(In an attempt to write more regularly, it occurs to me to try my hand at the topic of meetings I attend. Hey, if I’m actually going to think about the topic, maybe I could talk in meetings, too. Nah…)

This topic reminds me of the old saying “That which does not kill me makes me stronger. But most things kill me.” And for those of you who say “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle,” how do you explain suicide, nervous breakdowns, homicide, etc., etc.? But I digress.

When I’m in the middle of something painful or tedious or depressing, I find it more helpful to ask “what can I do about it right now?” How can I affect the situation in a positive way? The (unspoken) goal is to help this unpleasantness “pass,” but really the immediate goal is to regain a sense that I have some tiny portion of control. Powerlessness sucks. When we say we are powerless over alcohol, the real sentence is a bit longer, more like “I am powerless over alcohol if I put it in my body or if I let the concept of alcohol have too much space in my brain.” Clearly if we were flat-out powerless, none of us would get even a week sober.

On the other end of the spectrum, when life is good, I definitely don’t want to hear “this too shall pass.” Instead, I try to file away what it feels like to feel good, to know that life is pretty nice, thank you. So that the next time things suck, I can reflect on the fact that things can be otherwise.

A recent topic reminded me of one of my weakest links with the program, and that is my reluctance to socialize and/or to reach out. When I’m in a good place, I’ll happily go to breakfast with the mob or hang around after a meeting, but it’s much more common to find me scurrying out as soon as the meeting is over.

Someone recently asked me why, after a few years, I still didn’t have a sponsor. Well, mostly it’s because I’m sure a sponsor would try to make me do something. Anything. And there I’d be, out there. No thank you. I have made myself a promise (and shared it with others so it’ll be harder for me to avoid it) that if I relapse, I’ll get a sponsor on the way back in. Assuming I make it back.

Wow, this is depressing…

My father was raised in a particular form of Scandanavian Lutheranism, which can be summed up thusly:

Life is hard. Your job is to do the best you can, to do your duty, to shoulder the burden, to work hard, through whatever multiple adversities may afflict you. Then you will die, and God will casually say “eh, not good enough” and send you to hell.

And so I’ve spent most of my life believing that whatever I was doing, it wasn’t good enough. I’ve heard of something called “Imposter Syndrome,” (which I have in spades). That’s where you’re always expecting someone to tap you on the shoulder and say “what do you think you’re doing? You have no business doing that!”

And then there’s recovery, where I’ve been taught that we do things one day at a time. We work at building a sober history. As long as we’re taking a step away from a drink, instead of a step towards one, well, that’s good enough for today.

The point is to try, try hard. And know that if you keep trying, you’ll keep getting better. And it’s all good enough.

“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” – Samuel Beckett

I’ve been going to meetings for several years now. This past Sunday was the first time I ever raised the topic. Fortunately, I didn’t pass out from the excitement, nor did everyone laugh and mock me for the naive and banal nature of my premise.

The thrust of it was this: I have been dealing with a low-grade frustration and discomfort in my dealings with, well, just about everybody. As a conversation ends and I walk away, I find myself muttering under my breath. “Of COURSE I don’t mind, happy to fucking help…” That sort of thing.

So, besides it being not-the-best communications tactic, it also reminds me very strongly of the way I usually felt in the bad old days. A great excuse for drinking.

And that’s why I spoke up. I’d say more about what thoughts people offered in response, but I was too busy making sure I had an appropriate expression on my face, and that I nodded or grinned or grimaced at the right moments.

What it boiled down to (doesn’t it always) was take action, work your program, help another alcoholic, ask for help. And I am by no means dismissing or belittling the advice by characterizing it as a frequent refrain. It’s a frequent refrain because it’s true.

Lately I’ve run across a couple of places bringing up the old song about AA being a cult. Humbug says I. Codswallop. Balderdash.

Tiny little disclaimer to start: individual AA groups pretty much do things any way they want to, so it’s possible that you’ll stumble across a group “breaking” a “rule.’ Except there basically aren’t any rules, so…

Here’s why it’s not a cult.

1. No one’s in charge. We have old-timers and trusted advisers and sponsors, but nobody can tell you what to do. Don’t like your sponsors instructions? Talk it over, and, if necessary fire him or her.

2. No one wants your money or possessions. We pass around a basket for donations to pay for the coffee, the electricity, and the literature.

I was going to make this list longer, but from this point on, it would just be more granular versions of what I’ve already written. The closest thing to mind-control is this phrase: If you want what we have, do what we did.

Tough few days, too many highs and lows crowded too close together. Grumbled a lot, pouted a lot, but got back up and took turn at bat anyway. Wow. That’s new and different.

I had a couple of days alone as my adorable spouse went on a Mission O’ Mercy ™ – we do dog rescue and she was off, er, rescuing. I like my time alone, just so long as it isn’t mandatory. So I stayed up a bit later than usual, spent more time online than usual (if that’s possible), ate less healthily (ditto). The sweet one’s return brought with it two canine lodgers, one we placed with a sweet family almost right away, the other a foster dog we’re socializing.

And the next couple of days were non-stop rushing him outside, praising the hell out of him when he pretended to pee, then rushing back inside to clean up the mess than precipitated the rush outside, hoping to get there before our other dogs feel the need to overwrite his mark with their bigger mark. Stress much?

So the contrast between the low-key weekend and the sudden impact of “Responsibility” got stuck in my craw, or someplace like that. It took me a little while to get over myself and realize that it was great having my sweetie back, and it was wonderful to watch this dog (Tucker) settle down and start learning the routine from his brethren. And I was there to see it. I held my breath through my grumbles (mostly), and kept my eyes open, at least a little, so I didn’t miss the good parts.