It’s not a recognized milestone of course. I just happen to like the number, and considering that in the early part of this blog, in it’s first incarnation as methedup, which is republished here, I truly was counting days so I thought I’d just revisit the practice.
There is a place in the book that says the people close to us often recognize the growth before we do. In other places it says variously “cessation of drinking is but the first step away from a highly strained, abnormal condition,” “we feel a man is unthinking when he says that sobriety is enough” and “by this time sanity will have returned.” These are, in my mind, among the most important reasons to practice 12 step recovery. Any program of recovery which simply accomplishes abstinence is lacking something essential.
I mentioned before that I have two cousins who have also battled addiction. One of them practices 12 step recovery and one of them is simply abstinent. I don’t know if the difference between them can be directly attributable to their different methods of recovery but I know that the contrast between them is sharp and my grandmother’s funeral really brought that contrast to my attention.
My first cousin arrived the day before the funeral with his two teenage sons in tow having driven several hundred miles. He was very ‘present’, not only with his mother, but with each member of our family. When he asked me how I am I knew he had genuine interest. When we talked about going back to work after a long period of addiction he shared real experience and keenly observed that many of the jobs we can get are jobs working with people that we have no business being around; exactly my experience. He assured me, from his own experience, that it gets better.
My other cousin, the one who is simply abstinent, had farther to travel but was traveling by air. When his brother went to the airport to pick him up his luggage was there but he wasn’t. His flight had been delayed. He chose to leave the airport to go have dinner. He wasn’t at the airport when his flight departed. He changed ticket and boarded a flight which would get him to a connecting flight in Denver. He missed his connection in Denver, saying that the airline changed the gate the flight was leaving from without announcing it and that the flight actually left early. There wasn’t another flight to Idaho Falls till the following day but that flight would not get him to Idaho Falls in time. After the funeral service in Idaho Falls his brother went to the airport to pick him up while the rest of the family drove 120 miles to Preston for a second memorial service and internment. By significantly exceeding the speed limit he arrived in time for the second service dressed in jeans and a t-shirt he’d been wearing for two days. He’s “still doin’ the music thing, promoting” and wants to open a club or a bar. He was great with the kids but I never really saw him engage with the adults.
Obligation was a factor in my attendance at grandma’s funeral but my real motivation for being there was to be there for and with my dad and despite the sorrow of the occasion, or perhaps because of it, the time with him was the most intimate, open time we’ve ever spent together. We talked about the contrast between my cousins and he shared his observations about my recovery. In the second appendix, “Spiritual Experience”, it says, “Quite often friends of the newcomer are aware of the difference long before he is himself.” My dad shared with me that this visit was the first time we’ve seen each other that he did not detect any flaws in my way of thinking. He said there were no ideas I shared with him that he disagreed with. He did not think any of my recent experience or plans for my future strange.
Perhaps it is because I tend to be hard on myself that I still see the flaws in my character more than I see the progress. I do see that I am recovering, though. At this point being abstinent without this thing we call recovery seems as strange to me claiming comfort, support and protection by painting shoes on your feet.
More and more I’m beginning to think that if one gets sober and stays sober it is entirely by happenstance; that no amount of effort, no profound experience, no treatment program, no great desire, no necessity, has the power to get and keep any of us sober. And I certainly don’t have the power to produce sobriety on my own. So if I can’t get sober because I want it bad enough, need it bad enough, have worked hard enough for it, have paid enough for it, etc., then every day that I happen to stay sober must be an anomaly. A fluke.
Remember these? High school gym shorts from the 1980′s. Wow. At the time I thought they were pretty hot, at least on certain guys. You had to have pretty great legs to pul[ this look off, but there were always a couple of guys in gym class who fit the bill. I think the poly-knit ones we had in high school were actually a bit tighter, perhaps a bit shorter which was only made possible because the slits up the side were not quite as high. The closet of my youth was filled with the hope of a ‘costume failure’.
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