Sobriety First

I may not be where I want to be, but thank God I’m not where I used to be. ~ Joyce Meyer

I don’t believe in luck, and I’m suspicious of coincidence.  I believe in showing up and doing the work, accepting inconvenience, discomfort, and pain.  I believe that no matter how much it hurts now, someday you’ll look back and realize your struggle changed your life for the better. 

When I finally relented and agreed to attend my first meeting, I had no idea what I was in for.  I didn’t know there was a whole society of people that understood the way I felt.  And I had no idea that up until now, my life had been spent inexorably moving towards Alcoholics Anonymous.   

The fact that I felt like a rudderless ship, and nothing more than an interloper in my own life, was finally addressed.  These people understood.  These were my people.  And, like me, they dulled the ache anyway they could.  By the end of that meeting, I realized AA had been hiding in plain sight all along.  There is nothing more powerful than being with people who understand.  AA will ruin your drinking (it sure as hell ruined mine).  

Back during the illustrious PAA (Pre-Alcoholics Anonymous) stage of my life, when I found myself in party situations, getting hammered was my main objective.  I was thinking about the first (and some of the more notable) employee parties I attended in sobriety.  One of the first big events occurred when I was five or six months sober. 

It was peak season, and this summer party took place at the bosses’ palatial, lakefront residence.  This event stands out because I was there to do some face-time, socialize, and have a good time, rather than just focus on getting wasted, which was always my modus operandi.   

It’s amazing what you notice when you’re not preoccupied with drinking and getting trashed.

The weather was perfect when I pulled up to the residence.  It was easy to find, as the big, circular driveway was full of cars, and the overflow went way up the street in this tasteful and exclusive neighborhood.  I imagine the neighbors were less than thrilled.  The main action was at the rear of the gracious home; a spacious deck overlooked the manicured backyard, which abutted the lake.  There was a live band playing classic rock standards, people milling about, and an open bar.  Figures. Just when I’m not drinking, there’s free booze.   

Believe me, it didn’t go to waste: 

As the afternoon progressed, people became drunker, louder, and wilder…the drunker they got, the more people were thrown into the lake.  Normally staid and serious folks morphed into feral, laughing, shrieking, and soaking wet revelers. 

My manager, Frank, usually a sedate and efficient power of example, was reclining in a lawn chair, cradling a beer, loudly singing along with the music…with his own filthy lyrics that didn’t rhyme. 

Gracie, a matronly and reserved older woman was staggering out of the lake, looking like a drowned rat and laughing hysterically.  She saw me, came over, got point-blank in my face, and gleefully proclaimed, “I’m shitfaced!” 

LeeAnne, an attractive and appealing younger girl was running around and humping anyone’s leg who made eye contact. 

Julie, a hardworking woman, always bragged about her son.  I finally got a chance to meet this wonderful kid, a sulky teen with acne who disrespected his mom.  It was something I didn’t need to see, and I felt embarrassed for Jules. She deserved better.

If I’d been merrily imbibing along with everyone else, I’d no doubt have been oblivious to what was going on.  However, when you’re not on the same mission, watching other people get trashed and act like morons tends to be boring. I made several little trips to the other side of the house to get away from it and have a smoke in the driveway. In time, after a little too much sensory overload, I decided I’d been social long enough and made a discreet exit. 

For a change, I enjoyed a relaxing drive home without fixating on my rearview mirror, fearfully looking for the police.  

The following Monday, there were a lot of sheepish people at work.                                                                                                                 

For once, I had nothing to regret or be ashamed of. 

 HERE’S THE TAKEAWAY: 

Let me be clear:  

I am not judging, bashing, or making fun of my coworkers.  These were decent, hardworking folks blowing off steam, and I am in no position to criticize. Compared to myself and the knuckleheads I partied with, they were lightweight amateurs. 

It always cracks me up when someone refers to their alcoholism as “My drinking career.”  Like there’s a 401(k) or a dental plan involved.  That’s how we alkies drink.

As I look back at this party and all those other post-sobriety social events, I never felt uncomfortable or deprived.  In and of itself, that’s pretty miraculous. 

Before I got sober, I could never relax and just be content with where I was.  In the back of my mind there was the nagging idea that somewhere, someplace, someone was getting wasted – and I wanted to be a part of it…a prime example of my insanity in action. 

Once upon a time, I was leery of people who didn’t drink.  Now, those are the people I hang out with.  Over the years, I’ve known many people with long-term sobriety who, for one reason or another, ceased coming to AA.  I can’t do that.  I need to be around my people, and I need to be a part of the process.

I have an obligation to give back what was so lovingly given to me.  These are my people, this is my program, and this is my life.  It’s where I belong.