STICK WITH THE HERD

When I was a kid back in the ’60’s, Sunday nights at our house were special. It was soup and sandwich night, and we were allowed to eat in front of the television. Usually, we had supper at the kitchen table, where there were no distractions. Back then on Sunday night we always watched the same thing. There weren’t a whole lot of kid-safe choices: There was Disney, and Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom…we loved those.  It was pretty tame stuff…usually.

There was this one episode of Wild Kingdom that stands out in my mind.  In this segment they featured a family of wart hogs or wildebeests (or some damn thing) in the Serengeti. There was one playful little calf romping around, nipping at some of the adults, and just being a good-natured nuisance.

Suddenly, the herd goes on the move in search of the next watering hole.

Our little fella isn’t so playful any more. It’s all he can do to keep up. It takes four of his steps to one adult step. The herd isn’t slowing down to accommodate him, and he’s desperately struggling to keep up. Unbeknownst to our little family there’s a nearby pride of lions in search of lunch, and the tasty-looking straggler is easy prey.  In time the inevitable comes to pass, and the little guy falls back too far. The lions pounce.

The poor guy lets out a panicked yelp right before they take him down, rip out his throat, and start tearing him apart. After the lions have had their fill, a pack of hyenas move in for the vittles. Snarling and snapping at each other with blood-coated snouts.  Finally, after the hyenas have lost interest, a flock of vultures swoop in to pick over the carcass. A mere half hour ago he was a cute little calf. Now he’s vulture droppings. I doubt he was gratified to know very little went to waste.

My traumatized seven-year-old mind was struggling to process this stuff. I was used to Speed Racer, I Love Lucy and Lost in Space.

The eldest of us three kids was my sister Lisa, who was four years older.  In an effort to sound grown up and worldly, she proclaimed, “That’s the ‘Circle of Life’. We read about that in class.”

‘Circle of life’, my ass.  It was horrific.

My father, who was reclining on the couch issued his edict,  “I don’t feel bad about it at all. He screwed around and didn’t pay attention.”

Then he pointedly looked at me, “And that’s what happens when you get a bad report card.”

After that gruesome segment, it was time for a welcomed commercial break. It segued into Marlin Perkins familiar sing-songy voice-over, to plug the show’s sponsor, “Too bad our hapless little fellow lost the security of the herd. But you can enjoy the security of a reasonably priced policy from Mutual of Omaha.” “Mutual of Omaha, the People who Pay!”

I didn’t quite grasp who got paid, or why they got paid, or how much they got paid..but it seemed like a nice idea. Someone somewhere was getting some dough.

Then my mother came in, “Who would like some nice egg salad sandwiches?”

I loved her egg salad, and normally I’d have been all over that like trailer trash on Velveeta.  But the whole ‘Circle of Life’ thing was still freaking me out. I was no longer that enthusiastic about supper..

You’re probably wondering where I’m going with this

Well, I’ll tell you:

Alcoholism is a predator.

It will separate you from the herd, break your spirit, and take you down. (pretty clever metaphor, eh?) I’ve seen it happen over and over again: Someone stops going to meetings for whatever excuse…or whatever seemingly valid reason.

 Some half-assed, half-baked resentment. A new schedule. A new job. The quest for the almighty buck (“I’m so freakin’ important!”)…whatever. Alcoholism doesn’t play fair, and t’ll do anything to get you alone. You stop going to meetings because you sell yourself a bill of goods: 

“That jerk always sits in that spot, says the same thing, talks too long, and pisses me off.”  “That snooty clique thinks they’re better than everyone else. They piss me off.”  “Why bother? No one notices what I do. Nobody cares. I’m going to die alone and lonely and thirty pounds overweight and no one’s ever going to love me so I may as well just stay home and eat Mallomars.”

The longer you stay away from meetings, the easier it becomes to stay away . Wanna know how you stop going to meetings? One Day at a Time.  And just when your resolve is weakest, it pounces.The opportunity for a drink or drug will land in your lap. It’s very easy to grow complacent, resentful, and cocky.  Over the years I’ve had friends who (for whatever inexplicable reason) placed their recovery on a back burner. I get it. I’m not exempt. If I was a superhero, my special power would be:

Talking myself out of doing things that are good for me, and Talking myself into doing things that are bad for me.  All I need is a cape.

What alcoholics have isn’t just a friendly little pathology…like some guy roller skating down main street clad only in red polka dot boxer shorts and a pinwheel hat, carrying an Uzi, laughing maniacally and squeezing off short bursts at anything that moves.

The brand of insanity that accompanies alcoholism is much more insidious.  To the uninitiated, this is how it works – Just the idea of drinking produces thoughts we totally buy into…like:

“Things weren’t really all that bad”, 

“I got away with it before, and I’ll get away with it again”, 

“I can always control it.

“I’m a little smarter than everyone else.” 

Be advised: 

Underneath my thin veneer of recovery, there’s a black, noxious, smoking, toxic, bubbling tar pit of disease just waiting to get out.  It’s very patient…it’s always there.

As an alcoholic, I have firsthand experience.

 

HERE’S THE TAKEAWAY:

I’ve noticed something interesting.  It might not happen tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, but sure as hell, it’ll happen: When I stop going to meetings, my worst character defects are the first things that emerge.

*There are certain times in my life that I rank as the most dangerous and perilous*

– It wasn’t when I was working on an aircraft carrier flight deck,

• It wasn’t when I took skydiving classes,

• And it wasn’t when I was on the All American Acapulco Cliff Diving Team.

Give me a break.   

I never did any of that stuff.

My life isn’t that sexy.

The most dangerous periods in my life have been when I,(for whatever dumbass reason) stopped attending meetings. In time, my insanity creeps out, and instead of looking to do the right thing, I become more interested in seeing what I can get away with.

Constant vigilance, staying active, making a contribution,  and being with my network of friends is what saves the day.  

This isn’t rocket surgery.

In the end, whatever may happen, if attendance falters, it’s all about getting back.

If I don’t conscientiously stay in the middle of the herd,   I’ll be picked off and  meet some vile demise. I’m not making this stuff up. I’ve seen it happen too many times.

 

And I haven’t come this far just to wind up as vulture droppings.