On a (Very) Minor Controversy.
A minor controversy, and I mean very minor indeed, happened the other day over on twitter. You can read what happened here:
https://plus.google.com/app/basic/stream/z130j5yrwnbbuhqha04cjhtjjxv1glmwopo0k
Someone joked about their career using AA’s intro: “Hi, I’m so-and-so, and I’m a ______holic.” A couple of other people thought it was insensitive, and didn’t sit right.
I’m grateful that people want to treat addiction with sensitivity. But in this case, there’s no reason to retract or apologize. No harm was done, and good may have been.
AA does not promote itself. We just try to be visible enough that people who need us can find us. As I just wrote recently, no advertisements. No lobby. No policy statement. When people make harmless jokes like this, they’re actually spreading a hopeful message:
“When people have problems with addiction, AA is where they go for help.” It’s funny because the speaker making the joke doesn’t really have an addiction and isn’t in trouble. But AA isn’t the butt of the joke. AA is being held up as a noble example of where the speaker would go to get help if they really did have a problem. The speaker is the butt of their own joke.
Surely we haven’t gone so far that we can’t praise a blameless bystanding institution while making light of ourselves?
I don’t speak for AA or for other alcoholics. But I can say this: I am not harmed or offended by such a joke. And neither is my understanding of AA. The joke says, obliquely, “If you really do need help, AA is where you get it.” And that’s a message I’m thoroughly happy to endorse.
The Twelfth Step, the Eleventh Tradition.
There’s a reason you’ve never seen an advertisement for AA. There’s a reason there’s no such thing as an Alcoholics Anonymous Rehabilitation Facility. There’s a reason we don’t stand on street corners and hand out leaflets. We know we can’t change people. We can’t make your loved one stop drinking. We can’t convince you that you have a problem. We can’t cut the strings jerking you from day to day in a horrid dance of addiction and debasement.
What we can do is live our lives in a new way, and be visible to those would like to have what we have. The two guiding principles here are the Twelfth Step: “Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these step, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.”, and the Eleventh Tradition: “Our public relations policy is based on attraction rather than promotion; we must always maintain personal anonymity at the level of press, radio, and films.” We have no spokespersons. No grand leader. All we have are a bunch of drunks that don’t drink.
As a bunch of drunks that don’t drink, it turns out that the vast majority of us are capable of incredible things. If you’ve been reading this very long, you know my story (and you can hear me talk about it on the podcasts page). I went from a useless, unemployed drunk making a mockery of his education and responsibility to an effective, engaged man now eager to embrace a larger role in the world, where I am capable of making a real difference in people’s lives both personally and professionally. In five years, my life went from unlivable to incredible. In fact, it did that much faster than that.
I have another friend who has now been sober just less than a year. From the verge of unemployment and eviction, my friend is now taking on enormous challenges with alacrity, and making profound contributions in both professional and personal arenas. It is a story I see replicated over and over again, every time someone embraces the program. My former sponsee (I made him get a new sponsor when I moved to ECC) is now about seven months sober. He has a job working about 30 hours a week after years of unemployment. He is contributing to his home and his community, and finally finished the last tasks required for his Bachelor’s degree.
Lives change in this program. Lives are salvaged from worthlessness to great value. We become people who are capable of doing wonderful, exciting things. But more importantly, we become people who are capable of doing ordinary things. A friend traveled from one city to another this week for a professional obligation, saying: “I can’t believe how afraid of this I used to be, and how capable I am now.” Getting up, showering, and going to work, each day, is a kind of triumph for us in ways that I know that normal people can’t understand. And no: we do not deserve special praise from the world for fulfilling basic obligations. Nor do we want it. We are not to be fawned at like slow children doing well at a game.
But we are allowed to be amazed, and to be grateful, among ourselves. We are allowed to look at our old lives, and cringe at our humiliation and then to straighten and stand and recognize the astonishing transfiguration we achieve. Not by ourselves, none of us rose from degradation to honor alone. But in this community that refuses to recognize alcoholic misery as failure, as wasting irretrievably the spirit of good people afflicted.
Today, I try to live the principles of the twelves steps in my life. I suck at it. We all do. I’m paraphrasing the book Alcoholics Anonymous when I say that neither I nor anyone else has successfully navigated all twelve steps for their whole lives. I remain a dishonest and lazy and panicky person who fears the future too much and lives in the past too much and can’t accept other people’s choices when they’re different from the choices I would make for them.
And I try to live the Eleventh Tradition as well. I am not speaking for AA on this blog. I am only telling you how it worked for me. I am anonymous because my name isn’t important. It’s not about me. I have always said that I don’t believe it is the only path to sobriety. I do not believe that people should be court ordered to meetings, or sent to AA against their will. But I will tell you about my experience, strength, and hope that I find in the program of Alcoholics Anonymous, if you care to listen. And if my story, my strange, shameful, stuttering, rising, leaping story of recovery in AA resonates with you, I will help you claim what I have.
It is an incredible thing to me that AA has no lobby. No leader. No profits. We are just drunks. Drunks who don’t drink. Who have repaired the wreckage of our lives (or are in the process of doing so), and move on to live on brighter shores. I am a sober member of Alcoholics Anonymous. And I have an incredible, amazing, ordinary life.
Clipped Wings.
I feel very strange. For the first time in 19.5 years, I do not own a car. Today I took my beloved Volvo C30 to a car auction lot and left it there, traded for a piece of paper with numbers and names on it. In the 14 days I’ve lived in ECC, I’ve used my car three times, and two of those were to take my mother to and from the airport. The other time was to go to Ikea to get a rug. It’s easy to get around ECC on busses and by subway. There’s simply no reason, where I live, to own a car. Grocery store across the street, a mile from work, etc..
But I feel a bit like a bird with clipped wings. Something about car ownership is ingrained in America, in me. I like driving. I like the freedom. I like road trips. I like to drive around listening to NPR. I’ve lost that here. It’s been replaced with many wonderful things, of course. ECC has so much more to offer than St. Louis did in a compact, walkable area. St. Louis is a great cultural city, don’t get me wrong. But it’s very spread out. Miles and miles separate the cultural institutions from one another. In ECC, they’re all within a 10 minute bus ride of my apartment, and most are within a 10 minute walk.
So I’m excited. That was the last thing that I needed to do to settle here, other than start my job, I think. But I definitely feel disoriented without a car. It’ll present challenges. But I’ve faced a lot of challenges to get here. I’ve changed my whole way of being. And I’m happy about it. And terrified still. So much has changed, and I still need to learn what new challenges I’m facing. I have, however, found that I’ve been equal to most of the challenges I’ve faced lately. With help, and lot of it, I’ve done ok. I’m still looking forward.
Annoyance and Frustration.
In separating from my old employer, I have a couple of financial things to handle. I want to withdraw my retirement contributions because I didn’t stay long enough with the organization to earn a pension (I know! Who has pensions anymore?!). My contributions were small, and summed to only about $2,500 in four and a half years. But that’s a nice chunk of change to be getting back. I thought.
It turns out that I have to notify my ex-wife about the withdrawal. I know she doesn’t want to hear from me, and our divorce agreement states that she gave up rights to my retirement fund. But in order to receive a repayment, she has to send in a signed, witnessed statement to that effect. I would be surprised if she does that promptly or even at all. There are, of course, procedures for if she refuses to acknowledge the note I send, etc.. But I have to make the effort. I don’t even know where she lives, though I have email for her, and I know where her parents live.
I think I’ve decided to offer her half of the amount I accrued while we were married, which will come out to about $500. Even though I believe that I am not legally required to do so, I think it’s the right thing to do. When I took the job, I had every intention of retiring with my then-wife. Whether or not it is required, it is fair that she get half the retirement I earned while we were married. I confess I might feel differently if that were a lot of money. But in the world we live in, it feels pretty stingy to not offer her that amount.
So I’ll calculate the exact amount as soon as I know it, and write her an email asking her where to send the form. Our divorce agreement also requires us to promptly provide one another with any legal documentation, and I’m hopeful she’ll do that. We’ll see. As I said, there are options if she doesn’t. It’s just a headache. And I feel pretty confident she’d rather just not hear from me at all. But that does not seem to be an option that I have.
And of course, my alcoholic mind wants, in the first place, to lie and just check off the ‘unmarried’ box and pretend it will all go away. And you know what? It might. But that kind of dishonesty is not part of the world I aspire to live in now. I really, really don’t want to hurt my ex, and I feel like contacting her under any pretext does that. But I don’t see another option. So I’ll do the hard right thing and see what happens.
Visitation.
Today, in about three hours, my mother is visiting ECC and me for a few days. She decided to stay in a hotel, which makes me very, very relieved. When I had my house in St. Louis and she visited, obviously, she stayed with me. But this tiny apartment isn’t really fit to welcome guests who don’t share my bed. The bathroom is only accessible through the bedroom and no sonic isolation between the living room and the bedroom. Yes, I’m aware that this kind of privacy is an unbelievable luxury afforded to only a privileged few, even in the US. But it’s my home, and it feels creepy to have my mother have to tiptoe through my bedroom to use the bathroom after I go to bed.
It’ll be nice to have my mom visit. Compared with the past decade, I’ve seen my family a lot recently. Three or four times in the past two and a half years. Prior to that it was about once every other year. Despite my frequent complaining, I like my family. I especially like being able to spend time one-on-one with people. That’s the best kind of interaction for me. I get overwhelmed in large groups, even my family, and feel like I need to go be by myself. Then I end up insulting people because I’ve spent so much of my rare family time apart from people. I get that. And I know it comes of as selfish. I can’t really explain the sensory/emotional overload that happens. It’s just there. It happens in all kinds of groups, and I end up needing solitary time.
But I’m excited to see my mom and explore ECC a little while she’s here. She’s from New York City, and knows better than I do how to get around in a big city. Sure, I’ve traveled all over the world, but that’s nothing compared with actually living in a major metropolis for much of one’s life. We’re going out to a couple of good restaurants and I got us tickets to see a great String Quartet on Sunday afternoon. I’m super excited about that, and about trying the nice restaurant just down the street from me, for which I got reservations tonight.
So I’m settling in and things are feeling good. I’m composing, which is crucial to my well-being. And I’m starting to feel a little bit more like this is my city. I walk every day in big loops around the city. I’ve ridden busses and even took the subway once. I’ve tried a few nice restaurants and coffee shops and found a couple of places that I think I’ll enjoy calling my own. I’ve found places where other sober alcoholics congregate to recover. I think I’ll be ok here.
Brittle.
I’ve measured my life by water. I grew up on an island in an inlet off the shore of a glittering emerald city. I swam in salt water from the time I was born. The oldest story told of me is from the seashore; barely able to walk, I charged into the ocean to rescue my mother from the whitecaps breaking around her ankles. A story of miscomprehension. A story of wrongheaded, childish risk and bravado driven by fear and the sea. But I am at home in the water. I am best settled out beyond where the waves break.
The core of me has always thirsted. I have always looked for something I haven’t had. A place. A circle. A family. A home. I think of my family as having been sundered when I was six, when a divorce cut it through. But my family was broken long before I was born. My family was broken in prior generations. Alcohol twice over. Mental illnesses unknown and untreated. Neglect. Cruelty as parentage. Children taught that nurturing was for weaker things than they are. Affection is for those not strong enough to go without.
Whether a fault of teaching or intrinsic, I never learned to get along in groups. I am not good a social tasks. I’ve learned what’s expected of me mostly by observation and inference. It isn’t natural. The things I think are funny fall hard in suddenly silent rooms. I don’t know how to bridge the divide between what’s internal to me and the things that other people share. And so I feel alone mostly, because I’m still not sure what togetherness is.
Drinking didn’t make me better at social interactions. It made me capable of them despite my incoherent grasp of how people relate to one another. And it made my missteps bearable, because I couldn’t remember them so well. And because I surrounded myself with drinkers, who made the same mistakes and forgot them just as easily, I found a place where blundered affections led to mannequin friendships. But drinking cannot blunt the shame forever. It stops working.
I’ve clawed my life back together since I quit. By following other people’s suggestions and directions I’ve learned to put my life together in a manner resembling a normal life. I am a bright child. I am good a mimicry.
But the core of me is still thirsting. For a place. A circle. A family. A home. I don’t know how to be in a place with people and be at peace. I am sensitive to jest. I put too much seriousness at things, and I am wounded by play. It is unbecoming to be as brittle as I am. And so I often withdraw, rather than wear my real feelings in the world. I have never stopped being ashamed of how I feel, because I have never stopped being ashamed that I have feelings.
What a big, wide world this is. I don’t want it all. I want a place, with a few people in it, where I am not ashamed of my own stupid, brittle feelings. Where I am the me I wish I were, instead of the me I am. A place where I can swim in warm saltwater, and not be thirsty.
On Taking.
Well I am finally moved. Two things remain: I need to get my piano’s action unlocked, and I need to hang pictures. I’ve already called about the piano. I’m in no rush about the pictures.
It was about seven weeks ago that I got my job offer at MECMC. Now I live in ECC. My apartment is beautiful and even though it’s too expensive I feel like I never want to leave. Beautiful building, great location. And it turns out that 800 square feet is more than enough. After roaming around in a 1900 sqft house all alone for three years, I was worried I wouldn’t feel like I have enough space. But I do.
The support I’ve received over the last six months, in my job search and in my move, has been incredible. Here and on twitter and in AA meetings people have been incredibly supportive and enthusiastic. When I didn’t know what to do or how to do it, I received advice, emotional support and important cautionary anecdotes. Everyone was kind, helpful, and genuine. What an amazing place. Sometimes the Internet can be a cold, hateful realm. But I have found a light, warm corner of it.
I needed to make a huge withdrawal of emotional energy from my friends and family. Luckily, the balance was there. I remember @labroides saying, when my job-talk at MECMC was about to start, “We’re all on board 100% to get you this job.” I needed that. I needed the support of my community. And I got it.
I often feel guilty asking for help. Like I shouldn’t need it or don’t deserve it. I never felt that way here. People seemed so honestly ready and willing to support me. I couldn’t have done all this alone. And I didn’t.
And now I’m ready to start giving back again. I owe my community big time. I took a big loan and I am now ready to repay. My insanity can subside now, along with the stress levels bordering on the absurd. Thank you. Thank all of you for so much.
It Worked!
Everything is in! I’m settled! My piano’s action is still locked, but it is here and in one piece, as you can see. I have lots of boxes to unpack, but I’m quite happy with how things look. ECC is going to treat me well, I think.
My sponsor sent me this too:
So everything is awesome and my back hurts.
Wow.
I’ll write tomorrow. Tonight I’m just grateful.
The State of Things.
Well, my stuff, supposedly, gets here tomorrow. I’m going to a department store later today to pick up a trash can and a throw rug and those little things you set your furniture on to protect hardwood floors.
I still have no Internet and the electronics in my house, the laundry and the thermostat, are strange. I have big east-facing windows, but a large building blocks the sun most of the day.
I’ve been to two meetings. I just keep saying: “I’m new here, and I’m scared, and I’m lonely.” I cry a lot. I’m an emotional guy, that’s not surprising. I cry at especially touching telephone commercials.
Blogging from my phone in coffee shops is less than pleasant. So I’ll keep it short. I’m excited for my stuff to get here tomorrow and terrified for the state of my piano. But a trip to the Steinway store has alleviated my fears a bit. I think I’ll be able to get it in. And if not, I have a contingency plan. It’s unsatisfying, but I think it’s workable. We’ll see.
Life is big and scary sometimes. Moving, changing jobs, and divorce are supposedly some of the biggest stressors in life. I did the last if those two and a half years ago. I’m doing the other two right now. I’m surviving. I’m sober. I’m as sane as I think I can be. Life isn’t so bad. It’s going to be pretty good starting soon.
I’m alive. I’m in ECC. I’m starting at PECMC soon. And so it’s time for a change. Now that I’m going to be working there, “P” isn’t appropriate anymore. From now on, I will call it “MECMC”.
Ok. Wish me luck. Or something.
Infactorium 