We may clutch at another excuse for avoiding an inventory. Our present anxieties and troubles, we cry, are caused by the behavior of other people–people who really need a moral inventory. We firmly believe that if only they’d treat us better, we’d be all right. Therefore we think our indignation is justified and reasonable–that our resentments are the “right kind.” We aren’t the guilty ones. They are!
Happily, I really haven’t been treated badly in my life. I mean I can and do blame my mother for stuff, but really I’ve had it very easy.
I can blame other people for causing my excess of negative emotion though.
My blog has seen me through several presidential elections at this point. I’ve been hopeful and happy and crushed. I’ve been privileged to say alcohol has not played a part if my coping mechanisms or celebrations since my very first election, when Reagan first won. As my grandfather had just died and I was at his visitation when I heard Carter had conceded, announced by my mother’s husband, well it all just fit…….
Now, I have trouble understanding voters on the other side of this debacle. I cannot understand them. I don’t know why mocking a reporter who has a disability was not a disqualified. I don’t.
I do understand that intolerance is a character defect of mine. It’s not pretty and it isn’t righteous. The behavior of those who support what I consider to be unsupportable can’t make me turn away from what is ugly and rotten in me. I am the guilty one. If they are, or if they aren’t, that isn’t my concern.
I was recently at a meeting when someone commented that, when making amends, apologizing for “my part” is really pointing out that you have a part as well. And that’s not what I’m here for. It is never about them, it is always about me. That’s the only thing I can change, so that’s the only place I can find real hope.
It’s an incredible miracle and a blessing that people continue to meet on zoom. I have been lucky enough to go to a meeting just about every day since our meetings stopped meeting in person. I go to one in person meeting that takes place in a parking lot. I don’t know what will happen with that once it gets cold.
I honestly love the zoom. I love not having to leave my house. I love the intimacy of the meeting I attend. Since it’s held six out of seven days a week, I get the know the people so much better. We spend as much time each week as a weekly meeting would give in a month and a half.
The meeting is still anchored by my wife and I. Really by her. An interesting cast of characters has passed through and many have come to stay. We get newcomers and relapsers and people we’ve known for more than 20 years. The sobriety in the meeting ranges from more than 30 years to just a day or not even a day (I suspect some are drunk, or drinking, at the meeting but hey, I did that, and look at me now!).
It’s especially wonderful to have this community now. Our work places have opened up and shut down. My blood pressure has acted up and gotten better and gotten worse again. My mother shows up drunk on the phone with regularity. If I want to see my daughter, I need to take a COVID test. Which I understand. But still.
We’re all traumatized and experiencing trauma. An election is looming and I worry about my ability to cope with the outcome. I am so, so grateful for the foundation I have in AA, and for the continued support of the people in the rooms. And in the parking lot. And on my computer.
The virus us surging in my area. I’m still not back to work physically, though the constant trying to reopen our program is so stressful. I have been to an outdoor meeting several times. The weather is good, and I think it’s safe. Of course I could be tragically mistaken.
Confession: I love the Zoom meetings! Except for a very few others I’ve attended my wife’s meeting every night at 7. Pretty much every night! It’s a small group, that’s probably what suits me the most. But the lack of virus germs is a major plus.
I still don’t know anyone with the virus, and I haven’t heard of anyone in local AA getting it. I can’t help thinking though that an indoor AA meeting would be a very likely place to spread it. I’m extremely grateful that this has happened at a time when there is technology to meet without spreading germs, and that I have the resources to use the technology.
The small group has made it obvious to me how we so desperately need newcomers. It’s mostly people with lots of sobriety. These are the people we’ve known over time. But when one or two new people are there it just focuses us on why we do what we do, what we owe, what we escaped.
A lifetime or practicing powerlessness has prepared me, as much as anything could, for this moment.
My work will begin bringing people back into the building beginning July 8. Our situation will be similar to a nursing home or preschool. There may be some people we can’t bring safely back while the virus is in play. We’ll have to see. I feel more frightened of the virus now, like I did when we were shutting down. I doubt my ability to go show up Monday through Friday, 8-330, even though I did it for 22 years and up until 3 months ago. A line in the literature about being alarmed at the prospect of actual work comes to my mind.
I’ve attended the meeting in the parking lot a few times. We hear of meetings in person inside but haven’t been to any. We hear people do not wear masks or social distance. This was my experience as things were shutting down. We continue to keep the zoom meeting going and I love that. I hope some stay permanently for many reasons.
I’m grateful for the concepts of powerlessness and unmanageability. I just read Jack London’s book John Barleycorn, written in the 1920s about how he is not an alcoholic. Alcohol wrecked his life and his body and killed him at 40. The book is one long denial.
That’s an extreme example, and I learned early on that all that objecting too much pointed to one thing. People who are not alcoholic don’t go around saying they are not alcoholic.
As I move forward in this unique and fraught time I keep those concepts in mind and it really helps me distinguish where to spend my mental energy.
At our meeting the other night we were talking about some negative topic. Everyone talked about how we are frightened and angry and worried and sad. Someone commented “we are not coping well, are we?” And someone else pointed out “we’re not drinking.” Admitting I have no power over that gives me the ultimate power to abstain. I’m not fighting alcohol or anything else. Except my own character defects.
My desk chair I took from work to work at home and my work buddy for the past – six weeks? I went into my workplace yesterday. It was frightening and cheering both. Through a government program the people I work with are being put back on the payroll even though we have no clients to serve yet. It’s the present task to find things for them to do while keeping them safe, which means keeping them at home.
My wife has a zoom room and we’ve been meeting there nightly inviting any and everyone but not publishing it, so there are usually six or seven of us. We usually spend one hour talking about some aspect of AA in relation to this present circumstance.
I’ll admit that zoom AA is something I will miss very much. I attend in my pajamas, having had taken a bath before the meeting, after work. Getting dressed and crossing the street for that weekly meeting now seems like a terrible chore. Also, because our group is so small, I talk a lot, which I really don’t like to do in person, but on zoom the silence feels worse to me.
For the record, I still don’t know anyone who has gotten the virus. It’s my experience, being in this strange bubble, and I’m grateful. I fear the virus, and I see fear as a defect I should work to eliminate. Not take crazy chances, but act responsibly and well and not out of fear. Going to work was a much better experience than thinking about going to work.
I’ve been working at home on my father’s desk from around 1960. He died when he was 33, in 1968, from alcoholism. I’m sitting at the desk writing this now. Had he lived, he’s be approaching 90. I feel (though of course I can’t know – alcoholism made sure I can’t know) that he wouldn’t have imagined me here at his desk doing this in this day and this age. He missed so much.
If, however, our natural disposition is inclined to self righteousness or grandiosity, or reaction will be just the opposite. We will be offended to A.A.’s suggested inventory. No doubt we shall point with pride to the good lives we thought we led before the bottle cut us down. We shall claim that our serious character defects, if we think we have any at all, have been caused chiefly by excessive drinking. This being so, we think it logically follows that sobriety–first, last, and all the time–is the only thing we need to work for. We believe that our one-time good characters will be revived the moment we quit alcohol. If we were pretty nice people all along, except for our drinking, what need is there for a moral inventory now that we are sober?
I don’t identify too closely with this paragraph. I don’t want to skip it, but I don’t have much to say about it.
From where I am today, at the beginning of the world reopening from the lock down of the virus, most of my character defects are flagrantly on display to me and this is after 36 years of sobriety.
My job is online and my meetings are online. My wife and I have been carrying on a private Zoom meeting every night at 7. It’s private in that it isn’t published anywhere, but we have asked everyone who comes to spread the word and invite anyone with a desire to stop drinking. There are usually four, five or six of us. It makes for some deep conversation, I think, deeper than happens at face to face meetings. Although I guess in this current situation, face to face meetings would be pretty intense.
I have noticed, and the group has remarked, how these circumstances make for lots of judgements on my part. We have heard of face to face meetings that are still meeting and we judge them. Someone works in Target and we judge the people shopping there for non-essentials. I judge someone who comes to the meeting but doesn’t use their camera and mutes their microphone. Are they observing? Having us go on in the background?
But those are the buzzes of lesser character defects and they do not dominate my current AA experience. The larger character defects of fear, anxiety, worry, gluttony – those give me more trouble and still I have a plan to work on them, a plan I’m familiar with that has enabled me to lessen them to an outstanding degree.
In AA we talk about the tools of the program. These are not physical tools but rather concepts we learn to apply to daily living that enable us to stay sober. As a recovering alcoholic in AA I was not able to stay sober on my own or through other means. I needed the program of AA. AA helped me stay sober in part by giving me tools and teaching me to use them.
Staying in the now is one of the most powerful tools. So often (not always, but often) my distress is focused on the past or the future. Staying in the now usually offers relief from the fear, anxiety, anger, remorse, os situations gone by or situations that haven’t happened yet.
And so. I’m privileged, as I’ve always been, in our current situation. I have everything I need today. I always have.
But also. I don’t know if I have a job beyond April 30. I don’t know when I’ll see my (adult) children or (elderly) mother. I don’t know if any or all of us will get sick and not be able to see each other. That’s a road that we currently all travel, and again I know that my metaphorical baggage is light and others have much heavier burdens to bear. I don’t know what will happen to the world. It seems in real jeopardy right now of a kind that hasn’t presented itself in my experience.
Meetings went online, and because my wife teaches at college she has a Zoom room. We’ve had a meeting every night for whoever wants to come. We’ve invited every one we know and we’ve invited them to spread the word but we haven’t publicized it, so there hasn’t been any problem with people crashing it.
The experience of being there with people I actually know is invaluable to me. I understand that I could by the grace of my computer attend meetings all over the world, but I don’t know what I’d be there beyond being a type of audience. The people in our meeting are mostly people I actually know and will see once we are allowed to meet again.
So, now. I have a job that’s gone online, and I’m grateful. It’s not quite the direct helping of people I’m used to but it may have some value when the program is able to reopen or when individual clients aren’t able to attend in the future. I have supplies, my loved ones have supplies. I have phones and computers to connect me to everyone I choose to be connected to. I don’t know what the future holds but I never really did. It remains a powerful tool to slow a racing heart and to remind an alcoholic not to drink. Staying in the now.
My personal situation is good. My wife works for the state university system, and they are going online. It’s actually more work for her until the end of the semester with very little risk.
I work with people who developmental disabilities in a day program. We closed to clients last Friday, and Wednesday was the last day for staff. I’m promised work through this Friday but after that I don’t know. I’ve struggled over Thursday and Friday to get set up with technology at home, but it’s nothing any of us are good at, and we struggled with technology in the office in the best of times. I could possibly go to work in residential houses. My clients are so fragile, they will be impacted severely if they get sick. They need workers and others coming in and out of their lives and in close physical contact. Many of them struggle at home not understanding the situation.
My meeting didn’t meet last night for the first time since we started it. Other meetings I believe missed for the first time in 75 years. I’ve been going nightly to an online chat meeting with several people that I know. I understand that we are blessed to have so many online options, but for me the value of having people I actually know there is immense.
I imagine that back in the old days of AA people would have been writing letters. I’m well familiar with the passages that tell us that during WWII soldiers in combat stayed sober, but honestly, I’m skeptical.
No matter. I don’t have free floating anxiety, I have character defects and a plan to deal with them.
For anyone who is struggling with staying sober, please reach other. There is abundant help and your sober self is needed here now by all of us. Truly, it is.
AA-bot that I am, I admittedly see everything through that lens, and for this I am grateful (like a good AA should be). I’ve read a few sobriety memoirs and I’ve known ….. thousands?…. of people who drank alcoholically and got sober. I’ve also listened to ….. thousands?…… more “stories” as we tell them in AA. Stories of drinking and stopping drinking and life after stopping drinking.
The drinking portion of this book is very interesting because the author lived an extraordinary life. She traveled and lived in other countries the way few people do, and she relates those aspects of her story well enough. She describes drinking alcoholically and she does that well also.
But then, of stopping there is only a very slight mention. She stopped. Of life after stopping there is only slight mention. She stayed stopped, at least for a while.
The abrupt ending of her story made me turn to Google to see if she’s still stopped. I cannot tell. Of course I hope that she is still sober.
So the abrupt sobriety without any details of how that sobriety made it into the future made me think about my own situation. First of all, I could not just stop. Or rather, sometimes I could, but those times never lasted for any significant period. With nothing to this book except a description of alcoholic drinking and a cold turkey unassisted sobriety, I was left to think about what my life might have been like had I been able to do what the author did and stop for good unassisted.
I just would not have pursued the personal growth I’ve had to pursue as part of AA. I doubt I’d be the kind to find a religion that fits or stick to my own program of recovery. Most importantly, I wouldn’t want to.
“The drunk who brought you in will take you out.” We’re told in AA that unless we change we’re in danger of drinking again. I hope this woman has found a lasting sobriety, but how does she go about changing? This book doesn’t tell.
I inevitably come back to the thought that I’m grateful I couldn’t recover without AA. If I had been able to, I would have missed the greatest moments of my life. And by the way, AA is happy for anyone who stops under and means.