April 13, 2013 (this day)

IMG_0143Still not too much going on.  Today would have been my father’s birthday.  I’m not sure how old he would be.  He died in 1968, at the age of 33, from alcoholism.  I don’t go on about it much in real life, but this is my AA blog, and that is one of the most important happenings of my AA story.  He didn’t know me beyond 1st grade, he didn’t know my children at all.  He doesn’t know that his sister may be trying to do me out of my inheritance from his father.  He doesn’t know that his sad story may have been the pivotal point in my happy one.  I thought, growing up, that alcoholics died young, ugly deaths.  Many of them do.  I probably would have.  He did.

But I didn’t.  It’s too late now for me to die young!  Instead I’ll mark 29 years without a drink on May 1, God willing and the creek don’t rise.  My sobriety is not bullet proof.  I’ve been watching The Walking Dead, just a few episodes a year.  We just saw the one where Hershel goes back to drinking and I have to say that in the zombie apocalypse, I might also.  Since that hasn’t happened, I’ll go on.

I’ve had really really really good changes at work.  Really good.  The past few years have been good and getting better.  Mostly I think due to the person who is presently my boss.  I’m enjoying it.  It makes the hard times easier and I’m really optimistic for the whole thing.  It’s nice.

Tonight I’ll go to a meeting I hope to go tomorrow also.  Then on to another week of work and it’s ordinary and it’s good.

True Ambition (Step Twelve continued)

True ambition is not what we thought it was.  True ambition is the deep desire to live usefully and walk humbly under the grace of God.

I’ve listed ambition as one of my character defects.  It’s a confusing one in that it also has a positive connotation, as when someone takes on something difficult with lots of energy, being “ambitious.”  But as a character defect, I understand that it is the distinction and honor aspects of it that are defective and wrong and, possibly, the wealth and power aspects as well, though those can be put to good use.

I’ve never much striven for distinction, honor, power, or wealth, though I can get awfully nervous if I think my middle-class status is in jeopardy.  I have a desire to live usefully and walk humbly.  I don’t know how deep my desire is.  Surely not deep enough.

Living usefully.  As I’ve written, and people who know me in real life know, I work with adults who have developmental disabilities to the extent that they need major help in all areas of life.  I work in their day program, and I got there because my mother has done this since I was five, and she gave me my first job.  I got my second job when I moved to be with Carole, and I’m still at that job.  It will be 15 years in June, and how that happened I just can’t understand.  But I’ve moved from the day-to-day hands on working folks to managing the folks who work with the folks, and it’s just not clear at any given moment that I’m doing something useful.  Not as clear as it was when, for example, I was giving someone a drink of water who couldn’t get it for himself.  Now that is useful.  Telling someone else how to give the water, or making sure they gave the water, or critiquing their water giving method, now that is just not as much–

I will be honest.  That is not as much fun.  Of course it’s useful.  But while I felt I was good at giving the water, and knowing when and how to do it, I don’t feel I’m as good at telling someone else.  Especially if they are not doing it well.

Anyway, a very useful way to make a living.  I love it, which I don’t think lessens its usefulness.  I think it is better for the people I’m helping if I love it, and I do.  And it’s wonderful for me.  I honestly feel a little guilty about that.  Probably because of my Lutheran upbringing.

So useful at work.  I want to live usefully at home, and that is generally not as much fun.  The aspects of it that I like, I’m good at, and I want to do more.  I think that being a pet of mine is a pretty good deal.  My biggest deficit there, I think, is the anxiety I experience about being good enough, especially to the dog, but also to the cats.  Other aspects of being useful at home I’m not as good at.  I started to write and deleted a few things about that.  I’ve come around to thinking this about it:  my so-called “deep desire” is only as good as the actions that result from it.  Doesn’t that fit every situation?

March 12, 2013 (this day)

IMG_0084I’m trying to write, and the extremely fluffy black cat is twirling around my keyboard purring.  The dog is on high alert, hoping I’ll make a move for the door, which might mean a snack is coming.

Our snow is almost all gone, but after a few days of really nice weather, it’s gotten cold again.  I’m really busy at work, and people from work are emailing even now, but it’s a good kind of busy.  Carole’s on her way home soon after being away.

I wrote before about a woman I work with being on work release.  I told her I’m in the program, and I asked her if she had a Big Book.  She didn’t, so I got her one along with a stack of Grapevines for the place she has to live right now.  She went waving the book down the hallway, full of people, thanking me.

Through the years I’ve told a few people I work with that I’m in the program.  My work partner Irene is the only one there now who knows.  Unless this new gal has spread the word, advertently in inadvertently.  And apparently advertently isn’t a word.

I’m OK with that.  I was trying to explain it to Carole recently.  Because in my drinking history, I often lied about it when I messed up spectacularly, saying my medication was off, someone slipped me something.  Oy.  I did this in order to be able to drink again.  Because if I admitted what was wrong, I couldn’t do it again.  Telling the truth about why I don’t drink or, more often, admitting that I was drunk was an important step in my recovery.

That was a really long time ago, but I hold on to it.  It’s so important, and so precious.  To use a drippy metaphor it’s one of the stones in my foundation.  No matter how strong the foundation is, I’m not pulling any brick out.

I realize that those thoughts don’t go seamlessly together.  Woman at work waving a Big Book in the hall, and admitting I was under the influence rather than lying.  I guess I mean that I strive to tell anyone who has a reason to know that I’m in the program, and if hallways of others find out in the process it’s OK by me.

And please stand by to see if it really does turn out OK.

Asking for Help

IMG_0051I was looking for a picture that illustrates my problem with “asking for help,” and I didn’t have to look far to find one.  This is the side of my house, this time last year.  When the leaves open up on the trees to the right, this area is in total shade.  So grass doesn’t grow, and I’d love to grow something, but I don’t ask for help and so it stays like this, year after year.

As a disclaimer, my intention with this blog is to record my experience as an old-timer.  Asking for help is a classic problem that newcomers face, along with, I believe, asking for too much help.  But that’s not why I’m here.  Carole and I had dinner with someone we know who has struggled in the program and she told us, “I don’t want someone to tell me what to do.”  As two people who for today have achieved significant long-term sobriety, Carole and I agreed that when we finally did get sober (me on my 2001st try), we were finally ready and grateful to have someone tell us what to do.  We had to admit that our own way of doing things was going one way, down hill.  That’s part of the newcomer dilemma of asking for and receiving help.

But what is like for me, several decades up the hill from that final first breakthrough?  We were just at a Quaker silent meeting, and I had this topic on my mind as something to meditate on if I needed a topic.  Which I did.

I find that a lot of my spare thoughts go to my work.  I’ve been, at various times in my life, a student, a stay at home mother, a working mother.  I’ve been partnered and single.  I find it appropriate that at my age and stage of life, I should think a lot about work.  I should probably be at my best their as well, since my kids are grown and my education is pretty much complete.

There are new things I’m trying to learn.  I’m sort of trying to learn to play the guitar (without much practice), how to be a better investigator (I do investigations as part of my work).  I ask my daughter to help me learn to knit and crochet.  I sometimes halfheartedly think about being a better manager.  Halfheartedly because my heart has never been in managing people.  I work with adults who have developmental disabilities (mental retardation), and I’ve truly loved working with them and tried to do it better all the time.  But my work partner and I finally asked to manage the program because we lived through a string of terrible managers and things always got worse, never better.  Today in the Quaker meeting I was thinking how sad for the clients and the staff that one of their leaders is half-hearted.  They deserve someone who will give her whole heart to it.

So what does asking for help look like in my life today?  I asked for opinions when I had to fly to Hawaii and considered taking a drug to deal with my fear.  I concretely ask for help when I want to do something like knit, and I have to say that even though I ask, I’m not assured of getting help because my daughter sometimes points me to a book plus she’s left-handed.  I do turn to books and learning when I want to get better at some things like managing or investigating.  I turn away from learning about things that don’t interest me, like the side yard.  And there’s the whole aspect of asking for help in a relationship that I couldn’t blog about and expect to keep the relationship.

February 26, 2013 (this day)

IMG_0035I had to do something special for work today, and Carole came and helped out.  We had to go to Carole’s church and help my clients get the church newsletter ready for mailing.  That made a short day for me, finally.  My work partner was on vacation for a week and then sick for a week.  She’s still sick, but she’s back to work.  And all during the time she was gone, we had short staff.  That is the hardest thing for me handle at work, and I had to do it for two weeks all alone.  I’m trying really hard to remember that these past two weeks have been fine, with lots of good stuff going on as well.  I feel like the experience was like heavy lifting, and now that the load is lighter, I can appreciate the light load more than I did before.

Our weather is dismal, and right now it’s very cold and raining hard.  Cold rain is one of the worst kinds of weather, I think.  I’m  just hoping it doesn’t get so cold that the rain freezes, because freezing rain and ice is awful to drive on.  I’m glad I’m in for the night, but so many people I care about are not.

But.  Even as I was writing this, I was receiving messages from work about the short staff situation.  I really need a new way to look at it.  It is a permanent feature of my life while I work at the job that I have.  It stresses me so much that I mentally toy with the idea of changing jobs to something that doesn’t deal with managing people.

There was a twitter thing I read about (I don’t have twitter) where people described their “real” job in a few words.  Lots of people wrote something about “problem solver.”  And I certainly am that.  People bring me their problems all day long and for a day or two I actually tried to embrace the role of problem solver.  It’s not really what I want, but it is what I am.  So I want to be a good one, and that would involve being calmer about it internally in my mixed up crazy mind.

But for tonight there is cold rain outside and I am in.

Anonymity

I came out about my recovery status to someone at work last week.  I’ve worked at the same place for almost 15 years, and during that time I think I’ve told four people that I’m an alcoholic, though I may be forgetting someone.  I told a woman I worked with (let’s call her Victoria) because she threw AA lingo around.  Turns out she had been sober for some time.  Now I’m not remembering exactly, but I think she had recently drank and said she wanted to get back into AA.  Carole and I went to a few meetings with her, but she lived really far away from us.  Later someone mentioned that Victoria was drinking at a work function.  Victoria left the job, and people I know still know people who know her.  I don’t know if she’s sober or drinking, but I guess she hasn’t had any major smash-ups, at least not big enough to come to my attention.

I told another woman, let’s call her Olga.  I don’t remember how or why I told her.  I worked with her for years, and she went to school to become a pastor, and she went to school for something else I don’t remember.  Olga is a funny kind of out-of-sight-out-of-mind person.  Carole and I and Irene, my work partner, to name three, tried to stay in touch with Olga, but she just didn’t respond.  She left my work place and came back to another division.  We would see her occasionally when she came to our location for training, and she’d be friendly enough, then nothing.  Eventually Carole and Irene gave up trying to keep in touch with her, and they don’t give up on anybody.

A guy I worked with, let’s call him Stellan, showed up at a meeting.  He was a really nice guy.  While we worked together many of us thought he was smoking pot, at least.  After he wasn’t working with us anymore, his name showed up in the paper when he was drunk driving and fled from the police.  They threw down those tire shredders to stop him.  He came to my meeting, since he lives nearby.  I gave him a big book and all the encouragement I could and that’s the last I’ve seen or heard of him for some years now.

Then Irene.  I think I wrote about that kerfluffal, but I never wanted to hide it from her, but I ended up hiding it from her, and finally told her about it quite recently.  Thank goodness.

Now someone at work got in trouble with drinking.  I won’t got into it, since it’s current, but it was bad enough for her bosses to need to know, and so I told her.  This is what I think about that:

  • It feels kind of ridiculous to tell someone that I have 28 years.  I’d give a dollar to know what that sounds like to someone who is new.  I imagine it sounds like I’m revealing I’m from Mars.
  • I realize that all that thought into what it sounds like is humility in reverse.
  • I hope she doesn’t tell anyone, but I don’t really care if she does.  Unless I could possibly help someone, then I’d be glad.

I’m “boss” to most of the people I work with day-to-day, so . . . I don’t know.  I imagine this one will turn out like the others and she will fade away.

I’ve gone through a few phases of wanting or not wanting to be anonymous.  At first, like a lot of us, I didn’t want to reveal to people that I had a drinking problem.  In my case they may not have known, because I was so young.  They may thought I was just crazy, a slacker, who knows what else.  Next, during most of the six years I spent trying to stop drinking, I didn’t want people to know because that would mean they would understand the implications when next they saw me drunk.  It’s that long phase that still haunts me a bit today.

Mostly, I think, I just haven’t cared about it.  Sure I’ve wanted to tell people, when I thought it could help, like those I’ve told at work through the years.  But I don’t think I’ve actually helped anyone that way.  And if I haven’t, it’s a wash.

Writing this and thinking about it I realize I’ve entered a new phase that is all about ME and the reverse of humility.  I think that telling someone I’ve been sober this long sounds ridiculous, unless of course that person has experienced some degree of success in AA.  Even then.  This is a confession, because I fully realize these feelings are wrong.

And finally I have to insert the note that is so often lacking from this topic in AA.  Principles before personalities – means that I should not lift myself up by being public about my AA status.  I can’t be public at the level of press, radio and films with my full name or face.  I need a certain degree of publicity in my private life in order to carry the message.

. . . the surety that we need no longer be . . . (Step Twelve continued)

. . . the surety that we need no longer be square pegs in round holes but can fit and belong in God’s scheme of things–

For me one of the greatest gifts of Alcoholics Anonymous has been the opportunity to know so many people on such a deep level.  I know that many people on the outside know it’s true that to some degree, most people feel they don’t belong or fit in, that there’s something different and usually wrong with them.  It can seem like other people hold a key to friendships and relationships, work and study, that I just don’t have.  Listening to thousands of stories in AA lets me know that this is a universal feeling, again to one degree or another.

Truly drinking I could not fit in any hole of any shape, and I believe now that I was actively working against God’s will by poisoning myself, wasting time and resources and generally being self-centered and destructive.

But of course sober I can feel that I’m still missing one or several vital ingredients in human nature.  Now, I know that it’s not true.

The people I work with can teach me humility every day that I will let them.  Some of them have very severe disabilities.  I can easily see their place in God’s scheme of things.  Or, for times when I can’t, like at times when I wonder why some people are born to suffer so, at least I can imagine that, because we’re all human, we’re all just a variation on each other.  Including me.

January 27, 2013 (this day)

IMG_0036I really try to make peace with the snow.  I love the snow!  It’s pretty, and fun, and so much nicer than a bleak bare winter landscape.  Where I live, we usually have lots of snow of a very nice type.  It often snows just slightly, gently, all day or all night.  It doesn’t mess with the roads but it keeps all the snow on the ground clean and renewed.  My dog loves the snow.  It energizes her and makes her happy.

But driving in it frightens me.  It always has.  Aside from a few years, I have always lived where there is snow in winter and hills as well.  It’s always frightened me and I can specifically remember sitting at meetings, watching the snow fall, talking about this because it surely is something I cannot change.  More than that, I don’t want to change it.  I’ve lived without snow and I vastly prefer the climate that includes snow in winter.

Most winters, even in my climate, I don’t have to drive in scary snow.  That’s just the way it works out.  Snow falls at night, on weekends, or not at all.  Last year we had practically no snow at all.  So I keep that fact uppermost in my mind when I consider and think of and fear the damn snow.

I do other things.  The day after Christmas, when I had to work and big snow was predicted all day long, I packed for work like I would stay there for a month.  I try pretty much at each and every snow to notice how the driving goes for others, since I’m hardly ever driving in it.  I keep in my mind like the details of a plane crash, the time that ice descended on my region all of a sudden and just about everyone crashed.

OK that’s not a good example.

Friday I had to drive in the snow.  I was getting out of somewhere I was visiting for work at just exactly the wrong moment.  I drove home and I slid and I got more scared than I’ve been for a few years, driving and slipping in the snow.

I don’t mind the cold weather.  I prefer it to heat.  The snow is very pretty and it usually gives me no problem, even for years at a time.  I would not change my location with regard to snow if I could.  The climate that gives us such frequent snow often hides the sun when it otherwise would be beating down, and that’s just fine with me.  My only real negative factor in this my drive to work, which although it is around 25 miles each way, those miles are into and out of a city of some size, and the roads between here and there are as well maintained as any.  And it’s relatively flat.

I didn’t mean to write about snow today.  I’m going to hit the publish button, and then I’m going to shop for a Jeep.

Anger

I charged off to the Big Book in search of this:

If we were to live, we had to be free of anger. The grouch and the brainstorm were not for us. They may be the dubious luxury of normal men, but for alcohol­ics these things are poison.

Why did I need to find that?  Because some of the psychobabble that goes on at meetings about healthy anger, justifiable anger, anger that is OK for some people some of the time, makes me angry!

It really does.  Anger is one of the toughest character defects for me.  I don’t think I am, in general or often, an angry person, but I know I feel it probably many times every day.  I have not progressed enough with this.  Not at all.

Many of the top Google hits about anger reference AA and the literature.  The others deal with managing anger, mostly.  I’m glad my road is clear.  TO LIVE, I have to be free of anger.  Free.  Not managed, but gone.

So obviously I’m not free from anger and yet I have lived quite a long time.  In my opinion only, here’s a place where AA shows me the ideal and gives me many tools for working my way there.  I know I’ll never get there.  Personally I need to feel like I’m at least inching down that road most of the time making progress or . . . I don’t know.  It has to get better, or I’ll drink.  Still.

What makes me angry today?  My attitudes and outlook.  Outside wordly triggers:

  • Staffing issues.  I’m in charge of thirty of so people who very very often do not do their job to the best of their ability.
  • Conditions at work that are man-made (or woman-made, our leader being a woman) that seem, to me, to be wrong or difficult.  Our crappy building.  Being open in the big snow.  Lack of a coherent time-tracking system.  I could go on and on.
  • Being wronged.  Sometimes, often, other people I come into contact with, and so have to cooperate with, do the wrong thing and I get injured somehow.
  • Politics.  I can feel very, very angry over politics and that includes all politics, even that of my favorites.

Last week at my meeting we talked about forgiveness and acceptance, especially regarding people who have wronged us.  My most useful tool for that is the thought that the other people are also sick and often wrong.  Like me.  Just like me.

From the pages around the first quote:

This was our course: We realized that the people who wronged us were perhaps spiritually sick.  Though we did not like their symptoms and the way these disturbed us, they, like ourselves, were sick too. We asked God to help us show them the same toler­ ance, pity, and patience that we would cheerfully grant a sick friend. When a person offended we said to ourselves, “This is a sick man. How can I be helpful to him? God save me from being angry. Thy will be done.’’

It’s not quite that simple, when I’m at work listening to the voice mail of the people who are telling me that, unlike me, they won’t be coming to work that day.  And yet it is quite that simple.  I know it is wrong of me to judge them.  I know that if skipping work is not a character defect of mine, I have plenty of others, and I’m not in a position to weigh one defect against another and decide that theirs is worse than mine.  I have to deal with those people.  They have to deal with me.  And at least I know that I’m on the road of happy destiny.

(not sure where most of them are going)

December 20, 2012 (this (last ?) day)

I’m having trouble getting some time away from worry and sadness.  Probably several times a day – no, several times an hour – there is the news that is making the whole world sad.  It reminds me constantly that whatever I am going through, I’m lucky to have made it to this day and this issue.  The one young teacher was born two months after my daughter was born.  To me, this is not someone’s teacher as much as someone’s child.  I live in the suburb of a city and a quick search tells me that someone is murdered in that city once or twice a week, every week.  Of course it’s mostly young men.  But because they don’t look like or act like my young man, my son, I don’t do anything at all about it.  If all 50 or 60 were killed at one time, I guess I’d take better notice.  And being more liberal than you (whoever you are), I’m sure it is the fault of guns and our gun culture.
Then there are the holidays which are not like they were when I was a child.  I could go on an on but really, I’m disappointed with myself and I’d really like to climb out of the pit and into the world which is a really, really, really good place for me today. 
There’s been a huge change for the better at my work.  It’s so good that I’m afraid to believe in it, and maybe it won’t last, but it’s here for today.  The family is better than fine.
I’m in the doldrums of “shouldn’t” feel this way after this much time.  Though I reserve the right to plead insanity caused by hormones on the rampage.
  • My Experience With

  • Praying Today For

    Butch
  • Phillips Brooks

    O holy Child of Bethlehem,
    descend to us, we pray;
    Cast out our sin, and enter in,
    be born in us today.

  • Thanks for sharing!

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    The Varieties of Religious Experience by William James

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    anxiety – A general way of viewing things with an eye toward what is wrong, what might be wrong, what has been wrong or what is going to be wrong. Excessive worry, especially about things I cannot change. Failing to live in the now.
  • Words to Live By

    Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
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    As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
    All simply in the springing of the year. ~ Robert Frost

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