No Means NO

As the old saying goes, "No means no."  In truth, the saying should be rephrased to say, "No means 'I'm afraid to take chances and commit to something at which I (or you) may fail, regardless of the fact that we'll likely succeed'."

On the whole, people trend toward "NO" as a knee jerk response to both simple and complex requests.  Why?  Simple... POWER.  This short, simple, two-letter word carries more power than any other word in the English language (with the exception, of course, of "love").  "NO" possesses the ability to shut down progress, disable hope, cripple change, and side-step risk.  It's a word wielded by bullies and coveted by cowards.  It is a safe word, devoid of risk.  "If we don't take risks, we can't fail! Maintain the status quo!  Bury our talents and wallow in mediocrity!  Let someone else say 'yes.'  THAT'S the safe path!  After all, we may not succeed, but at least we won't fail." 

The opposite of success is not failure.  Every successful man in history can attribute his success to the failures that made him stronger.  Failure becomes an inevitable companion to success.  The opposite of success is mediocrity; the failure to even attempt at succeeding.

Michael Eisner, the CEO of Disney, was quoted as saying, "To punish failure is to encourage mediocrity... failure is not a death sentence."   If failure is not a death sentence, what is?  In a word: complacency.

Eisner also said, "If it's not growing, it's going to die." Life dictates movement in one direction or another.  If we don't go forward, we must go back.  Nature does not abide stagnancy. An organism must either age and mature or whither and die.  There is no inbetween. 

And so it goes with recovery. The fear of failure envelopes sobriety and slowly suffocates it into hibernation.  In this stasis, sobriety ceases to grow and invariably withers and dies.

Once sobriety dies, the individual is doomed to follow suit. 

Demon Alcohol

I firmly believe the 12 Steps to be Divinely inspired.  How lucky are we to be born after Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob? 

Alcoholism is as old as, well... alcohol.  The day the very first vintner stepped on the very first fermented grape, wine was born.  So too was born the first alcoholic.  Ever since that day, millions … billions of people have suffered under the hopeless sea of addiction.  People lived out their wretched lives, day in, day out, drowning in their despair.  A living hell with no rest or respite.  

Today there is hope.  We have the fortune of reprieve, simply because two guys got together 70 years ago, touched by the hand of God, and figured out Alcoholics Anonymous.  

There exists a school of thought that believes alcoholism (along with libertine and suicidal personalities) results from demonic agencies.  Not to say that alcoholics are “possessed,” but only to suppose that in a weakened state of spirituality, we become defenseless to demonic influence.  In the text Biblical Demonology, Unger states, “evil does not lie in the body but in the mind, to say that it is ‘only disease or insanity’ is merely to state the fact of the disorder, and make no attempt to name its cause.”

This statement smacks of AA philosophy.  We believe, wholeheartedly, that our addiction is not our problem, rather a symptom of a bigger issue.  It is the physical manifestation of a greater hurt, wound, demon, or evil that has been visited upon our psyche. Step 1 is the only step that deals with our physical dependencies, the following 11 steps address the moral, social, and psychological disorders (or "demons" if you will) that we've fought so hard to mask by way of our substance abuse.  In Recovery, we claim our disease as a fact of the disorder and name our condition by working through the 12 Steps.

Amazingly, the only hope for overcoming our malady arrives  via  strengthening our spiritual state by maintaining a conscious contact with God, the ultimate source of benevolence and destroyer of all things evil. 

Coincidence? Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob didn't think so.

Food for thought.

Don't Be a Nancy

Meet Nancy.  Nancy is an atheist.  It wasn't always this way.  In fact, Nancy grew up in a religious household and was taught, from a very early age, to have awe and respect for the great "bearded man in the sky."  

As she grew older, Nancy noticed inconsistencies in her belief system.  Apparent hypocrisy in both the teachings and teachers seemed to run rampant.  Nancy's faith began to waiver.

Then it happened... Nancy's younger brother, whom she loved dearly, was killed in an automobile accident.  This tragic event sent Nancy into a tailspin of addiction and despair, which eventually landed her in the rooms of Recovery.  At first, she embraced the idea of a Higher Power, but as the haze cleared, remembrances of her former life came flooding back.  Searing questions plagued her every waking moment, "If there is a God, why do bad things happen to good people?  Why doesn't he step in and do something?  Why do people die?... why did he let my brother die?"

The more Nancy questioned God's will, the angrier she grew.  Her rage culminated in a peddle-to-the-metal peel-out away from God and into the arms of science, where myth and fables give way to tangible fact.

Today Nancy is an atheist.  She cannot prove, via the Scientific method, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that God does not exist anymore than a Believer can prove the contrary.  That doesn't matter.  For Nancy, it's easier to turn her back on the possibilities of a Higher Power than allow herself to believe in an unjust God who lets bad things happen to good people.  In response, she wages war on religion, argues her point incessantly, consistently misinterprets scripture in an effort to discredit the Word (much like many of the people she professes to despise), and belittles anyone who disagrees with her. She's an intellectual crusader.  A champion for her cause:  to disprove the existence of God.

I asked Nancy what it would take for her to believe in God.  She had no answer... not because she didn't know what it would take, but because she didn't want to believe.  She fed off the resentment and anger, fearful that if she let go of it she would lose the memory of her brother.  Sad.

Nancy's not a bad person.  Like a wounded animal, she's hurt.  She's angry.  She's looking for answers.  Frankly, she raises a valid point:  Why do innocent people die?  If there is a God, why do bad things happen?

To begin, let's clarify... an "uncaring God" fails to equate with "no God."  God does not have to be loving and compassionate in order to exist.  But for the sake of this discussion, we'll address the God of the Bible - a God of love and compassion.

First off, people die.  It is the natural order of things.  It's only been in the past hundred or so years that this has even become an issue.  Prior to that, the average life expectancy was 30 years of age.  People died, children died... it was just a normal part of life.  Now the average lifespan has more than doubled (due in large part to scientific advancements) and death is no longer an everyday occurrence for most people.  It has become a disruptive and unacceptable part of our societal scheme.

The Ancient Greeks believed whole-heartedly in the blessings of a short life.  In all Greek myths their greatest heroes died early and with great nobility.  Heroes such as Hercules, Pentheus, and Oedipus all met an early demise.  When Silenus, the wise old Satyr, was asked by King Midas what he considered to be man’s greatest good, he responded, “Ephemeral wretch, begotten by accident and toil, why do you force me to tell you what it would be your greatest boon not to hear?  What would be best for you is quite beyond your reach: not to have been born, not to be, to be nothing.  But the second best is to die soon.”

The Greeks, the greatest nation among the ancients, viewed this earthly realm as one of sadness and pain; better to leave as soon as possible.  Most of modern humanity echoes this sentiment.  “Life sucks and then you die” has become the mantra of contemporary man. So why do we pound our chests and shake our fists at God when a child dies?  Isn’t it a blessing?  Man loves to blame God for the bad things, yet fears that there is no God to begin with.  Death represents the possibility of non-existence.  Scary.

As I've stated in previous posts, "God either exists or He doesn't, there is no in-between."  Let's presume, for a moment, God does exist. Under this presumption, we must examine the ideology that He is in some way accountable for His actions.  If God almighty, creator of the universe, does not behave in accordance with mankind's understanding of His law, then God is a hypocrite and unworthy of existence.  WHAT?  That's like saying the Constitution is unlawful because we disagree with it's contents. Impossible!  The Constitution IS the law! If God exists, He is the Creator of the Universe, almighty and all powerful, answerable to no one, especially humans.  

In His benevolence, he gave us life and, for some inexplicable reason, cares about us. All He asks in return is that we love Him and follow His will. To be clear, we were not created for Him to serve us, rather for us to serve Him. Yet, in our self-important arrogance, we continually turn our backs on the Almighty, declaring His non-existence.  We profess to be the masters of our destiny and then when bad things happen we lift our heads to the heavens and scream, “God!  Why have you let this happen?  Why have you forsaken us?”  When no acceptable answer comes, we say, “See, there is no God.”

As Believers, we must understand that this world is not the end, but the beginning. If you were to ask a fetus what the worst possible thing would be, it would say, “Being born."  The womb is comfortable, soft and warm; the outside world is unknown and foreign, therefore, a bad thing.  This realm is our earthly womb, preparing us for the next phase of existence.  The suffering that we experience in this life, such as losing a loved one, is difficult, yet momentary. Death is an unknown quantity, therefore, it's frightening.  When all is said and done, it represents peace and the end of the pain and suffering offered by this world.  Bad for those left behind, good for those who have moved on.

Ultimately, where would we be if everybody lived forever?  Who’s to choose when and how people die?  I don’t know about you, but I don't want that responsibility.  

Many a time, as a child, my parents made decisions that directly affected my life and displeased me.  I didn't understand the bigger picture and they never held my spite against me.  They understood what was in my best interest and continued to love me, no matter the tantrums I threw. It's okay to get angry with God.  He can take it. 

Credit Where Credit is Due

I used to work for a Fortune-500 company that shall remain nameless.  I worked as a mid-level manager and part of my job duties entailed overseeing 400 employees at any given time.  Scheduling, overtime, paychecks, grievances, product quality and morale all fell under my umbrella.  To make matters worse, it was a union house.  Not there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just that when union contracts enter the scene, the job responsibilities of a manager increase exponentially.  

My boss happened to be a moron.  I'm sorry, that's not nice... he was an intellectually challenged individual who sat up in his office, never making his way down to the trenches where the troops were.  He didn’t know the contracts, the people, or the job.  As with many individuals in a position of power, this man had no business doing business.

Summers tended to be particularly busy at the company, which translated into a ton of overtime.  Problem was, the troops in the trenches were only making $10 an hour.  People working at that pay rate would rather go home to their families than put in one minute of OT.   The company required a certain number of line employees on the job, so I spent long hours, every day, meeting with foremen and union reps in order to keep the machine running.  Time and again, my boss gladly stepped up to except the pats on the back from the big-wigs on the top floor on behalf of those who worked under him.  Not once did he stand to the side and give the credit where it was due.  He would, however, manage to side-step negative attention when something went wrong.  He would often bungle a simple task and then pass the blame down the ladder.

It wasn’t long before I grew wise to his habits.  I figured out that if I stopped succeeding, he stopped succeeding.  If he screwed up and passed it down, I’d do the same.  His blunders would hit the bottom and boomerang right back up.  I would step to the side and let it hit him square.  Basically, I turned my back on him and he was helpless.

Did he beg forgiveness and offer to make things right?  Of course not.  He would scamper and dodge, attempting to figure things out, all the while insisting that he had a handle on the situation.  Eventually he was let go, in large part due to his advanced incompetence.  Had he simply put his hand out, asked for forgiveness, given credit, and trusted those who worked for him, he would have been golden.

God works much the same way.  He empowers us with certain talents, intelligence, and gifts to survive and thrive.  When everything is going great, we stand up and crow, “Aren’t I wonderful?  See what I’ve done here?”  Rarely giving credit where it is due.  When things go wrong, however, we scowl and declare, “Why did God let this happen?  I thought He was supposed to be a loving creator.  He must not exist.”  

We consistently turn our backs on Him, taking credit and doling out blame.  Fortunately, He doesn't turn His back on us... but He will step to the side and allow the ramifications of our actions to boomerang back and knock us upside our ignorant heads.  

One of the most important parts of Recovery is recognizing our part in things. Instead of scampering around, insisting that we have a handle on things and passing the blame,  we simply have to put our hand out, asked for help and we will be golden.  When we move closer to God, he moves closer to us.  If we turn our back, we can’t blame him when things go wrong.  

God is not vengeful.  He only wants good things for his children.  Problem is, he gave me free will and that’s where I get into trouble.  When I’m following His plan, things work out great.  When I stray and begin to run on self will, things fall apart.
  

Now, when things are going great, I thank God for his goodness.  When things get screwed up, I take a closer look to see what it was that I did to mess up God’s design... then I thank Him again for not turning His back on me.

The Gorilla in the Room

One of the biggest issues the newcomer struggles with is the concept of God.  The first three steps require us to develop a relationship with "a god of our own understanding" and demands we foster said relationship in order to pick up the pieces of our shattered lives.  This topic cultivates insurmountable roadblocks for some people, especially those who enter with a load of "religious baggage" slung over their shoulder.   So let's address the 700 lb. gorilla in the room and see if we can't make some sense of it...

Scientists constantly seek ways to discredit the theory of Intelligent Design, that is, the idea that the Universe had a Creator. An article in Natural History Magazine (5/09, Vol. 118, #4) set out to discover why we, as humans, are more inclined to believe in Creationism over Darwinism (Intelligent Design vs. Random Chance). The article sought to apply the scientific reasoning behind society’s irrational belief system.

The scientists ran a couple of experiments on children to determine if this was an inherent belief system. In the first, they set up two piles of wood blocks. One was a neatly stacked structure, the second was a malformed pile. All of the participants (who were three years old), were given two choices as to who caused each of the piles; either a sibling or the wind.  Every one said both their sibling and the wind could have caused the malformed pile, but only the sibling could have caused the one that was neatly stacked. At that young age, the children recognized the natural order of intelligent design.

In the second experiment, “even one-year-old babies look longer, indicating surprise, when a computer animation shows a neat pile to be caused by a rolling ball.” Small infants recognize the natural order of things.  Chaos cannot be randomly executed into order.

There was an attempt to explain this away under the auspice that these children were raised by church going parents, but the results were consistent across the board.  Even children of Darwinists, when asked where animals came from, answered “God.”  Evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins complained that it seems, “as if the human brain were specifically designed to misunderstand Darwinism.” Though this study was meant to understand why human beings are so “ignorant,” it drove home the reality that we are designed with an understanding of design.  

To be clear, the aforementioned study proves nothing with regard to a specific God (e.g. the God of the Bible) and only points to the possibility of an intelligent designer (or Higher Power, if you will).  

The important take away from all this is to recognize the possibility that something greater than ourselves may exist. It's okay to love science and God at the same time. The two need not be mutually exclusive. In fact, many theologians grant credence to the Theory of Evolution as a tool of God's grand design, but that's a discussion for another day.  

The first three steps simply require us to acknowledge we are not the end-all in universal intelligence, there's something bigger than us out there. The rest will come in time.

God put eternity in the hearts of men. God gave us the desire to seek Him. Open your heart to the possibility of a relationship with your Higher Power and you may see miracles happen.

Good ol' Karl

I sauntered into my weekly recovery meeting last night and sat down next to a scruffy, bearded guy wearing a ball cap.  When the meeting concluded, he turned to me and offered his hand.  It was then I realized that he was a former sponsee of mine... we'll call him "Karl."  I hadn't recognized him.  He had dropped off the face of the planet.  It was good to see him.  After the meeting was over, we stood around and chatted for awhile.

The last time I saw Karl was about six months back.  He had checked into the local Salvation Army rehab and asked me to be his sponsor.  While walking him through the steps, two things became clear:  1. Karl was walking the sobriety path more for his wife and children than himself.  This is a dangerous road for anybody, since you MUST tackle sobriety for yourself, first and foremost, or you will likely fail.  2. Karl was a runner.  That is, when the going got tough, Karl got going.  And before his time was up in rehab, run he did.  One day, Karl was just gone.  No phone call, no note... just gone.

No skin off my nose, happens all the time.  I went about my business, giving only the occasional and brief pause to wonder on Karl's whereabouts.  Sufficed to say, I didn't lose any sleep over it.

Last night, during our conversation, Karl relayed to me what I had already known... he had relapsed.  Bad.  He stopped going to meetings, which led to using, which led to problems at home and in his marriage.  What does Karl do when things get tough?  Yep, he runs.

Karl found himself sequestered in a flea-bag motel room, tweaking hard on meth and binging on Internet pornography.  Just prior to running out of money, sleepless nights and a speed-soaked brain had given way to hallucinations by way of "the people in the trees."  He landed on the street, sleeping in the backseat of his '97 Honda Accord, where he currently resides.

"I can't believe my life has come to this," he said, on the verge of tears.  "This is not me.  It's not who I am." I suggested he consider checking himself back into rehab, which was met with a decisive, "Never!"

I followed up with a simple question; one which I have asked so many people so many times before, "To what lengths are you willing to go to get your life back?"

His answer:  "I don't know, but not that."

I was done.  There was nothing left to say.  So sad.  Karl had lost everything: loving wife, beautiful children, job, house, everything.  He was willing to go to any lengths to get high, but not to get his life back.  That's not stupidity, folks.  That's insanity.

There but for the Grace of God...

Similar but Different

It took me awhile to admit I had a problem, even after I walked into the rooms of Recovery.  Seems kinda counter-intuitive, seeing as how I was standing in the middle of an AA meeting of my own volition.  Nonetheless, the entirety of my early sobriety was spent in the practice of convincing myself I WASN'T an alcoholic.  Naturally, I had to spend time with the drunks in order to prove I wasn't one of them.

So, I sat in the back of the hall, in what was affectionately labeled "death row" by the regulars, and cradled my gavel.  Throngs of low-lifes and losers paraded past the podium, expounding on tales of addiction and woe.   They spoke of black-outs and benders, bankruptcy and rock-bottom.  Some recalled their inability to sleep through the night without frequent visits to the liquor cabinet, others chimed sad recollections of hidden bottles scattered like so many Easter-eggs around the house.  I narrowed my eyes, graciously withholding judgement.  Each pathetic story confirmed I was nothing like them.

My experiences were at the opposite end of the spectrum from these people and I excelled at locating the differences.  I never once blacked out (I remembered every pathetic moment) and didn't experience the sporadic runs of drunkenness known as "benders" (I was drunk all the time).  I didn't drink every day (only every night) and didn't have to wake-up at 3am for a drink (because I didn't pass out until 4am).  These people needed a drink as soon as their feet hit the ground in the morning, which didn't apply to me (because I was still severely poisoned from the night before) and I certainly didn't hide full bottles of booze around my house (only empty ones).  Clearly, I was NOT an alcoholic!

I expertly identified ALL of the differences between myself and "those people."  My biggest problem was that I did not acknowledge any of the similarities.  My early sobriety became greatly hindered by my inability to recognize how much I had in common with the people who were most like me.  These marvelous, miraculous souls stood before me as mirrors, reflecting my own characteristics back at me, polished.  I didn't like what I saw.

It's easy to look past our brothers and sisters who struggle with addiction because we can't see around the differences.  We have nothing in common with them, right?  Truth is, 90% of the population struggles with some kind of debilitating disorder.  It may not be drugs or alcohol, but it's something.  Sex, food, rage, depression, Netflix binge-fests of The Walking Dead... we all have a purge-valve we use to silence the voices and turn down the volume of our pain.  The question becomes, "How is it affecting our lives?" and, "Do we recognize it as a problem?"  If we do, the 12 Steps will help, no matter the condition.

My poison was alcohol.  I drank myself into a coma every night because I was afraid of facing the noise inside my head.  Had I looked for the similarities in my story as compared to my brothers and sisters in Recovery, rather than the differences, I'd have saved myself months of grief.

Are you so different from that homeless guy holding a "will work for food" sign at the bottom of the freeway off-ramp?  He's not stupid, he's not lazy, he's not evil... he's sick.  Sometimes he's an addict, sometimes he's mentally ill, usually both.  Remember, most of us are just one paycheck away from standing next to him.

Me, Myself, & I

Heroism is good, cowardice is bad.  Philanthropy is good, thievery is bad.  Honesty is good, lying is bad.  Virtue is good, infidelity is bad.  Charity is good, greed is bad.  Self-sacrifice is good, murder is bad.  No one educates us on these facts, they come tattooed to the very fabric of our DNA as we slide from the womb.

What's the difference between a hero and coward, philanthropist and thief, honest man and liar?   One puts his own self-interests and desires first, the other puts his interests and desires last.  One is selfish, the other selfless.  Can you guess which is which?

To be fair, we can hardly blame the cowardly, thieving, liar for his lowly behavior.  After all, our base nature encourages self preservation.  We naturally push aside the needs of others in order to satisfy our own desires in the pursuit of self-preservation.   Natural selection, survival of the fittest, thinning the herd, weeding out the weak and stupid... nature, baby!  "No one's gonna look out for me, so I gotta get mine!  Look out for #1!" has become the battle-cry of the civilized western mind.

Most people are able to disguise these behaviors and coalesce into the status-quo, as their behaviors blend with the acceptable expectations of society as a whole.  Unfortunately for us addicts, our selfish desires fall well beyond the lines of decent standards set forth by the global community.  Were that our addictions were for money, power, or fame we'd be fine.  Instead, we crave an escape via chemical means, dropping us into the lower echelons of common culture.  Granted, we apply the self-same defense mechanisms to survive, but it matters little.  We're just the lowly "drunks & junkies" they step over on their way into the liquor store.

Now, if you were to ask us our opinion of ourselves, that's quite a different story!  We're legends in our own minds, prophets unappreciated in our own villages, rebels without applause.  We're geniuses!  We've got everything figured out.  Sure, we may be a bit selfish at times, but we know what's best for us.  Our survival instincts have kept us alive so far, so we must be doing something right.  Step aside and don't tell us how to live our lives!

Here's the rub:  It's our best practices, best thought processes and decision making skills that landed us where we are today - wrecked and broken.  Right or wrong, our selfish behaviors have offended those around us and separated us from society.  Our stubborn pride has made us blind to the fact that we have been pushed out of the herd.  And guess what... Those outside the herd are the first to be picked off by predators.  Our survival instincts, to which we give so much credit, have put us directly in the path of predation. While treading hard toward self-preservation, we have inadvertently set ourselves up for extinction.

Do we want to survive?  Our survival instincts, though proven successful in the past, have become a detriment.  We must humble ourselves and admit that our thought processes require change.  Most important, we must admit that we can't do it alone, we need others.

Get in the middle of the herd or get picked off at the edges.

3 String Dave

A few months into my sobriety, a newcomer named David staggered into our hall.   He carried around an old beat-up guitar that was missing half its strings, which earned him the moniker "3-String Dave." This kid suffered from a head-first swan dive into rock-bottom.  Every inch of 3-String's persona screamed for sobriety.  

One problem: David didn't know he had a problem (or more accurately, didn't want to admit it).

One night, David made a statement which was to later become my favorite "newcomer mantra."  He turned to me and said, "I'm not an alcoholic.  Why just the other night, I went into a bar and sat down for a drink.  I told myself I would only have ONE beer and that's what I did.  I had one beer and left."

I thought about this for a moment, then asked, "Why'd you leave?"  David was clearly perplexed by this enquiry, so I expounded, "Why didn't you stick around, nibble on some pretzels, and watch the game?"

"Oh no," he responded.  "I just wanted to prove I wasn't an alcoholic, that I could stop after one.  I had one and got out of there."

I laughed, "You realize that's not normal, right? Did you have to put limits on how many cups of coffee you drank tonight?  Of course not.  You're not addicted to coffee."

He puffed up a bit, “I'm not addicted to beer,  either.  I can drink all night without a problem. It's not until the end of the night that things get out of control.  It's those last couple of drinks that always do me in.” 

That's like saying, "I jumped of the cliff and and fell the first ninety feet without a problem … it was that last ten feet that did all the damage."  Once we commit to the first few feet, there's no going back.  The first foot of free-fall, the point at which we make the decision to jump, is the one that kills us.  The moment we step off the clifff, we relinquish control to gravity.   Until we realize our inevitable demise lay at the beginning of the journey, rather than the end, we're doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over and over and over and over again, as David did so many times.

So it is with our disease; it's the first drink that wrecks our night, not the last.  The moment we touch the alcohol to our lips, we've just stepped off the cliff.  There's no going back.  The battle is lost.  

In my disease, like David, I was able to “control” my drinking or I was able to “enjoy” my drinking, but I was not able to “control and enjoy” simultaneously.  If you have to think about controling and enjoying while drinking then you’re failing at both.  

Normies don't think about how many drinks they have at a bar.  They don't have to make a deal with themselves to walk away after one or two drinks, they just do it.  Everyone else is an alcoholic.