"We"

 Taking a cue from a friend, I've rearranged my morning reading materials, having been through my usual daily readers ad infinitum. I have a new-to-me book, Beyond Belief - Agnostic Musing for 12 Step Life, by Joe C.,  and a new conference approved volume, called Prayer and Meditation as well as a daily book of Rumi poetry. I'll take my inspirations where I find them, preferring wonder and mystery, with a dose of practicality, over absolutes. I've always been a seeker - sometimes in formal settings, other times howling at the moon. I long for connection, with you and my spiritual resources, and do my best to stay open to various ways that opportunity presents itself, whether things I read, things you say in meetings, random conversations, or tears triggered by loss or joy.

The "we" of the program keeps reaching out to remind me that I'm not alone. I know in my bones that my parents loved me, and we didn't do much along the lines of emotional processing. I never heard, "How did that make you feel?", which was probably at least partly generational, but left me without the language to describe what rumbled about in my brain and my heart.

When newly sober, I relied on you, in meetings, to give word to how I was feeling. I got terribly uncomfortable if the topic was "emotional honesty," because I truly had no idea what you meant. Over time, I learned the "language of the heart" but my default, when under duress, is still that sharp inhale of fear - fear that I'm supposed to know something I don't, that no one understands, that I'm somehow deficient for feeling in the first place.

And then I sit in a meeting and hear three people use my thoughts and words in their shares. I am not alone in my wants and needs, my fears and my joys. James Russell Lowell, a poet born in 1819, is quoted as saying "Whatever you may be sure of, be sure of this, you are dreadfully like other people." I would say, "wonderfully" like other people. 

I know these quirks of personality aren't exclusive to alcoholics - "No man is an island," written by John Donne in the17th century, reminds me that it is human nature to feel different and apart. But those of us in 12 Step programs seem particularly adept at isolation, honed and amplified by the bottle and the bag or the focus on others. Does that knowledge make me feel less alone? Sometimes. What I do know, always in retrospect, is that when I'm not in tune with my true emotions, I tend to blame superficial stuff for my woes - the neighbors, traffic, spouse, boss, etc etc. It is only when I am able to get quiet that I can know the true cause of my dis-ease, which is often disconnection - disconnection from my own true north, from other people, from my spiritual center. (How many days go by with only texts and social media conversations? I made a pledge a few years ago to actually talk with at least one person a week that I didn't supervise or sponsor. It helped.)

In re-listening to Lila R's West Hollywood talk from New Year's Day, 2021, I resonated with her saying that sometimes, emotional intensity isn't sadness, but the deep ache of missing - missing those who've gone before - family members or friends, including those AA icons who were here when I first came in. Sometimes I miss public figures, or an entire generation (as in, my parents' cohort). The "missing" isn't really grief at all, but more an acknowledgement of the empty space, the laughter, the memories. I do need to feel the grieving, but don't need to fear or run from the missing, which sometimes masquerades as loneliness, for it is a celebration of connection and love. 

I'm not writing this from a place of sadness, but more from feeling my humanity, our humanity. Just when I start to think that meetings, gatherings, or conversations hold nothing for me, I am jolted by the courage and vulnerability I hear from you. Not always, and certainly not every day, but when I listen, when I can put myself aside for even a few moments, I feel it. 

Along those lines, I've claimed a new Home Group, and volunteered for a service position, feeling unmoored for a bit now, unsure how to answer when the question comes up (like when being asked to speak). I have love and loyalty to several meetings, but where is it I feel especially inspired, and moved to serve? For me, this week, that means the likely letting go of one meeting as I commit to another. It means paying attention (always) to a sense of balance - being employed definitely takes a chunk out of the day, but what am I doing to feed or maintain my physical, emotional and spiritual well-being, which means actually seeing my surroundings rather than being trapped by an inward focused gaze. Yes, introspection and reflection are necessary aspects of the on-going inventory process, and too much of it hampers my engagement with the world.

Do you have a Home Group? If yes, what is it that continues to attract you? Thinking of the quality or quantity of missing ones who are gone, how can you incorporate the best parts of those people and memories into who you are today? Where and how do you recognize your connections, the sometimes glorious, sometimes annoying and sometimes petrifying "we" of the program? Today, and always, how do you stay mindful of the need for balance?