– There are no secrets that time does not reveal ~ Jean Racine
“If you don’t think time in sobriety means anything, just try getting some.” So states an old friend, Bob B. A no-nonsense kind of guy, he enunciates it as “so-briety”.
When I was new, I wasn’t what you’d call a hard liner. You know; Those old soakers with a zinc lined stomach, and a hob nailed liver that had long ceased trying to fight back. To a man, those guys were old and crotchety. I’d always considered myself as young and hip.
After watching a lot of friends die, I lost the cavalier attitude.
There’s no secret formula for staying sober: I always find time for meetings.
Meetings are my lifeline, and my first line of defense. Attendance at meetings keep me connected.
When I go to meetings, I see what happens to people who don’t go to meetings. It’s not rocket surgery.
Way back in the day, when I had only a few months, I developed a resentment against my Home Group.
As a relative newcomer, I lacked discretion, and shared something in an open meeting that would have been better left for my sponsor. Then, as so often happens, I heard it repeated elsewhere. Needless to say, I felt violated.
So I did what us smart folks so typically do…I stopped going to meetings (“I’ll show them!”).
Not long after, I found myself speaking with my stepmother, who had 17 years.
She looked at me and said in an offhanded way, “I hear you’ve stopped going to The Hour Of Power.” I indignantly told her why. She shook her head, looked at me sternly and stated, “When you stop going to meetings, you stop growing.” I took that to heart. If I stop growing, I’m flat-lining.
Hey, I’m a paragon of growth and development, so I sucked it up, swallowed my pride and immediately got myself back on track.
When I see people coming back from a slip, there’s a tragic consistency: They stopped going to meetings.
My commitment to drinking and drugging was absolute, and it dominated my life.
I’m required to treat recovery in Alcoholics Anonymous the same way: This isn’t a temporary hobby, or a whimsical diversion. It’s a lifelong discipline.
The most dangerous times in my life have consistently been when I stopped going to meetings.
It’s an easy thing to do, and it happens one day at a time.
My disease is a predator.
It wants to separate me from the herd, break my spirit, and take me down. It’s cunning, baffling and powerful. And it doesn’t play fair.
During those periods when I start isolating, my worst character defects are the first things to emerge: fear, anger, impatience, intolerance, sarcasm (a whole laundry list)….
My thin veneer of recovery melts away very quickly.
It’s ironic: Those things we go to meetings to get, keep us away from meetings when we get them.
Years ago I briefly had an “Earth-person” friend (more like an acquaintance) named Stuart. He was a retired attorney.
Bitter, cynical and skeptical, Stuart was fairly affluent, and utterly self absorbed…(not that I’m being unfairly critical, or taking anybody’s inventory).
I’d just gotten my 16th anniversary medallion, and was feeling very proud and full of myself.
I made the big mistake of showing it off. He just glanced at it, utterly unimpressed, “How do we know you didn’t lie?”
For those of us who don’t attend AA, no explanation is possible. For those of us who do, no explanation is necessary.
I pretty much just hang with other alchys. We speak the same language, understand each other, and we’re on the same quest. Doctors hang with doctors, realtors hang with realtors, lawyers hang with lawyers…I’m comfortable with people in recovery.
I’m big on comfort.
Anyway, as a hotshot newcomer, I had visions of what was in store for me:
I’d be an old curmudgeon, celebrating New Years Eve in some church basement – chain smoking, drinking coffee and listening to a bunch of boring stiffs. No more champagne, no more beer, no recreational throwing up…
Over the years I morphed into one of those ‘stiffs’, and I’m here to report that my life is anything but boring.
There’s no big secret recipe to long-term sobriety.
I didn’t need to invest in finger cymbals or incense, and I wasn’t required to shave my head or start chanting.
I kept coming back. No matter what.
Days turned into weeks; Weeks lapsed into months; Months became years; Years evolved into decades.
…And here I am.
Over the years I’ve heard it repeated, “The one who got up earliest this morning is the one with the most sober time.”
I respectfully disagree.
A newcomer with a sleep disorder does not have more time than I do.
HERE’S THE TAKEAWAY:
I’ll be the first to admit my imperfection at practicing this program.
However, I have managed to get a few things right. You can tank a few shots, score some birdies and still make par.
When I’m on the road and visiting other meetings (I love visiting meetings.) it’s easy to pick out the old timers.
There’s an intangible something you just can’t fake: A vibe, a street cred, and a wise perspective.
The long and the short of it is this: there’s just no substitute for time and experience. And here’s the good news: You can be an old timer, too.
Just don’t drink and don’t die.