A Little Goes A Long Way

I hold a black belt in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu—along with advanced ranks in several other martial arts. Because of that, people often ask me the same question:

“What’s the best martial art for self-defense?”

My answer never changes:
“Any self-defense training—no matter how little—is better than none. Every time.”

Even minimal training in a less effective system still gives you something—a foundation to build from, a fighting chance.
No training? No chance.

The same holds true for recovery.

From time to time, I’ve sponsored people who are just going through the motions. Maybe they're there because a judge told them to be. Maybe it's to keep peace at home. Whatever the reason, they’re not in it for themselves. They recite all the right lines, nod in the right places—but anyone with real time in the program can spot the disconnect a mile away.

People ask me why I bother.
“Why waste your time with someone who’s clearly not serious?”

My response is simple:
Any recovery—no matter how little—is better than none. Every time.

Just like with self-defense, even the smallest exposure to the program might plant a seed. You never know what will stick. You never know what moment might turn the tide.

And that chance—however small—is always worth the effort.

Tradition #2

"For our group purpose there is but one ultimate authority — a loving God as He may express Himself in our group conscience. Our leaders are but trusted servants; they do not govern."

Can an atheist achieve sobriety? Short answer... yes.

I know several.

Granted, I believe it would be difficult. It was my belief in God that got me through those early days of sobriety; without that, I would have been forced to rely solely on my own inner strength to achieve sobriety. Since it was my lack of inner strength that got me here in the first place, relying on said nonexistent strength to overcome my addiction would have been a failing proposition.

That said, I am not an atheist and I have not had to walk this path, so it would be impossible for me to definitively answer the question.

If I had to answer, I'd say yes, it is possible... but a difficult road which I'd choose to avoid.

But hey, I am but a trusted servant.

I Surrender!

There’s a well-worn saying in the rooms: “Surrender doesn’t mean you’ve lost—it means you’ve joined the winning side.”

At its core, this Program is built on surrender.

Step 1: Admit we’re not in control.
Step 2: Recognize that something greater than ourselves can help.
Step 3: Hand over the wheel.
Steps 4 and 5: Take inventory and confess our flaws to that higher power.
Steps 6 and 7: Ask to be relieved of those defects.
And on it goes...

The Steps, the Serenity Prayer—everything in recovery hinges on the act of letting go.

And yet, for many, surrender is the hardest part. Relinquishing control to a force we can’t touch, see, or prove by conventional means, can feel like a monumental leap. Some are able to do it early—sometimes immediately. They surrender fully, and with that surrender, their obsession is lifted almost as if by miracle.

Others, like myself, fight it. We inch our way toward letting go, step by step, gradually peeling back the layers of control until, at last, we hand over what was never really ours to begin with. And just as gradually, the obsession begins to lift.

Then there are those who refuse altogether. They trudge the path with their baggage strapped tight, white-knuckling the process as they try to “think” their way to peace. The result is rarely sustainable. Without surrender, most relapse. Sooner or later, the burden becomes too heavy to carry alone.

Even now, I occasionally hear longtime members—ten, fifteen years into recovery—say, “I don’t believe in surrender. I believe in fighting.” And I can’t help but think, Wow. You’ve missed the point—not just of the Program, but of your relationship with God.

I don’t say that out loud, of course. What I actually say is, “Keep coming back.”

Because that’s what we do. We keep showing up. And maybe, with time, they’ll find the strength to lay it all down.

And join the winning side.

You're Not That Important

In early sobriety, I had a run-in with a meter maid outside my apartment. She slapped a ticket on my car for street sweeping. I pointed out that the sweeper had already passed before I parked. She stepped back, eyed the trail of water beneath my bumper, and said, “No, it had to go around your vehicle.”

It was a lie. Blatant. We both knew it.

I lost it—called her a few names I won’t repeat—and stormed off.

After that, things got weird. My car became a magnet for parking enforcement. Tickets started piling up. Measured tire distances. Tows. Like I’d made some secret enemies in City Hall. I was sure they were out to get me.

Eventually, I vented to my sponsor, fed up and ready to raise hell.

He smiled and said, “Nobody cares what you think.”

I blinked. “What?”

He didn’t flinch. “You’re not that important.”

I was stunned. Offended. How dare he?

And yet—he was right.

It took a long time for that truth to land: I’m not the center of the universe. My fear feeds my pride, which feeds my rage. It's a cycle. A trap. And it shows up everywhere.

The guy who cuts the line at Starbucks. The gym bro hogging the machine while scrolling through his  Instagram. It’s always something. Always someone. I feel the “Karen” rising in my chest, ready to lecture the world on how they’re failing me.

But then I remember: nobody cares what I think.

I’m not special.

Weird, right?

How Do You Eat an Elephant?

One bite at a time.

So often we look at the big picture and become overwhelmed with the size of the task in front of us, then get frustrated and give up before we even begin.

My problem is that I'm always trying to eat the entire elephant in one sitting rather than taking it one bite at a time.

I don't have to be sober for the rest of my life, I just have to be sober today. 

I don't have to make the hard amends, I just have to do the ones I can do and worry about the rest later.

I don't have to change the world, I just have to change my little corner of it.

I don't have to be perfect, I just have to be a little bit better today than I was yesterday. 

Inches turn into miles.

Progress, not perfection.

Garbage In, Garbage Out

That's something my mother used to say... "Garbage in, garbage out."

The meaning is simple: We can absolutely be corrupted by our life choices. What you put into your mind is what you'll get out. 

I've discovered that I can't watch road rage or Ukraine war videos anymore. My "Id" (the primitive "reptile" part of my brain) doesn't know how to differentiate between footage and actual events. That is to say, when I watch real warfare on YouTube, my lizard brain assumes that I'm actually there, in the action, losing buddies and fighting for my life.

I soon discovered that letting that kind of negativity into my head was affecting my moods. I was growing increasingly angry and depressed. When I analyzed what was happening, it became clear that I needed to eliminate the negative input in order to redirect my moods.

I had to explore the things that were effecting my psyche and bringing me down. Recognizing the cause of negative behaviors was the first step toward changing myself and becoming a better person.

The change didn't happen in an instant. It took work.

The same goes for forgiveness. Saying "I forgive you" can sometimes work for little indiscretions, but not as easy for the big ones.

I once had a sponsee who was struggling with the 9th Step. He couldn't bring himself to make amends to his uncle who had molested him as a child. Who could blame him? He thought he had to apologize in order to make amends.

I explained to him that amends wasn't about apologizing, it was about doing whatever it takes to forgive yourself and/or the other person for past wrongs. Often times, this forgiveness requires an apology, but not always.

The key is to realize that forgiveness doesn't happen all at once with the wave of a magic wand-- it takes time and patience. The greater the grievance, the longer and more difficult the process of forgiveness.

Forgiveness is a choice--to forgive doesn't mean we forget.

We don't heal to forgive, we forgive to heal. It is one of the most important steps toward changing our lives for the better. 

If we wait until we feel like forgiving, we'll never do it.

Gimme, Gimme, Gimme!

Can you name many great businessmen from history? Perhaps names like Rockefeller, Ford, Carnegie, Jobs, and Musk come to mind?

How about great humanitarians? Perhaps names like Jesus, Mohamed, Siddhartha, Gandhi and Martin Luther King top the list?

Of these two groups, who would you prefer to have coffee with? I'm guessing most people will choose the latter... the humanitarians. 

We all would prefer to meet, dine, and chat with the humanitarians, yet so few of us strive to BE the humanitarians. Instead, we scrimp and claw for financial freedom and success. We yearn to reach the apex of stability and luxury, so we can put our feet up in comfort.

During the early days of the COVID Pandemic, a bizarre thing happened...  Mobs of frightened people rushed to their nearest market, clambering to clear the shelves. Did they want water, batteries, canned food, or matches? NO. They wanted TOILET PAPER. 

Panic stricken throngs, blinded by fear and selfishness, filled their carts with a year's supply of Charmin, leaving their neighbors with the unsavory option of wiping their backsides with leftover paper towels and napkins (which were soon gone, as well). They didn't give a thought to their immense selfishness -- their "Inconsiderate Meter" pinned squarely on "Me! Me! Mine!"

Human Nature.

But you are different. You have decided you will GIVE and not TAKE. As such, they find you, the "takers," and they take and take and take and take. They take what they need, what they don't need, and when they have enough, they demand "More! Give us more!" 

You turn your pockets out, "I have no more to give." 

"You don't care about us!" They cry. "You're selfish!"

Your limit reached, you are forced to set boundaries... that's when they turn on you. No longer are you the care-giver, the philanthropist, the saint; Now you are the greedy miser. The enemy.

"Wait!" you protest. "I gave you everything! Was that not enough for you to love me?"

"No." They say with a turn, "It was not."

Sadly, this is the world we live in. The world we've created. It is the antithesis of the message carried by every great thinker in the history of the world. 

If you were to have coffee with MLK, Gandhi, Buddha, Mohamed, or Jesus, and ask them the purpose of life, every one of them would give you the same answer: "Humility, selflessness, compassion" and most important, "Love."

To "take" is human. To "give" is divine.