still the meeting will be a bit festive in the way our meeting is.  That is, unrehearsed and pretty much unprepared.  Someone offered to chair and bring food.  Someone is celebrating an anniversary.  I will start the coffee and put the soda in the fridge on my way to get Carole’s medicine, then come back and hopefully get her over there for the meeting.

I’ll thank God that whatever I did in 2011 enabled me to take care of these things at the end, and I can go into 2012 (the year, if I’m lucky, I’ll turn 50!) with hope.

December 20, 2011 (this day)

I’m in the hospital waiting room, waiting to hear that Carole’s knee replacement is done.  I’ve worked on a report for work while I’ve waited, I’ve read internet message boards, talked to Erika and Carole’s sister, and read from two huge books (Big Book edition #1 and the Bible) stored on a tiny Kindle.  Meanwhile I’ve waited for a report on my cell phone, and checked the surgery display board to track her progress.

This is all amazing to me.  Almost as amazing as the fact that she’ll have an artificial knee.

Erika is at home with the animals.  The puppy sitter walked the dog, and I should be home in enough time to help Erika feed the zoo.  When I come back to the hospital, I’ll give Carole her cell phone and know she can call me later if she needs me.

How could I fail to be grateful in all of this?  I couldn’t fail to.  I am grateful.

November 22, 2011 (this day)

Perspective.

Last week, when I was taking a shower, it occurred to me that I am getting old lady arms.  I looked at the under part of my right upper arm and noticed it was flabbier than it had been.  I’m OK with that.  Truly.  Most of the time I am very glad to get older.  Of course I don’t like the bodily deteriorating I’m doing, and I really don’t like being closer to the end.  Other than that, it’s a blessing and one I try hard to appreciate all the time.  It’s always here.  Each day, I’m older.

Well this past Saturday in the shower I noticed my arm again (and I didn’t look at it in between, not because I only shower on Saturday, but because I try not to look at myself).  This time I took a peek at my other arm and sadly, I had to admit I had a lump on the right arm.  Or a mass.  Something bad.

So that was Saturday night.  I spent from then until Monday afternoon, when I went to the doctor, practicing feeling what it would feel like to have something awful.  I really would, momentarily, think about hearing that not only did I have cancer, but I was full of it, and had not long to live.  I also practiced hearing that I’m fine, and I spent time thinking about what I know of cancer treatments and some brave folks I know who have gone through it and are going through it.

And most of the time between Saturday and Monday I really tried not to think about it at all, but to go on with my life.  I think I’m fairly good at that.  AA has taught me how to stay in the present, I’ve had many years of practice.  That is a very useful and practical skill.

The doctor and the student doctor said it is a harmless something or other, and that I don’t need to do anything about it unless it bothers me.  Which it will, mostly niggling a little at my the edge of my mind worrying that the doctor is wrong.  My next thought will be that it looks kind of yucky, I hope it’s not too obvious, and it’s a good thing I don’t do sleeveless regardless.

Carole wasn’t very brave about all this, but she tried.  One thing I thought about during it is that I’m very grateful she’s there.  She complains that I won’t let her take care of me when I’m sick, but I’d hate to think of having a major illness all alone.  I know people do it every day, and one day it could be me, but I’m glad that right now she’s here.

Carole gave me the funniest thought, though.  We went to a meeting on Sunday night and at some point, in the car, I don’t know what I said and she probably doesn’t either, but she said to me, “I’m trying to cherish you.”

I know I make that difficult often.

Well, my Monday morning work problems seemed awfully small yesterday at work.  I love that about being scared.  I really want to carry that forward into next Monday.

And I was thinking about it.  When I was drinking, there were truly times that I wanted to die.  I never feel that way now.  I love life and I want more.  Another gift of the program.

November 15, 2011 (this day)

• Nanowrimo ate my lunch
• I’m at 28353 words at the middle of the month
• My “novel” is very bad, maybe even worse than last year
• It’s still fun to do
• Of the people I talked into doing it with me, only two are still doing it, and one is my wife.
• Menopause is not for wimps
• For the first time in over 15 years, my critters have fleas
• I was tempted to write out “fifteen,” because that would count as one word
• The weather has been really nice this fall
• At a meeting on Sunday night, I heard (for the “first” time) that one should check one’s life against the promises when one finishes Step Nine
• I don’t like to use the passive voice when writing
• I also found out that at least that night, I had the most time in the room
• I hate when that happens
• I only talk about my hatred of it to Carole and here
• Along with my hatred of that, I also always feel, when it comes to my attention that it’s true that I have the most time in the room at any given meeting, I always feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude, and a little bit of fear
• And tremendous, not enough, but a tremendous amount of gratitude

What Do You Do To Stay Sober?

• write this blog
• go to, at the very least, one meeting a week, usually more
• actively engage with the Steps
• pray and meditate
• read recovery books and blogs
• share at meetings, over the phone, in writing and in person
• service (mostly taking lots of turns running my group’s meetings)

For this month and this day, I will also say I practice gratitude.

Someone at work shared this shocking truism with me:  The only difference between an optimist and a pessimist is that the pessimist is better informed.

This is not clever!  This is not true!  The optimist is practicing gratitude, noticing, thinking about, enjoying, appreciating what is good, and right.  The pessimist is doing the opposite.

I am extremely grateful that the program I follow makes me cultivate gratitude as a habit, a way of thinking that has become part of my being.  I need to do this to stay sober.  I need to stay sober to live.  And I’m grateful.

September 29, 2011 (this day)

I’m sitting outside on my back porch because this threatens to be the last day I can do this for a while.  The weather forecast is calling for very cool, actually cold weather for the next few days.  Right now it is perfect.  It’s not hot or cold, it’s sunny but the sun doesn’t burn.  The leaves are mostly still on the trees but when a breeze blows some flutter down.  Very nice.

I’ve been very busy at work this week and next week won’t be better.  I went to a thrift shop to buy metal silverware for my work place to use instead of plastic.  The amount of Styrofoam and plastic we use and throw out amazes me.  My meeting uses real cups and in five or six years, if we’ve only saved 20 cups a meeting, that a lot of cups.

At work today someone was telling us about a trip she’s about to take with her husband, someone else we work with, who is afraid to fly.   I was telling her about the things I did to successfully fly to Hawaii (and back!) over a year ago now, and I’m still very grateful.  I made it fairly calmly, and without drugs, because of the program.

The picture is one I took of my Big Book on my lap while I was waiting (and waiting and waiting) for Carole to get coffee on the way to a meeting the other day.

July 9, 2011 (this day)

The dog and I went to Carole’s work to help her pack up her office before the moving people move her to her new office.  Carole works at the school where Erika went to college (or, Erika went to college at the school where Carole works) and some locations did bring back some memories for me.  Not all good memories, although the fact that Erika is alive and well today makes all those memories OK for what they were.  I did remember waiting outside under a tree when moving Erika in or out one year, waiting with my dog that was eventually attacked and killed while I walked her.  Our present dog is here because of that and I was trying to think about it –

What happened, happened to the little dog.  She was only two years old and way too young.  The dogs that attacked should not have been loose, so even if I can’t blame them for what they did, their owners were negligent.  Though they got out by accident.

Anyway that happened.  Now our present big dog is alive because we had that room in our home.  And I guess none of it really matters in the end.  All of us who live, die.

I worked on a blanket on the car ride.  Someone I work with, someone younger than me, has lung cancer, and it looks pretty bad.

But those of us who are living have today.  For the rest of today I’ll putz around and enjoy the new life of the kittens.  Tonight I’m chairing my meeting then going out for the meeting after the meeting.  Someone I introduced to the program is sharing her story and sometimes that is the ultimate awesomeness.  In a way, the crap I went through enabled me to help her way, way, way on the down the line.

PASS IT ON!!

May 14, 2011 (this day)

Phyllis passed away Thursday night.  I don’t want to be too specific, but she lived across the street from us.  She was so much more than a neighbor.  She showed up at our meeting a few years ago.  The few years before that, we couldn’t help noticing the police, the fights, the devastation.  Then, for the past several year, the healing, the calmness (I won’t go so far as to call it serenity), the hope.  Her husband told Carole that he is grateful for the last years he had with her. 

I have so many thoughts and reflections about it.  I’m so grateful I got sober young, and so grateful my whole adult life has been spent in AA (both sober and not).  There simply wasn’t time for Phyllis to really get better, although I think she did experience at least one miracle if not more.

Although she’d only known the folks of AA for a short time, they have been some of the most dedicated friends in her life.  I hope she picked up at least some of the tools of the program and that they eased her way.

Why do we have such a hard time with death?  She was here, and now she’s not.  She never will be again.

I walked my remaining dog past Phyllis’ car Friday morning.  I wonder if the last time she drove it she know it would be the last time.  The maple trees are shedding their polly noses on to the car, seeking to reproduce themselves and make new maples. 

Selfishly, I wonder how long it will take me to adjust.  Selfishly, I cling tighter to my sobriety, hoping I am truly taking the lessons I can from the examples of active alcoholism.  (I don’t know if I wrote about it or not, but someone up the street, someone unable to “get it,” died last month at 51).

Selfishly, I have had enough of death in this season of spring.  The three I was waiting for and dreading have come to pass.  Each, I have to remember it, came in old age, in the best possible circumstances with family and medical assistance and every kind of support possible.  My world has changed too much (for me).