Recently, I've begun attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings near my home. This is difficult for me and a fair number of others to admit. But to anyone motivated to let go of the alcohol habit, I recommend looking into A.A.
I assure you, any initial shame one might feel quickly dissipates as one sits with a surprising variety of others. Gathered together are various ages, professions, and social and economic circumstances. Each person's history with alcohol is unique in its own way, yet it displays a commonality with others, including myself.
As an aside to readers, a friend of mine just completed a biography of a Catholic Priest/Zen Buddhist Master with whom we were both acquainted.
The book taught me about the rigorous training of a Catholic seminary priest and the equally rigorous matriculation of a certified Zen Master. As well, I learned that there are alcoholics in both vocations. The book taught me that the disorder is common enough in the priesthood that his Catholic Order maintains a treatment facility. Our priest resided for a time twice therein.
Indeed, while in the confessional and interactions with Zen students, this gentleman was magnificent in both roles, yet he struggled with alcoholism his whole adult life.
For me, A.A. gatherings resemble Quaker meetings. During a gathering, some may speak their feelings at the moment, some may tell their story, and some, like myself, sit silently and listen. That's alright. No one is ever compelled to speak.
I suspect the highest hurdle for me and most participants is to admit and accept our disease. We cannot and will never consume alcohol "normally." Yes, it's a disease. Yes, that's easy to support medically. So, the first of A.A.'s 12 steps is acknowledging and accepting powerlessness over our addiction[s]. Aye, plural. So often, the alcoholic indulges in companion obsessions.
You can look up the rest of the steps. But, I warn you that step 2 relies on a higher power. However, A.A. emphasizes "God as YOU understand THAT spiritual notion. In the meetings I attend, it's routine to recite the Serenity Prayer:
"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can,
and wisdom to know the difference." [1]
I choose to quietly recite a verse from my own spiritual tradition. Silence works, too.
So relax. A.A. is "anonymous," first name only. The atmosphere is non-partisan, not specifically religious. Be assured this is no zealous revival meeting to convert the "heathen!" On the contrary, be confident that A.A. accepts all. The only "Amen" moments one experiences are the tradition of introducing oneself: "Hi, I'm (your first name here) an alcoholic." That's part of step 1. The others will vocally affirm their support. End of "sales pitch!" Indeed, A.A. cautions strongly against evangelizing the program.
At gatherings, I rarely speak. My reasons are simple:
First, I am naturally quiet. I am comfortable sitting silently, listening, and observing.
Second, I speak a lot publically as a part of my profession. But, like many stage performers, I prefer to remain hushed off-stage, out of the limelight.
And finally, I fear that in that room, I might appear self-righteous, arrogant, or display, using a word I heard in an A.A. discussion, "big shot-ism!"
Well, I'm not any of those. I am an alcoholic, no more or less than the others. That said, I'll share my story. But first, a little side trip.
Recently, my son enlisted in the United States Army. He's not a fresh-faced eighteen-year-old. No, my son approached thirty, so his decision was mature and, one hopes, well thought out.
Crazy enough to sign on to the infantry; nuttier, he aspired to be an Army commando. But, of course, I'm kidding. I'm proud of him. But you know the cliche. These folks crawl through the mud on their bellies, bayonets in their teeth, first in, last out. It's real "Rambo" stuff! I can't help feeling nervous in this unstable world.
Early in his training, my son asked me about my military service. He was raised at a distance from me. So, he didn't know that he continues a tradition of military service short- and long-term on my side of the family.
His great-grandfather was a U.S. Army lieutenant in World War I, his great-uncle was a paratrooper in the Korean Conflict, and his other great-uncle retired as a colonel from the U.S. Air Force. His grandfather, my father, served in the U.S. Air Force, active and reserve, for more than thirty years.
I was eighteen when I enlisted in the U.S. Army for four years. It was toward the end of the Vietnam Conflict and the Cold War.
I qualified for a top security clearance. Initially, I was stationed in a tiny farming village about six miles from the east-German border, monitoring tactical communications of Russian and Polish tank divisions. Elements of these armored forces had participated in crushing the freedom movement of the Prague Spring of 1968, just a couple of years before. Soviet reconnaissance MiG-21s buzzed every few days. Tedious as it was, I took my job seriously.
Later, I was transferred to a larger intelligence installation in a magnificent Roman city founded in 15. B.C., where I monitored the covert communications of spies in the East and the West.
My work was indeed significant. But, compared to my son's duty, mine was "cheese and crackers." I told him so.
I worked in comfortable buildings. For most of my enlistment, I lived off-post in civilian quarters. I donned my uniform for work and shed it when I returned home. So, very near the front line of the Cold War, my life was hardly different from that of an Amazon driver or the person who delivered the mail. So, I call my duty "cheese and crackers."
So what's my point? First, I must say again I'm an alcoholic like every other person at an A.A. meeting. But I'm a "cheese and crackers" alcoholic.
I live in a wine paradise. I love my wine. Like so many, I sat idle in Covid-19 quarantine for 24 months. I was not fond of masks. They activated my claustrophobia, so I seldom ventured out of the house except when absolutely necessary. My bottle of wine a day was a comfort. Perceived relaxation and contentment were the payoffs. But subtly, the habit morphed into unrelaxed discontent.
This is CloudMeditation. I am a counselor of sorts. It is my vocation to closely listen and observe, offering a safe, silent space for whom I observe and listen. It is also my responsibility to closely examine myself.
Contemplation is what we teach, to contemplate the "circus" that is not our circus and the circus "monkey" that is not us. The alcohol monkey creates the alcoholic circus.
Meditation helps recognize the progression, detriments, and likely solutions to developing new, healthier habits. So, as we recommend so often, sit quietly and observe yourself dispassionately; no praise, no blame. Like a movie detective, gather the facts, just the facts, then act. Coincidentally, step 4 of A.A.'s 12 Steps is to make "a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves."
I observed that I drank earlier in the day. This required more wine. Also, I saw that if I purchased one bottle, I'd consume it. However, suppose I bought two at a reasonable sales price, one to save for later. In that case, I'd drink two, and . . . rarely, if I opened the third bottle, I'd fall asleep on the couch or wobble to bed. Occasionally, I began substituting a bit of brandy, even though I was not too fond of it.
In A.A. meetings, I listen to recountings of pounding hammers of massive debilitating hangovers, work absenteeism, D.U.I.'s, time in jail or prison, forfeited jobs or families, and myriad other self-destructive behaviors and their effects.
Some folks experience significant health problems as a consequence of excessive long-term drinking. These are nuclear wake-up calls, but only when the person has hit bottom and awakened. We're talking about real journeys through real deep mud.
So again, I must assert I am an alcoholic, no different from my fellow A.A. travelers. There is no "degree" of alcoholism. "It is what it is, and that's what it is," full stop!
But, there are different degrees of effects. I did not awaken with massive hangovers. Instead, a cottonmouth and some dehydration were my only discomforts. While I occasionally stupidly drove "tipsy" three or four blocks to the grocery store, I was blessed never to be pulled over. And I could still rise early and complete whatever tasks I'd assigned for the day.
Generally, I still engaged in physical activity. Although I gained some pandemic pounds like so many. I shed them shortly after. I sipped with my wife, who enjoys her wine in a more disciplined fashion. And I am still pursuing my profession at a high level.
"Cheese and crackers" addiction is incredibly subtle. Meditation reveals the subtleties. Alcoholism is generally a struggle between the conscious and the subconscious. The urges of each are rational in their way but in opposite directions.
"Cheese and crackers" addiction deviously presents the conscious and the subconscious as more "in accord" with each other. Subconsciously, "to drink more" becomes "to sip, just a little." Consciously, it becomes "no big deal" and "what the heck!" It'll enhance the taste of these "cheese and crackers." One book I read labeled the latter a "thought bomb." "Thought bombs" are the conscious manifestations of subconscious demands indicative of the struggle between the two.
Thankfully, an A.A. meeting offers hot coffee, a cookie, some peanuts, or whatever some good soul provides. But, of course, the most excellent treat of all is fellowship, working with each other to encourage and sustain sobriety.
One of my favorite historical statements is one by Mahatma Gandhi. Over the years, his words have been applied to many life instances.
The backstory is that Gandhi and some of his followers were assisting with improved sanitation and organization in a village. The benefits of the former are apparent. The latter was intended to foster socio-political cohesiveness, enabling the villagers to make better decisions and interact with authorities more cohesively.
"Gandhi was once asked by a friend if his reason for living in a village and serving the people there was purely humanitarian." Gandhi responded, 'I am here to serve no one else but myself, to find my own self-realization through the service to these village folks.' "
Telling one's story or speaking serves oneself in an A.A. gathering. At the same time, sharing can significantly benefit others in the gathering.
Silently offering supportive attention to someone sharing their story or emotions of the moment benefits them and serves oneself.
So, I frequently meet with my A.A. colleagues near my home and anywhere I travel. It's becoming a conscious positive habit that nibbles away at the negative subconscious pattern. The "cheese and crackers" alcoholic hears and acknowledges, "there but for the Grace of [your higher power, here]" . . . I might have gone.
Good wishes to my fellow travelers, wherever you are on the path.
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