– Friends are God’s way of apologizing for your family. ~ Wayne Dyer
There’s no doubt about it: Alcoholics Anonymous is the best-known fellowship that’s hiding in plain sight….even though there’s nothing especially secret about it.
I spent a long time avoiding AA like the plague. If I had any idea of how much fun there was to be had, I’d have stopped wasting all that time. I had this bizarre (and totally misplaced) concern that a life with any kind of fun would be over.
If Julius Caesar needed AA, he’d have probably said something like,
“Veni, Obtentus sum, mansi.”
“I came, I listened, I stayed.”
One of the classic traits of the practicing alcoholic is the overwhelming fixation to hoard and protect our supply. Being paranoid and OCD is a lot of work.
I was always looking several days out in advance, and worried about having enough to keep me as wasted as I needed to be. It took precedence over everything else.
I remember thinking that something wasn’t going to be any fun if I couldn’t catch a buzz beforehand. And here’s something else I didn’t take into account: I didn’t have any friends. Not really. Sounds lonely and lame, but it’s pretty damn accurate. What I had was: Drinking & Drugging Associates. Losers who were as dedicated to staying wasted as I was. They could keep up without keeling over, and see nothing repulsive, or abnormal about it.
Water seeks its own level.
Remove the alcohol and drugs, and the common bond was gone, there was nothing left to discuss. I don’t care what type of meetings you attend, how much time in recovery you may have, or where you may be, it’s the same all over: You’ll find little clubs within the club.
Cliques of friends who stick together, have fun, and do recovery (and extracurricular stuff) as a small group.
From 1990 to 1998, when I was living on Cape Cod, I hung out with a tight-knit group of friends. I had more fun and laughs with those guys than any gang of knuckleheads I ever drank with. There was Robert, Richard, Dennis, Mike…and me. Mike was the last to enter the fold.
I was working at a marketing company, and he happened to be my boss. His truck died, and he was in the process of getting something new. Since he lived fairly nearby, he’d hitch a ride to work and we started to get to know each other. When he discovered I was in AA, he asked to go to a meeting. As it turned out, he was of the temperament (a mixture of insanity, humor and fearlessness) to join the posse. The other guys liked him immediately.
Anyway:
Within a short radius of my apartment, there were several miniature golf courses (touted as “adventure” golf). A call to action would hit the airwaves:
“Pirate’s Cove. Seven O’clock. Be there!”
Keep in mind, this was peak season: Cape Cod in the summer, with all kinds of tourists underfoot. Families from Ohio or Wisconsin (or some damn place), using the anemic, puny plastic putters supplied by the establishment…enjoying an innocent little game. Suddenly, a group of five grown men with their own putters show up. Good-naturedly trash talking each other and laughing our fool asses off. It was our brand of full-contact miniature golf.
To make things interesting, we’d have a pot going: A buck a stroke.
If there was a tie, it carried over to the next hole. The pot would quickly swell to over a hundred bucks. We’d be pulling off some pretty spectacular shots in our quest for all that dough.
On a typical round, Mike sank a very impressive hole-in-one, thus ensuring his win of the $80 pot. He started strutting around like Mick Jagger, and taunting us, “That’s the one! In your face! Sucks to be you!”
Unfortunately, his victory was short lived.
Without a word, Robert stepped up, followed suit, and effortlessly knocked in an impossible shot, thus snatching certain victory from Mike, “Put that in your pipe and smoke it.”
Mike stopped short and looked at Robert incredulously. He had the expression of a kid who’s new toy just got stepped on.
“You maggot! I can’t believe you did that!” He turned to the rest of us, who were standing off to the side, leaning on our putters, “Did you see that?!”
We were unimpressed, “Don’t take it personal, he pulls that crap on everyone. Stop whining.”
In time, we stopped with the money thing because Dennis had to attend Gamblers Anonymous meetings.
Robert, the most competitive of the bunch, would have a running commentary going on, ala Pat Summerall. He was pretty good at it, and it was funny as hell.
When someone was getting ready to take a shot, he’d start in quietly like a sports reporter:
“A tense hush has settled over the gallery. The challenger is eyeing his shot. Ladies and gentlemen, this doesn’t look good for such a mediocre player….stick a fork in him, I think he’s done.”
He’d refer to himself as, “The Kid.” When he approached a difficult shot, he’d put his ball cap on backwards and proclaim, “RALLY CAP!” If he sunk the shot, he’d throw his arms up and announce, “ Thank you, fans! The Kid’s still in the hunt!” What made it especially funny was that he was usually reserved. It was fun to watch this different side of my friend.
That was a long time ago.
I can’t play mini golf anymore. Without those guys, it’s just not the same.I’ve been ruined. We did anything for a change of scenery, and an opportunity to get out of the house.
Bowling, games at Fenway, Celtics games, Spooky World, karaoke...whatever. We’d drive a couple hours just for a decent Chicken Parm. The thing was, there was never a drink or drug involved.
In time, we all went our separate ways, and scattered to the winds: I moved to Florida, Mike went to Colorado, Robert & Richard have since passed, and Dennis just kind of fell off the grid…
People move in and out of our lives like busboys in a restaurant.
Recognize, appreciate, and treasure the things that matter…when you have them.
Everything is temporary.
Except recovery.
That’s forever.
HERE’S THE TAKEAWAY:
Alcoholics love to laugh, and we absolutely insist on having fun.
If you’re lonely in AA, make it a point to be available. Loosen up, reach out, and give the people around you a chance. You’ll be surprised at what you find. After all, if it’s not fun, what’s the point?
The end of the twelfth step in the 12& 12 says it best:
“Understanding is the key to right principles and attitudes, and right action is the key to good living; therefore the joy of good living is the theme of A.A.’s Twelfth Step. With each passing day of our lives, may every one of us sense more deeply the inner meaning of A.A.’s simple prayer:
God grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, Courage to change the things we can,
And wisdom to know the difference.”
–CALL TO ACTION–
Does any of this ring a bell? If so, please share about it, and how it’s affected your recovery.
WHAT YOU THINK MATTERS.
