Bibliographies and AA.
I’ve staked a bold and indefensible claim, over on twitter, to the “do it by hand” practice of referencing documents. There are a lot of softwares out there – one especially popular version is Endnote – which many, maybe even most, of the scientists I know use to manage the references cited in papers and grants. I’ve never done this. I’ve never even opened Endnote or any other reference managing apparatus.
I do like to do a lot of things by hand. I admit. The only way I feel sure I know that the references are correct is to go through and look at them one by one. That’s probably a little OCD of me, but that’s one mental illness that I don’t exhibit any actual symptoms of. But there is something about going through a grant, identifying and placing 70-100 references in the text, it makes me read it again carefully, make sure the reference is appropriate.
Plus, few and far between are the people who’ve reported never having any problems with Endnote or other softwares. You can regularly find people complaining about it on twitter, and a quick search revealed a bunch of complaints and questions, but not a single testimonial or endorsement on the first page.
I wonder about relating this back to how I work my AA program. I have observed, but of course not studied, that the great majority of failures in early sobriety are due to the alcoholic trying to find some way to address their problem that isn’t so damned hard. And yes, doing the work you have to do in AA to stay sober is often hard. It’s grueling to do a full, honest fourth step. So many people seem to try to solve their problems without having to do their work, or without having to entirely give up drinking.
Those people fail. Very few and far between are the people who walk through the doors of AA and then later return to be normal successful drinkers. I’d suspect that those people are somehow fundamentally not the same as I am, as my fellow hopeless alcoholics are. But of course, I don’t know anything for certain about them. I know only that they are vanishingly rare, and that I am not one of them. Nor do I want to be.
I tend to do a lot of things the hard way. Because I have found that trying to do things the easy way doesn’t work for me. Not long term.
Now, I’ve never tried Endnote, so I can’t say that using it is “the easy way” or not. But I know that bibliographies are tedious and dull to put together. And I know that a lot of people have tried to find tools to improve that task. And, of course, as a human, I have nothing against developing tools. I just don’t know that we’ve found a good one for this task yet. And I know that I, personally, derive utility from doing it the hard way. From that last look through the document.
The metaphor breaks down of course. In AA, avoiding the hard work is a way for our addiction to continue to satisfy itself. In science, software like Endnote is an attempt to get all of the work done well, in an efficient manner. But I get to try to find meaning in my own labor the way that I feel fits me best. And I like doing this by hand. I feel it connects me with my work.
A Peculiar Sort of Job Talk.
I will be going to East Coasty U and giving a “job talk” on Friday, June 22nd. I put it in quotes because of the very peculiar situation. First of all, there’s no advertised position. So right there, it’s a strange kind of thing. Second of all, it was arranged by the request of my collaborator there, at my own (behind the scenes) instigation, and he’s junior faculty. Third, the head of the department there, in which I hold my adjunct position, won’t even be able to attend. Fourth, I scheduled the room for the talk and the other attendees myself.
But my department head doesn’t need to be there, he says, because he knows what I can do and is interested already in having me there in a larger capacity. The problem is, that department is Emergency Medicine, and they’re concerned (fairly) that there wouldn’t be enough full-time work for me there. Which is almost certainly true. It would be very difficult for me to make a career out of the two or three hospital emergency rooms they staff. So he wants the Public Health people to be involved. Which is great, because I have public health ambitions.
So a big player in their school of public health will be there, and a serious hot-shot assistant professor in epidemiology. And a graduate student with an interest in modeling and emergency medicine. And there’s another professor that my boss here knows who is apparently very good to work with, and I’ve just sent her a note asking if she’s interested in meeting.
This is self-promotion, absolutely. But I’ve been told on twitter that it doesn’t matter, really, how I get the people in the room. What matters is that they leave it thinking that they want to work with me. And I’ve gotten good advice: “tell a story, clean slides, no animation.” Well, of course I need to have animation, because animation is one of the selling points of what I do. But no animated slides.
And then I’ll leave East Coasty U and head to Chicago for the #ChicagoTweetup2012. Which is going to be awesome. Now. I need to get the grant off my desk.
Responsibility vs. Control.
Something that Syd said this morning about dry drunks made me think about the nature of feelings and how we respond to people. As a quick recap, in AA and Al-Anon we use the term “dry drunk” to refer to an alcoholic who is abstaining from alcohol, but who is not working any kind of program to deal with their internal selves, or in the vernacular of AA, to maintain their “spiritual condition”. Not that we need believe any supernatural phenomena occur (though most do), but that in order to be happy and serene and productive in our lives, we need to have a framework for the management of our core selves which comes from something other that ourselves. And it’s not important whether we think that thing is god, or the ‘spirit of the universe’, or the collective wisdom of the groups of AA, or any other thing. What’s important is that it isn’t us.
So, the stereotypical characteristic of a dry drunk is expulsive anger, and a refusal to take responsibility for their own emotions. And of course, once again I feel I must qualify that I do not believe that every alcoholic must either go to AA or be consigned to a drinking death or a miserable life of white-knuckled abstinence. However, my experience is that it I have found peace and serenity in the program of AA, and I have seen many people have refused to embrace AA and either have been unable to stop drinking or who have stopped drinking but remained miserable. I’m sure there are plenty of examples of different outcomes, but I have not personally encountered them.
Essentially, dry drunks exhibit all the characteristics of active alcoholics except for inebriation. That’s why we call them “dry”, but also “drunks”. The belief that other people’s actions have control and power over how they feel. That they are helpless to influence their own state of mind and mental and spiritual condition. As a result, they end up ceding an enormous amount of their own agency to other people, and feeling angry, depressed, wrathful and put-upon whenever they don’t get the responses they desire from others.
This is an inversion of how the program teaches me to confront my own emotions and responses. I cannot exert control over other people. So if I don’t get responses I desire, or actions I want, or behavior I think I’m entitled to, I may very well be upset about that. But that upset is internal to me. The other person didn’t cause it. Even if someone is deliberately hurtful to me, they do not have power over my feelings. My response is my own responsibility. My agency is just that: mine. I cannot control others, but I do have the ability to decide not to engage with others if I feel I am not interacting with them in a productive way.
When I start trying to insist that my way is correct and that others adopt it, or that my needs must be catered to, or even that my questions be answered, I am attempting to assert control over other people that I can never have. So if I am upset in those situations when I don’t get what I desired or expected, it’s my own fault. I’m responsible for how I feel. If someone refuses to acknowledge or agree that my way is correct, or will not answer a question I feel I am entitled to an answer for, my anger is still my own arena. They didn’t make me angry. Not even if I am legitimately entitled to the answer, or if I am objectively correct.
I do not have control over others. People can treat me badly, or indifferently, in ways that hurt me. But I do not have to give them power over my feelings. I am responsible. And that’s empowering. Because it gives me the capacity to be peaceful and serene even when other people would try to take that from me. Because one of the ways that many people try to control others is by assigning others blame for their own feelings. Then, demanding apology or insisting on some remedy is a way to force other people to give them what they want. I’m so glad I don’t have to play that silly junior high game anymore.
I treat people with respect and honesty, most of the time. When I fail in that, I apologize. But my feelings are my own. And I am only responsible for my own. Just as I cannot make anyone feel any particular way, nor does anyone have the power to make me feel good or bad. It is my reaction to a situation which governs how I feel. And more often than not, it is my choosing to stay in a situation in which I am unhappy which leads to my most serious disruptions of serenity.
I’m me. My feelings are mine. I can work with others to build things up, or I can strive with others and tear things down. But my feelings are still mine. No one but me is responsible for them, unless I choose to surrender control over my internal self to another. And I have learned how to not to do that. Just as I have learned not to accept responsibility for other people’s emotions when they try to assign it to me.
The program teaches me strength of self. Autonomy of feeling. Reliance on things greater than me to manage my condition. Relinquishment of impossible attempts control, but retention of personal responsibility. Acceptance of obligation when I do harm, but authority to decline liability for that which I cannot control. In other words, maturity.
Problems Other than Alcohol.
There is a lot of information out there about AA and other issues. Generally, when we talk about problems other than alcohol, we mean drugs. I’m fortunate. I never got involved in drugs to any degree that influence my life. I smoked pot a few dozen times, and took Xanax recreationally a little bit less than that. I never had any issues with addiction or negative effects with either. But I really ought to preface everything I’m saying here with a bright red disclaimer:
Even though I am a doctor, I am not a physician. Nor am I a psychologist, nor counselor of any kind. My doctorate is in systems engineering. Nothing I say in this post should be construed as medical advice to other people. I am talking only about my own experience, which is unique to me. Your experience, or that of those you cherish, may be wildly different from mine.
So, AA is clear that we cannot help people who have drug problems, but not alcohol problems. For a long time people who felt they could drink normally, but had problems with cocaine or heroin or whatever would come to AA meetings, and it caused problems having people in the meetings who were not abstaining from alcohol. Thus the third tradition: “The only requirement for membership is a desire to stop drinking.” You don’t have to succeed, but you have to want to quit alcohol to be a member of AA. Thus, NA was organized to aid people with drug problems rather than alcohol problems.
Also, there are many AA meetings that are described as “dual-diagnosis”. This means that in addition to alcoholism, the members suffer from a co-morbid mental health condition. Often major depression, bipolar disorder, or schizophrenia. Many people find that the program of Alcoholics Anonymous helps them to confront those issues in a responsible way. The program of responsibility, sobriety, and action will often galvanize people to be more medico-compliant, for example, so that they can manage their symptoms of those diseases more effectively.
Despite the fact that I have suffered from bouts of major depression, including engaging in pharmacotherapy to address it from time to time, I have never enjoyed dual-diagnosis meetings. I have not found a meeting where I feel the same comradeship with the people I find in the straight old, boring AA meetings. I find the recovery I need in those rooms. And that’s saying quite a lot, in fact.
Because my depression, when I drink, is formidable. In fact, and this is the first time this has gone in print, I used to cut, rather extensively. I found cutting to be a psychic release of pain orders of magnitude more powerful than any drug I ever took. I’m not certain why this is such a painful thing to write about. I guess I’m once more revealing myself to be rather less than a paragon of mental health. It’s terrifying. Cutting is stereotypically the arena of black-clad teenage girls. But I didn’t begin until I was in my twenties.
But for me, the cutting vanished, on its own, when I got sober. I’m not saying that that is likely to be anyone else’s experience. I know that cutting is addictive, and I know that it is often intractable. But for me, when I removed the alcohol from my body, the cutting was removed along with it. I haven’t had to fight not to do it anymore. And I’ve dealt with the underlying issues about it, which were, of course, elaborately intertwined with the reasons I drank.
Drinking was about obliterating the feelings. Cutting was about releasing them. I often used to fantasize that when I cut, the blood would pour out black. That inside me was some viscous evil that I could release one ounce at a time, that somehow I was purifying myself by purging this toxin. And I’ll confess: I miss that sensation. I miss feeling like I was being made clean, drained of blood and filled back up with perfect, distilled water.
But being sober, I find I have a more rational and calm perspective on the world, on my body, on health both mental and physical. By finding in myself and point of balance, that sublime, stable balance of a ball in a trough, I feel no compulsion to purify. I eat well, I exercise, I take time for my mental health. I see a psychiatrist and a family practice physician each a few times a year to maintain that condition, much like I go to AA meetings a few times a week to maintain my sobriety.
I used to think I would keep these things hidden. So that people might look at me and think that I am sane and stable and strong. Now, I have come to believe that sharing them is better. Because I think everyone suffers. And we construct facades to ensure that our peers don’t think we’re weak, or strange, or anti-social. I won’t cower anymore. I’ve learned not to fight. And since I don’t have to fight, I don’t have to be afraid.
Glacial Motion, Craven Institutions.
I got another note from the East Coasty University. So the deal is this: that collaborator I was arguing with in the last post is an MD PhD at East Coasty University, and arranged for me to have a faculty appointment there as an adjunct so that we could do a research project together. Truth be told, I’m more of a consultant than a professor. I don’t teach (But of course, few PhDs working in schools of medicine actually teach.), and I only actually even show up about five times a year to do field work on my emergency department project.
So given the weird and sorry state of affairs where I currently work, and the fact that my funding will be up in October and there’s no hope of having new funding in place before then, I’m seeking employment elsewhere. I have not been told I’ll be terminated when my funding is up. In fact, I’m pretty certain my position is secure until March. There’s even a decent chance I’d have another year of bridge funding after that. But I don’t know. I’d be really happy to move someplace where there were a better chance to be secure for longer. Though, I’m not sure that’s true of East Coasty University. It’s a place where you really have to produce.
So I heard back from a professor there, who put me in touch with an Assistant Professor and a grad student who have interests along the lines of what I do. But his letter is slightly confusing, and very brief. It’s not at all clear to me that he’s looking at this as a request for a faculty position (joint between public health and the medical school). I feel like I’d have gotten the same letter if I were just contacting them about looking for a CI on a grant submission. And the Assistant Professor he put me in contact with is one of those amazing people, with a PhD more recent than mine, but with 45 papers and articles in JAMA and the Lancet, etc.. Very intimidating.
But I’m going to go out there in June sometime, and meet with people, and at the same time with an institution nearby. I may be able to cobble together a position from among two or three institutions. It’s a strange world I live in. There is still a university here where I am that wants to hire me on for 25% time and call me an Assistant Professor. They’ve already approved me and I’ve said I’ll take it if they can get it done. But they have to have funding for the position before they can hire.
I think it’s getting to the point that many universities are going to expect people for non-TT positions to have their own funding up front. Along the lines of: apply for grants, and when you get one, we’ll hire you. But I don’t write grants for free, on speculation. And I would say that I hope no one will, but I’m not so naive. And if universities can get away with it, they’ll do exactly that. It’s very strange to want to get into an industry that I have such contempt for the administration of. But I see it everywhere among scientists. Few of us think the system works well. We see universities cutting pay and staff, funding lines getting tighter and tighter, eliminating tenure. And yet, especially for private universities, the F&A percents are getting higher and higher, and endowments and tuition are soaring.
The university system is as craven as any institutional system of corporations, governments, churches, etc.. And I want in. What does that say about me?
Arguing with Collaborators.
A collaborator of mine, who was a friend first and a good one, and I have been in a series of knock down, drag out arguments about what sort of statistical information to include (his field), and what sort of papers to cite (in my field) on a paper we’re working on together. It’s been really frustrating, because I have felt disrespected through it. Specifically with regard to the paper citation. The statistical thing is his bailiwick, and while I feel like he’s trying to put in more than is necessary, and more than is anywhere else in the literature on the same topic, I can’t really argue too much, because he has a PhD in biostats and epidemiology, and I don’t.
The citation is really frustrating. He admits that the only reason he wants to cite a particular paper is because it’s a glamour mag article and one of the only ones germane to our topic. I agree, but it’s a total piece of shit that should never have been published as it is. It’s a perfect example of what happens when physicians try to be engineers: i.e., they’re smart people out of their field who generally can pull off just enough good work to do something stupidly dangerous and have it look good.
So I want, if we must cite the paper (and he’s right that if we don’t cite it reviewers will probably wonder why we didn’t.), to point out that it’s a steaming pile of hot garbage. We settled on pointing out that it is deficient in an area that our paper addresses. Which is really insufficient for me, but it’s not worth dying on the hill, I guess. And hopefully, the way we address the same ground as that paper will do the job of pointing out its inadequacy without us having to make it explicit.
But this colleague and I have butted heads pretty constantly over the last 16 years, and I was still in a tuxedo at his wedding. And the wedding march up there on the music page? That was played as his bride walked down the aisle. So it’ll be fine. It’s just frustrating. I’m submitting the paper tonight. But I’m curious, how do other scientists, as well as other people, handle disputes of this nature. Essentially, honest disagreement about how to frame and report results.
How, specifically, do you avoid feeling personally slighted when someone disagrees with your expertise in your field, when it isn’t theirs? Where is the place for feelings at work?
Celebrating Accomplishment.
Last night at my men’s meeting there were two birthdays. Jeff had six years, and Rick had thirty. Jeff is always faux-pissed that his birthday gets overshadowed by Rick’s. Both are great guys. And it’s wonderful to be in the room when guys are celebrating. Not that there’s a big party or anything. In fact, Rick spoke at the meeting, and then the rest of us took the piss out of him for 45 minutes. I commented that between Steve and me, added together, we’d been 13 when Rick got sober. I received a hearty “fuck you” for that, and the room laughed at both ends.
Many newcomers, or visitors to open meetings, are astonished at how much laughter there is in the meetings. I was taken aback myself. When most people first come in to the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous, they’re in pretty bad shape. I certainly was. And the idea that people who’ve suffered the same thing as we have could laugh like they do, it’s perplexing. Sometimes I got angry. I wanted to shout: “What’s so fucking funny?” Of course, now I get it. There’s so much that’s only funny in a room full of ex-drunks.
The very concept of celebrating is a bit foreign to me. I have never enjoyed celebrating actual birthdays, anniversaries, holidays. They seem so arbitrary and pointless. “Congratulations, you have failed to die for another year!” It’s a useless, stupid thing to celebrate a biological birthday as far as I’m concerned. And yet, I admit that I do appreciate it when people at least note it and call, or mention it in person. But no more than that. I’d be actually angry at someone who planned a party for me.
But I do celebrate my AA anniversary. Because it matters. Because it’s not about me. I know that might sound absurd. How is my own anniversary, of the time that I spent sober, not about me?
I don’t really have any more time sober than anyone else reading this who hasn’t had a drink yet today. All I am is guy who got up this morning and hasn’t had a drink yet. I’m planning on keeping it that way. And I’m not much fussed about tomorrow. And I’ve done that same thing – gotten up, not had a drink, and gone back to bed in the evening – 1,551 times in a row. Each one its own day. Nothing particularly special about any of them, after the twelfth (the day I had my last craving). And that’s a good thing.
But that time could be incredibly special, incredibly valuable to someone walking in to the meeting for the first time, or struggling with a desire to drink that day. When I first came in to the rooms, and I met a person with a year sober, I was awed. I couldn’t fathom what it must be like to go so long. Two years ago, I went back to the rehab where I dried out and spoke, and led a class. I saw the same amazement in the eyes of the people there that had been in my own heart two years prior.
When Rick, who is 58 years old and has now been sober a significant bit more than half his life, celebrates his 30 years in the program, and is happy, and comfortable, and at peace with his life and surroundings, I see hope. Maybe I don’t need to pay attention to the actual birthday any more, but I need to see what it looks like for people with time sober. I need to see how we progress through life and confront it well. I need to hear him talk about how the program keeps him right today, so that I remember that I don’t ever graduate from AA. I can’t get complacent. I follow in the footsteps of those who have gone before.
Today someone I know, brand new to the program, is celebrating 30 days. I’m incredibly proud of them. I hope they take the time to celebrate some today. Not just for themselves. But for the person walking through the door, with one day, who can’t imagine going to bed that night without a drink. Get that big bronze coin, and hold on to it.
In science, there’s a lot of jockeying for credit. Having a shiny CV and a couple of glass statuettes with your name engraved on them is a sign of respect and success. And I want all that, absolutely. Unquestionably. But in AA we measure it differently. My sobriety is not a reflection on me. It’s a reflection on the program, on the people who went before me. On the network, the sustaining community. If you like, on a higher power. But not on me. Because I established, very conclusively, that I deserve no credit for my sobriety. Because I absolutely cannot stay sober on my own.
My own thinking, desire, ambition, effort? Those things end up with me drunk and useless and dying. So I celebrate my sober anniversary. Not to elevate myself, but to show others that as a community, we are not limited by our addictions. That by following a path others have cut, and by continuing to tend that path, more of us can recover. Because I didn’t make this way. But I am its steward now. It’s my responsibility to light the way.
Scientific Service, Service in Sobriety.
I just finished my review of a paper for the Canadian Medical Association Journal. It was a fun paper to read, high quality, and will be of value to the systems-engineering-in-medicine community. I can’t discuss its content, obviously, but I can say that it was a pleasure to read and review a good piece of work, and to recommend publication of a well-designed piece of engineering conducted with care and precision. Good science all around.
It’s exciting to be helpful in this way. Academics who publish papers all get asked to review papers as well. There’s no remuneration. It’s a service to the community. There are a lot of problems with the peer-review process which I have no intention of getting into today. But I’ll freely state that I enjoy being a part of it, which I know is not necessarily how everyone feels about it. But I think most academics appreciate the opportunity to influence their field in this way.
In part, one of the reasons I like to perform this service is that there’s a lot of bad engineering done with regard to systems in medicine. The problem is that a lot of it is done by MDs, who are almost uniformly bright people, but who are not known for understanding their limitations. There are a huge number of articles in my field which are plainly the result of a couple of physicians playing around with a neat tool they don’t really understand, and then reporting the results as if they did. So, when I review, I make sure to point out what was done well, what was done badly, and how to improve the paper. This way, I’m not just recommending rejections of bad papers, but hopefully informing both physicians and editors about what makes a paper in my field a good one.
I also volunteered recently to serve on a Scientific Merit Review Board, to review grant applications. I have specialized knowledge that is not likely to be needed (not many people are submitting grants that require a reviewer like me), but if there is one, hopefully I can serve in a way that will improve the quality of funded work. These little acts of service are important to me. They allow me to contribute to the field in a way which is meaningful, and appropriately anonymous. I don’t sign my reviews (no one does, that I know of), so I receive no credit for doing it well. I am doing it for one reason only: it makes me feel good to help (OK, I’m hopeful that raising the bar for my field will put my services in higher demand too.. but that’s a really indirect goal.).
Service in sobriety is of a slightly different character. When I talk to new people, or contribute to my local sober club, or write a recommendation for a young sober person for school or a scholarship, I am doing something for them, yes. But mostly, I’m doing something for me. I’m returning something from me to the sober community that has given me so much, and which sustains me. I’m helping to ensure that this community will be available to me when I need it, as I surely will.
I spent a lot of yesterday angry. I’m not entirely sure why. Yeah, I got annoyed about more online nonsense that’s not actually important. Yeah, it’s frustrating to not know how to revise this grant the best way. Yeah, I was tired. Fundamentally, I think I was just in a bad mood. It happens. But I know that tonight, when I go to my men’s meeting, if there’s something still lingering, I’ll be able to vent it there. I’ll be able to talk about my fears and concerns and anxieties and there are people there who will listen. Like I will for anyone else.
Service to AA (By which I do not mean general service councils or convention planning or anything, I don’t give a shit about all that.) is about doing my part to make sure that my sobriety is in good shape. My sobriety is dependant upon a healthy sober community, a close connection with other sober drunks, a network that I can rely upon to aid me, and a the knowledge that I am accountable to that same network. Because I need to be available to others in the program when they call on me.
And I had better well be sober, willing, and well-grounded when that happens. Just like the people who shepherded me through the doors. Because I’m grumpy and irritated today. But that’s ok. Feelings are feelings. I’m still here. I’m still doing things for other people, personally and professionally. Because even though I love personal accolades – and I do! – I derive a great deal more self-esteem from who I can help.
Grantwriting Exhaustion.
I am currently revising the grant that I submitted in the December cycle. We were scored, which is good (Half of all grants to this mechanism, sometimes two-thirds, are triaged, so we were in the top half of the submissions), but our score was pretty bad, which is bad. The revision is due in about two and a half weeks, but because of my co-PI’s vacation (What was he thinking?!) , we have to get it in a few days early. The revision has been substantial. We changed it so much that we actually had to go to the eRA Commons administrator and request a name-change for the revision. Something which is rarely done.
Just last week I submitted my first grant of the spring cycle. It’s a small one and it won’t be funded, but I think it might have a chance to be scored. But I think it was sent to the wrong mechanism, so it’s hard to know if it’s going to have been a useful endeavor when it all plays out. I’m not the PI on that one, and the PI is no more experienced than I am, even though he has a more prestigious post. Which isn’t hard. My post has no prestige at all. But I’m hopeful, because hope is one of those things I can’t help. The PI has a lot of administrative duty, and so I ended up writing about 90% of the grant, and having to badger him constantly for the 3 pages he did write. But it’s his idea, and he’s my boss. Ergo, PI.
I’m having trouble with this resubmission. It’s a large, complex grant with a lot of elements. It’s difficult for me to get my head around all of it, because I’m not trained as an epidemiologist, which is what half of the grant is about. Luckily, I have a fine, experienced epidemiologist as a co-PI. Truth be told, he kind of deserves to be sole PI considering how much work he’s done. He did a good solid 3/4ths of the revision while I was working on the other grant.
Not that this post is about the politics of who gets to be PI, etc.. I know that a lot of people worry, fight, fret, and engage in Machiavellian machinations about that. Not me, not now. I asked my boss to be PI on that grant. He said no. That’s ok. When I’m straightforward, honest and forthright, things will work out. I like the project, and it will lead to ideas of my own.
So I have a methods section to get to a collaborator by mid-day tomorrow. I can do that. In the meantime, I’ve also revised two papers and resubmitted one. These are good things.
I’m pretty exhausted. You’d think that after having a really awesome vacation only 10 weeks ago, I’d be feeling some lingering effects of the rejuvenation. But instead, I’m feeling dead. Fear and anxiety about funding is a dreadful thing. Frustration over not getting my papers into sexy journals like I wanted is piling up. I’m finding myself looking forward to July, a lot. When I’ll be taking an epidemiology class, guest blogging for Scientopia (Go see bug girl there now, she’s writing about bees!), and heading to my 20 year high school reunion. A week and a half away from work. Learning new things.
As a little side note, though, I did just get asked to review a paper in my field for the Canadian Medical Association Journal, which is a truly fine periodical. Which means that people are starting to recognize that I’ve done work in my field worth paying some attention to. And that’s exciting. And scary. And exciting.
Work is work. I love my job, but work is still work. Who ever said “Love what you do and you’ll never work a day in your life!” was a total idiot, a liar, or more likely both. I truly love what I do. And it’s work every day. Except the days I blow it off and get nothing done. Which is too often. I wish I were one of those people for whom work is like play, but frankly, I doubt too many of them exist. Anyone out there able to tell me I’m wrong? I know that a lot of the people who read me do truly love their jobs. But they’re still work, right?
Nevertheless. I was talking to a friend who’s new to the program of Alcoholics Anonymous yesterday, and describing how to progress in the program. How to feel better. How to get to a place of satisfaction and serenity. Places which I am fortunate enough to inhabit a lot of the time. My answer, which isn’t really mine but was told to me first, is that I got to where I am by doing the things that I don’t want to do. I get up in the morning and I go to work when I would rather keep sleeping most days. I write papers and grants and computer programs when I’d rather be sitting on a beach or driving on a country road. I run after work when I’d rather eat french fries. I have a basically clear conscience because I dealt with the difficult and troubling aspects of my past.
So, today, I’m exhausted. And I have a grant to write. And it’ll get done. Even though I’d rather chew off my own foot at the moment. OK. Away I go.
Unwritten Rules of Sobriety.
Sunday mornings I go to a mixed, closed AA meeting. I’ve been going since I was less than six months sober, which means that I’m coming up on four years that I’ve attended this particular meeting. This makes it essentially a “home group” for me, and my sponsor often attends as well. There are a couple of important structures in AA which are regularly talked about but which do not appear in our founding literature. One is the home group, and the other is sponsorship.
Frequently, when a person is brand new to AA, they will be told over and over again: “Get a sponsor, get a home group, do the steps, keep coming back.” So, what does it mean to have a home group, or a sponsor? How can I find out about these things if they’re not in the book? Well, you have to keep coming back. Frequently, you will hear people say that you can’t work the steps without a sponsor. While I think a person could do so (maybe), I also think that having a sponsor to guide you is critical to thorough work. And thoroughness is crucial to success in AA.
Finding a sponsor is one of those things which can be difficult or simple, and depends largely on the new person’s willingness. There’s luck involved too, of course. I don’t know how the concept of sponsorship evolved, but it goes way way back in AA. But not so far back that it made it into the book “Alcoholics Anonymous” which was written in the 1930s. Much of it is hilariously out of step with modern society, including gender roles, but the core philosophy of how to get sober is undimmed by time.
Sponsorship provides a person who can assess us honestly, from the outside, and guide us through difficult aspects of the program, such as amend-making and character defect identification. Without a sponsor to guide us, it is too easy to overlook the difficult, painful, and ugly aspects of our characters we’d prefer to gloss over. And sometimes, we are simply incapable of seeing ourselves for what we are. Identifying troublesome defects can be like a kind of dysmorphia, looking in the mirror and seeing ourselves as other than we really are.
A home group is not an official thing. Like basically everything else in AA, it’s simply a matter of people kind of deciding for themselves that a particular meeting is one which they will attend regularly, and get to know people, and be accountable, and provide service to, and participate in the group conscience for. Having a home group is like putting down roots in AA. And many people have more than one. In fact, I guess I do. My Sunday mixed and my Wednesday men’s meetings are both meetings which I attend regularly. People there will miss me and look for me if I were to miss them for any length of time.
Like every organization, a penumbra gradually built up around the denotative concepts in AA. There are structures and concepts that were not part of the original program. But they are useful. The core of Alcoholics Anonymous is simply that one alcoholic helps another. We understand each other, so we can participate in each other’s recovery without judgement. Without scorn. We care about feeling our feelings. Unadulterated.
When I was new to the program, I broke. I didn’t know what to do, how to do it. I was lost and confused. But I was in a place where people knew how to help me. And where people told me the truth even if it was hard for me to hear (“Being drunk around a child you are responsible for is abusive.”). And so now, I try to provide that for people who are new to the program. Who are struggling with pain and ache and the onslaught of new emotions that are bafflingly painful, and seem to wrap around and regroup the moment we thought we’d dealt with them.
Because someone at my Sunday meeting said something yesterday that was simple, and deeply profound. I’d never met him before. It was his first time to that meeting. He spoke at some length, with the cadence of a southern preacher, about what it means for him to be moving toward sobriety or moving towards a drink. Standing still is not an option for him. I understand that. But what resonated with me was a simple four word statement: “Now it’s my turn.”
Now it’s my turn. I think that’s partly what I was trying to say when I wrote about Why I Blog. I have been sober a while now. Now it’s my turn to help. Sometimes that’s a glorious and thrilling opportunity. Sometimes that’s a total pain in my ass. But in either case, it’s still my turn. Because my responsibility is related to my capacity. I have been given something incredible. I have been given a chance at life when I had thrown my own life away. And foundationally, in order to keep living the life I want to live, to keep moving toward sobriety instead of towards a drink, it’s my turn to help.
So, here I am.
Infactorium 