Eighty percent of success is showing up ~ Woody Allen
Once I was properly introduced to Alcoholics Anonymous and discovered it wasn’t the gruesome death sentence I’d imagined, the ball was in my court and it was now up to me to do something about it. I’m a Fatalist. I believe my whole life was spent moving towards AA. This is where I was supposed to end up.
THE GOOD NEWS
No matter where you live, or where you may travel, you don’t have to look very far to find meetings. Back in the early ’90’s my job required a lot of commuting, and ‘Windshield Time.” I could no longer had the luxury of living my comfortable life of consistency and sameness. The quest for the Almighty Paycheck sometimes requires drastic measures. Suddenly, I had to get up at 4:30AM, hit the deck running, and commute the 89.6 miles to Boston. My usual morning meeting was no longer an option. But just because I was being inconvenienced, my recovery couldn’t come to a grinding halt. I needed to find new meetings and meet new people. It was time to suck it up and step out of my comfort zone. I knew what I needed to do:
The longer I stay away from meetings, the easier it becomes to rationalize blowing them off. And it happens One Day at a Time.
It might not happen today or tomorrow, but it will surely happen: My worst character defects are the first things that emerge.
Fear, Anger, Impatience, Intolerance, Sarcasm…to name a few. Right beneath this thin veneer of sanity there’s a noxious, smoking tar pit of disease patiently biding it’s time, and waiting to emerge. Yes, a charming guy like me is rife with character defects…
Anyway
I didn’t have a GPS, or a smartphone,or any of that stuff we take for granted today. What I had was a battered, dog-eared atlas of, Boston and surrounding environs, that I kept on the seat next to me. Coupled with the local Intergroup phone number, I had all the tools I needed to find meetings. I discovered that seeking out new meetings and meeting new AA’s wasn’t a big pain in the ass after all. It’s a downright adventure. One afternoon I was seeking a new meeting, and I knew I was closing in on it. Suddenly, I spotted a parking lot the next street over. There was a group of people milling around and congregating by the open door of a church. I thought to myself, “Aha! That has got to be it!”.
I parked, walked in, and was confronted by a typical, run-of-the-mill meeting that immediately put me at ease. By the door was a table with a huge coffee urn, and sitting there was an old guy in jeans, flannel shirt, work boots and a Cat Diesel cap. He smiled and stuck out his hand, “Hi, I’m Merle. Welcome! ”
“Hi Merle, I’m Jim, and I’m visiting from the Cape. My Home Group is ‘Sobriety First’ in Osterville” (the Home Group thing is always appreciated, and gives me street cred).
The hall was decked out with slogan banners, the Steps, the Traditions – and all the familiar stuff I’ve grown to love.. I was greeted warmly, chatted with my new friends, got a cup of coffee and took a seat. Although we were strangers to each other, we were all related.
As the meeting started, I felt all the tension of the day melt away. I looked around: The hall wasn’t especially big, but just the same there were a lot of people in attendance. Chairs were carefully positioned on risers to take full advantage of the limited space. It was a cross-section of society; laborers, businessmen, housewives, students, truck drivers…Everyone has a story, and everyone brings something valuable to the table. These were fine people, and it occurred to me that if I lived here, I would get to know each and every one of them, and become friends. I would return to this meeting several times. Eventually, my commuting days ended, and that meeting became a happy memory.
I’ve been to meetings in all kinds of places. A Church hall over here, a school cafeteria over there, a VFW hall, an American Legion. A warehouse bay in St. Cloud. At Disney I attended a Sunday morning meeting in a Double Tree Suites hotel. On cruise ships, just look for, “Friends of Bill.”
When I was about a year-and-a-half sober I heard about a ‘Young People’s Meeting’ the next town over from me. A Young People’s meeting? I was intrigued. Although I only vaguely knew where the meeting was, I resolved to find it and see what it was about. I found a nondescript door off a back alley and walked in. It was obviously a meeting room of some kind. There were some tables and chairs set up, and a woman was making coffee. Her Name was Judy, and she ran the Young People’s meeting. Kids started arriving. Yes, they were kids. Raw teenagers. At twenty-five years of age, compared to these guys, I was a seasoned and crotchety old soaker. It was refreshing since I was always the kid at the meetings I usually attended. There were only about a dozen of us there. It fluctuated every week, but attendance was usually pretty consistent. It was a modest and simple little meeting and a safe place to be for an hour. After several months of being a regular, Judy handed me a clipboard box containing the agenda, the room key, and an envelope of cash for supplies. She was handing off the meeting to me. I ran it for quite a while, and in time, handed the clipboard off to someone else. It was a great lesson:
Even if you’re minding your own business and not looking for responsibility, responsibility will come looking for you.
Plus, it was invaluable experience when it came to starting my own meeting a few years later.
HERE’S THE TAKEAWAY
When, Where, How, Who…it doesn’t matter. The play is the same, but the cast constantly changes. Big halls, small rooms, luxurious venues, squalid holes…It’s all about the people, not the real estate.
I need to show up, because people who don’t go to meetings don’t know happens to people who don’t go to meetings;
If God has given you the gift of Alcoholics Anonymous, don’t slap his hand away. Keep coming back!
As always, Jim’s offerings are so easy to relate to and inspirational.
I look forward to each and every one of them! Keep them coming!