An Intimate Group

I just returned from a trip. It was a trip that can be categorized in a number of fashions – it was a pleasure trip consisting of a lot of golf with some old friends of mine. That is probably the most general way to describe it but certainly not the only way. These are guys I have known, some for over 15 years. Others I had never met before. Some I am very close with. Others, honestly, I probably would not spend a lot of time with.

We are a group that, if not for a shared disease, would not normally mix.

The disease is one that, if not arrested on a daily basis, will kill us. And the way we arrest it is to take action. And one of those actions is what we did for the past five days in Charleston, South Carolina –insisting that we absolutely enjoy life. That may sound odd since I am being purposely vague about our shared malady, so just trust me on this. This is something we had to do.

And we, or speaking for myself, had an awesome time. I played six round of golf in five days. I have the blisters, sunburn and the inability to raise my left arm as proof. I also have the glow of a shared experience. We don’t drink alcohol, which seems to raise eyebrows in others. But one of the ways we don’t drink is to mix with each other. We stay close.

Unfortunately for me, I moved away from Akron 11 years ago (where these guys are from), so the opportunities to stay close to them are limited to these trips. So for me, this was an essential journey.

So we laughed, we ribbed each other, we bet a little, we golfed, we had dinners together, and we shared. Twice we held meetings back at the hotel. In these meetings we each talked about, well, whatever was on our minds. During one of these meetings, John H. Jr. had an illuminating comment. We usually preface our comments with our name & acknowledgement of our malady. Instead John said ‘Do we really need to state our names? We are a pretty intimate group’.

An intimate group.

Indeed we are.

These trips are bittersweet for me. I dearly enjoyed our time together, but I also know that time together is limited, that in a few days I would head south to Orlando while they all headed north to Akron. Sometimes that reality got to me. It did during one of these meetings, as I spontaneously started welling up and crying. It also happened as I said my goodbyes to them when I left to go back to Orlando. I shook each one’s hand, gave each a hug. And then the last one was John. Not the John that said the ‘intimate group’ comment, but John H – my Scarecrow. My closest, dearest friend in recovery. I hugged him…and I couldn’t let go. I told him I loved him. He said he loved me. And I kept hugging him.

Obviously, I had to let go, because John had more golf to play and it is kind of difficult to play golf with someone attached to your chest. I got into my car and started the 400-mile drive back home. Before I even got on the highway I was crying.

I don’t know how much they miss me, and that really doesn’t matter. That’s for them to answer. But I can tell you I miss these guys. A lot. I have similar friends here in Orlando, but it is just not the same. These were the guys that saved my ass time and time again. We are an intimate group, because, despite our apparent differences, we are cut of the same cloth. Nobody knows us like we know each other. It’s not on a physical plane. Not even an emotional one. It is much deeper than that. I cannot explain it, and do not really want to try to. It doesn’t need analysis. It just is.

And I can tell you this –

My calendar is already circled for a trip to Charleston in March 2013.

Know-It-All

I have been doing quite a bit of introspection lately. This is due to a number of reasons, but chief among them is the desire to live the rest of my life happy, joyous and free. And it has become very apparent that one of the main roadblocks to that is how I interact with others.

People piss me off.

That phrase – right there – is the crux of my issue. I am arrogant. I flaunt superiority at the expense of others. I build myself up at the expense of others. This makes them upset at me which makes me upset at them. And when they express it I redouble my efforts to show them how wrong they are. In other words, my initial premise is ‘I am right and you are wrong’, and when you challenge me on that, it becomes a contest that I must win. And when you try to explain that it is no longer about the argument but rather how I am arguing it (arrogantly), I will try to win that debate. In other words, if you say I am being arrogant, I will argue arrogantly that I’m not being arrogant.

This helps explain why I am 53 and alone.

Who wants to be around that? Gawd, if I were dealing with someone like that I would tell such a person to go fuck themselves. Which, by the way, is quite an arrogant statement.

Where did this all start? Well, like most of our personality traits, as a child. Being the youngest, I felt I had to ‘earn’ airtime in our family. And to do so required (so I thought) outrageous behavior or statements. I thought my older brother was very smart and cool so I emulated that behavior. And finally, knowledge was highly valued in our tribe, so I embarked on obtaining two college degrees. Add all this up, and I became cocooned in my own smugness. Arrogant behavior became my subconscious and automatic response to most everything. I worshipped at the altar of ego, and equated happiness with being right. So I reveled in the win of the argument.

Well you know what? Oftentimes I did “win”. And then I was alone.

To the victor goes the isolation.

As I got older, I started to recognize that people didn’t like a know-it-all, but I was unable to put the brakes on my arrogance, so I developed a counter-balancing personality trait. Charm. My thinking was, yes, I have this negative aspect of my personality, but if I couched it in a pleasant, flattering persona, it would at least be tolerated. Take the good with the bad, right? I thought I could still be loved with this construct. Well, I was loved. Briefly. The ‘Charm Offensive’ worked for a while until girlfriends figured out it was a façade that hid my true essence.

But what really is my ‘true essence’? If arrogance was a learned trait in childhood and adolescence, that’s not my true essence. So what is the real me? Gosh, I just don't know. I do know I want to be liked by everyone, so the foundation for my behavior is unrealistic to begin with. So, basing my behavior on a ridiculous premise is a sure recipe for unhappiness.

I now recognize that arrogance and flattery were things I picked up along the way, so if those were stripped away, what’s left? Here’s where I am with that. I am human. Sometimes I am right, sometimes I am wrong, but more importantly, who really cares? I am just another bozo on the bus, trying to get through life like everyone else. And one thing I have learned is, I can’t do this gig alone. I need help. And that phrase right there – I need help – is, I believe, the key to breaking through the icy shell of arrogance that I have constructed. I don’t have the answers.

So here I am, and here’s what I have deduced so far. Arrogance was a learned behavior just like charm was. I piled crap on top of crap hoping the sweet smell of one would offset the acrid smell of the other. 

So if you were to conclude that I am full of crap, grab a prize.

So who am I, really?

My gawd. Stay tuned. As soon as I figure that out I will let you know.

And I don’t mean that arrogantly.

Life By The Smile

We all know how influential music can be to our psyche. You hear a song and you are instantly transported to another place in time. For me, if I hear Gerry Rafferty doing Baker Street, it’s the summer of 1978 and I am a 19-year old jammin’ around Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio in my black Camaro Z-28. If I hear Don Henley’s Boys of Summer, it’s 1986 and I’m drinking beer at Double Roads in Juno Beach, Florida, cliff jumping with my bud Gary. Kid Rock’s Bawitdaba is summer of 2000, and I am walking hand in hand with Carrie, my girlfriend at the time.

Powerful stuff, music. It time-stamps our memory. A System Restore checkpoint if you will.

Beyond evoking pleasant memories, every now and then a song comes out with a phrase that makes you back the tape (or cd or iphone) up to listen to again. When I hear such phrases, I tend to wear them for a while - Meet the new boss, same as the old boss…You cross a lawyer with the Godfather you get an offer you can’t understand (that was Don Henley, Gimme What You Got, from 1986 btw)…Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose…

These aren’t time machine-variety memories, these are more credos we adopt, so they differ from that first set of examples I gave.

Then there are lyrics that make you stop, think and go, FUCK-IN-A YES!!! Transcendental thoughts or perhaps introductions to new way of looking at things. If I dare say, lyrics that make you intuitively handle situations that used to baffle. Potentially life-changing stuff. Well, in this category, I place the following lyric:

“I used to be disgusted. Now I try to be amused.”

This is from Red Shoes, by Elvis Costello, circa 1978. I first heard that when I was 19, and the resonance of it escaped me at the time, mainly because I lacked the perspective needed to truly grasp its depth. Or maybe because I was smoking a lot of pot. Whatever. Anyway, the other day I came across a Youtube clip of Elvis doing Red Shoes in concert when he sang that lyric, and I just froze. Then I chuckled.

See, since 1978, when I first heard that to now, I have been, let’s just say, around the block a few times. I have had enough life experiences - and been disgusted enough times - to recognize the inherent, timeless wisdom of that phrase. I lived most of my adult life disgusted. This person would tick me off or that situation. And I rebelled. I would let the world know - THIS ISN’T FAIR.

Well, there was my first lesson. Nothing is fair. Life is not designed with fairness in mind. The cosmos are not programmed to dole out fairness to Jerry, or anyone else. We get what we get. So the key, as I have found out, is how to deal with that. And one of the options is to be disgusted. Thing is, that does not change anything, except my attitude. It makes it worse. And as a result of that, I tend to do bad things to myself, let alone piss off everyone around me.

There had to be a better way.

Well, there is. And I will not go into the details of what that better way is, as it would send this story on another tangent. What I will say is I have taken Elvis’s advice. I now try to be amused.

The beauty of this is multifaceted. One, I am now smiling. Two, I am laughing at this world and all its dysfunction. Three, I am not responsible for any of it, only my side of the street, so I basically let the dervishes whirl. You all are now here for my entertainment, not my judgment. Now, that may not be the most spiritual way of looking at things, but it beats getting pissed off about it.

So the world will spin. To all the disease, hatred, wars, famine, clueless politicians, dopey people texting while driving, homeless people having their dignity robbed, crack babies, bosses with their heads jammed up their sphincters, Casey Anthony, Casey Anthony protesters, Casey Anthony’s attorneys, donkey poker players catching inside straights with 4-7 in the hole, here’s my request:

Amuse me.

You Get What You Get

I was sitting here doing some amusing musing about the great complexities of life. You know, why are we here, how come bad things happen to good people, why haven’t the Browns ever made it to a Super Bowl…that kind of stuff. A couple weeks back I wrote about the strange twists and turns that a golf ball makes and how perfect strategy can avail you nothing while horrible shots can sometimes turn out good. The kinds of things that make many folks go nuckin futz trying to figure out.

For example, by all accounts Casey Anthony killed her kid, yet was found not guilty. Meanwhile, some poor soul who was just minding their business walking down the street gets blindsided by a bus. For those agnostically-inclined, this seems to be proof that there is no God. For the more pious, they would say that He works ‘in mysterious ways’.

I don’t think either is the case.

I don’t believe in justice. And the reason I don’t is that is a subjective term that varies in definition from individual to individual. My definition of justice may make you vomit, and vice versa. Further, using the examples from the last paragraph, the agnostic may think the only place ‘justice’ can be administered is in the courtroom since there is no supreme being, whereas the religious folks would say that the only one that can truly mete justice out is the One we meet upon vacating this earth. So, as it applies to Casey Anthony, the agnostic may say ‘she beat the system but karma will get her’ and the righteous may say ‘God will judge her.’ Justice is subjective and cannot be agreed upon. And further, on a personal level, it's not even something I desire.

My point of this isn’t to elicit opinions on Casey Anthony. I pretty much know what they are anyway. It is to point out the vagaries of perception in individuals, and further, my journey in trying to find what I truly believe is fairness. Well, here’s what I have concluded:

Nothing is fair, but everything is fair. Confused? I will elaborate.

Each person’s life is made up of thousands of incidents, some good some not so good. And if you were to take each instance on its own merit, rarely do we get what we deserve. I break the speed limit damn near every time I drive, yet I still have my driver’s license. On the flip side I treat people with respect and fairness, yet I am still single and alone. Now - take that one individual with their thousands of instances and multiply it by the 4 billion people on this globe and you have trillions of incidents. And if you take the sum of all these incidents and were to determine if fairness won the day, you would have to say yes. In other words, on a macro level it’s all good. On the individual incident level, nothing is fair. We don’t get what we deserve; we don’t get what we want.

We get what we get.

So I am sure some of you are saying ‘How Zen of you, Jer’. But the reason I have come to this conclusion is to adequately define, to my level of satisfaction, why apparently good people get screwed over while apparently bad people go through life unfettered by either incarceration or safes falling on their heads. Because that’s just how it is. I believe in God, but my definition of Him isn’t as a scorekeeper or an entity making sure everything is doled out fairly on a person-by-person level. I just think the randomness of our self will being imparted into the realm of everyone else’s self will creates conflict. And I cannot control traffic, weather, or how my golf ball bounces. I can just prepare the best I can, and execute to the best of my ability. I will either get what I deserve or I won’t.

And I am good with that. Because, honestly, what else can we do, outside of cursing God or picketing the Orange County Courthouse? So fine - be your own judge on what is fair, and feel free to be outraged when that paradigm is besmirched. I just want to be happy. So while you’re busy being pissed off, I’ll be on the golf course slapping drives towards water hazards that hit a rock and bound into the middle of the fairway, and hitting putts destined to go into the center of the hole only to be knocked off line by a spike mark. And I will smile, knowing that there’s no cosmic force out there trying to get me or doling out fairness to me…no unseen deity making sure I am getting what I deserve.

Just getting what I get.

Clarity and Closure

I recall when I first got sober in 1996. I was maybe 2 months in at the time & I had a dull shuffle mien and a blank expression on my face. An old-timer came up to me and said, “The good news is, you’ll get your emotions back. The bad news is…you’ll get your emotions back.”

He was right. Old-timers in sobriety usually are.

This time around, I am sitting here with 3 ½ months since my last drink. Overall, I feel great. This is the fourth day of an extended long weekend and so far I have played golf twice, went to a movie, got my car fixed, bought a new computer, did a fantasy football draft, played cards, slept in, took naps. And hit 3 meetings (so far). Very relaxing.  

My mind is clearing well too. Hell, just look at the number of stories I’ve posted to this blog since late May. Sixteen and counting. My imagination’s fired and streams of thought are turning into torrential floods. Sometimes I cannot process things quickly enough. At work I’ve turned into a more lucid, ‘with it’ worker, able to think well on my feet. Mentally, it’s all good.

But the emotions. Oh my.

There’s a guy in the rooms with 23 years sober named Al. Every time he speaks he says the same phrase – “This is an emotion-driven disease!” The first few times I heard that I nodded semi-knowingly, since the brain was still foggy. Now when I hear it I just laugh. At myself. Because I now see how my emotions dictated my actions. If I felt a certain way, I acted on that feeling. Which, hey, is great if you’re with a partner that likes spontaneity, but as a general rule of thumb does not lend itself to long-term contentment or serenity. How many times, when asked why you did something did you answer, “I don’t know”…?

The real answer is, “Because my emotional state at the time made the decision.”

And why is this so bad? Well, for so-called normal people, it isn’t, since they more or less have control of their emotional state. They recognize irrational fear as a make-believe boogeyman that doesn’t need acknowledged…let alone acted upon. They don't process a look from a person as 'That bitch hates me'. They don't equate getting cut off in traffic as a reason to get shitfaced. That’s not the case with people in active addiction or early recovery. We feel it, we act on it. Subconsciously and automatically. And much like firing a shotgun blindfolded, we sometimes, by pure luck, hit the intended target. But much more likely, we haphazardly miss and make a mess in the process.

This is why there is a Ninth Step. To right those wrongs we committed by the scatter-shot approach we lived our lives, inflicting the damage on the innocent bystanders that had only the misfortune of being in our way. To make these amends, we need, first of all, clarity of mind. Second, we need to be spiritually fit – the amend is about our wrongs, not the other person’s, and if we are not fit spiritually, such an action can turn into an argument. Or worse. And lastly, it requires some modicum of control, or at the very least, acknowledgement, of our emotional state.

I am in the process of righting these wrongs. The family was pretty easy – they know me & I know them, and on my trip last month to Ohio I was able to do so. Siblings that wanted to hang me by my nuts four months ago I can now have normal relationships with again. People I’ve owed money have been repaid. Those were the easy ones.

But then there are the tougher ones. And one in particular. The ex-girlfriend. I have tried but she is unwilling to accept it. And that is okay – I hurt her and she still has the scars.

And this is exactly where my emotional state is critical. Do I engage in ‘old behavior’, which consists of demanding she listen to me, to see what am I trying to do…or do I just accept this is how she is and move on? The answer, to everyone not with an addictive mind, is obvious. To people like me, it takes some processing to get there. It takes reliance on the advice of a sponsor, a lot of meetings. It essentially takes a re-wiring of my thinking. And this is what I eventually conclude through this process - 

I cleared my side of the street. Time to move on. 

And you know what? It hurts. It hurts that this person, who so loved me, wants little to do with me now.

But that’s what happens when you fire a shotgun blindfolded.

Of Doors And Windows

I know my blog does not have a ton of readers. But notwithstanding, I try to stay away from intimate details of my life for fear of some learning more about me than I wish. However, I am in an expansive mood. A good mood. As my sponsor says, enjoy it while it lasts.

Yes. My sponsor.

I made a decision a couple of months back to re-commit myself to a 12-step program of recovery. Nothing catastrophic caused this decision (thankfully), I was just seeing my life unfolding in a way I did not like. So I felt changes were in order. I have some experience in these programs, and I recalled that when I was active in them my life seemed more enjoyable. So deductive reasoning said well gosh Jer, why don’t you do that again?

To set the table, I was engaging in some behavior that would not result in good ends (vagueness intentional). I was also going through a breakup with my now ex-girlfriend that was causing some emotional pain, which I was trying to dull with alcohol. The net result was I was a walking zombie - emotionally and physically compromised. And spiritually bereft.

So changes were in order.

There is a saying - When God closes a door He opens a window. I can sit here and tell you this is an utter and total fact. Definitely in my case, as certain ‘doors’ of my life closed, hopefully for good. And others have opened. And now I will tell you about that.

I have a new, dear friend. We both walked into the rooms the same day. She left her life in another Florida town where alcohol compromised her designs of a happy life. She had it all planned out - a career job, a great relationship. Marriage, a home by the sea, children awaited her. In short time she lost her job and found herself shepherded by her parents back here in Orlando. When I met her she was depressed, and rightfully so. Her plans got mulched, or at the very least, put on hold. Her future seemed uncertain and frightening to her.

Well, so did mine. So we had that, among other things, in common.

We now attend meetings together. We sit together. We talk. And I am in the enviable position of watching someone besides myself, grow. She smiles a lot now, and it is a beautiful smile. She talks less about what she has lost and more about what life has in store for her. She has, just like me, seen God close a door and open a window.

A wonderful aspect of recovery is, over time, we concern ourselves less with our own little grand designs and become more interested in others. We become less selfish. And through this transformation, we become happy, because we are happy for others. So I am happy for me, but more importantly, I am happy for her.

A couple months back I wrote a story entitled 'Let's Talk About Me', which was, in retrospect, me on a self-pity kick. I lamented about how I could not make relationships work. Well now I am starting to understand why. And it is with this newfound perspective coupled with an un-fogged mind, that I find myself often tearing up. Tears of gratitude. Good tears. And it is through this new, gratitude tears-induced prism, that I can see the wonderful things that await me and others.

I am enjoying the moment. But even more cool than that, I can't wait until tomorrow.