Faith & Fear

Here is another AA heresy. One of the platitudes in AA is that “faith and fear cannot occupy the same place.” But it’s not true. We do people a disservice when we say that. 

People of faith also have fear.

Moses had fear in the desert.

Daniel had fear in the lion’s den.

Jesus had awful fear; he sweated blood at Gethsemane.

Faith is not the absence of fear. Faith is doing the next sober thing even while feeling terrible, awful fear.

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Lots more on faith and fear in "Out of the Woods--A Guide to Long-term Recovery" published by Central Recovery Press.

Throw Up & Go

Fear. Even though we hear so much advice about fear, and even though we know that it fear is the thing that underlies almost every character defect, we still feel fear. And I have come, after all these years, to believe that’s not such a bad thing. 

Fear, like anxiety, is so dam uncomfortable, but there is a secondary gain. Fear is what drives me back to the steps, fear keeps me doing daily prayer and meditation, and fear keeps me on my toes and mindful about the “Things I can change.”

But, in fact, there are lots of things I can’t change. And sometimes –and often in certain settings—fear is one of the things that I cannot change. Nope, I do not subscribe to that early recovery platitude that “faith and fear can’t exist in the same place.” Of course they can. Of course. If you have been in recovery a while you know that you have had times of good faith and great fear simultaneously. 

In truth, we do that “faith and fear can’t exist…” thing with newcomers because it gives them great incentive to grab hold of the steps, prayer and meditation, creation of a Higher Power—all that—with both hands. 

Then we keep living our lives, and life keeps happening. And, as we get older in recovery some scary stuff happens. We tune up our recovery and yes, our spiritual connection, but we keep going, fear or not.

Recently I came up with a new mantra for myself. I am reading a wonderful, small book about living a creative life. It is called “The War of Art” by Stephen Pressfield. (Yes, the guy who wrote “The Legend of Bagger Vance.”) In his book, “The War of Art” Pressfield reframes fear as resistance—as in the part of us that resists our own creativity or our own growth. And he tells the story of actor Henry Fonda and Fonda’s fear/resistance.

It turns out that Fonda, an Academy Award winning actor who had an incredibly successful career on stage and screen had almost debilitating stage freight. Yes, an actor who was afraid to go on stage. You hear something like that and you wait to hear the secret of how he beat the fear. But he didn’t.

No, for his entire career—almost 60 years of year-round professional work-- Fonda was so scared that he would throw up every time (every single time) he stepped on a set or a stage. When he was 75 years old and adored and revered he was still throwing up. His secret? He kept a bucket or basin nearby to throw up in. Uh huh, he stood in the wings absolutely miserable and terrified and then he threw up, wiped his mouth, and went on stage.

That’s professionalism and that’s commitment to art, and that, I believe is also a quality of good, long recovery. Saying to fear, “Get the (fudge) out of my way or come with me.” 

So my new mantra, extracted form Henry Fonda’s example is: “Throw up and Go.” Just, throw up and go!

If it is a tough meeting with a boss or a public speaking engagement or I need to have a difficult conversation with someone I remind myself to stop waiting for the day I have no fear, but instead: Throw Up and Go!

Fear is Your Friend

We spend so much effort in recovery trying to banish fear. We see it as a fault, a flaw and a failing. We say things like, “Fear and faith cannot exist in the same place.”

But what if that's not true? What if that is just backwards?

Pema Chodron, American Buddhist nun, scholar, writer, teacher, Mom and Grandma

has a lot to say about fear –and none of her wisdom positions fear as a bad thing we should flee from.

Here is a quote from Pema that I read this week:

“Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth.”

That would mean that fear is a barometer, and that it is a useful tool. Kind of like that “Warm” and “Cold” game we played as kids---getting closer to the truth—you feel fear, moving away from your truth—you have less or no fear. Wouldn’t it be a shame to miss that? To not pay attention to how fear is talking to us?

“Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth.” 

Ponder that, and just keep moving.



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More good stuff on fear and recovery in "Out of the Woods--A Guide to Long-term Recovery"  published by Central Recovery Press.

It's Not the Monster That Scares Us

One of the scariest moments in a horror movie is when the baby-sitter gets the phone call telling her, “He’s in the house with you!” And “he” of course, is the monster.

As Halloween approaches, we’ll have lots of horror stories to entertain us, and one of the great classics is Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley. A best seller in 1818, and rarely out of print since, Frankenstein may be the most beautifully written scary book. A gripping story, the novel is packed with social and philosophical issues that will surprise those who only know the movie version of the story.

What makes Shelley’s novel a relevant work for today are the questions that she raised so eloquently: What does it mean to be human? Where will science lead us? And, “How do we discern morality in technology?”

 These questions are as perplexing now as they were at the dawn of the scientific era. The issue of technology’s intrusion into life --and death --is at the heart of today’s news. We continue to learn about new ways to overcome disability, advance fertility, control disease and delay death, but at what costs and to what limits?

It could help us to closely read Shelley’s novel and take up her questions for today.

When we hear the name, “Frankenstein” most people think of the rivet-headed monster immortalized by Boris Karloff in the old movie. We picture the lumbering creature that was assembled from body parts, and this common misidentification shows just how easily we tend to blame the victim and overlook the bad guy. 

In Shelley’s novel the large, disfigured man is simply named “The Creature”.   Frankenstein was not that sad man, the product of then-modern medicine, but rather his creator, the scientist, Dr. Victor Frankenstein.

Mary Shelley showed us that the tragedy of Frankenstein, and what led to the tragic consequences, was scientific experimentation done in isolation. Her brilliant young scientist had no association with his peers, no interactions outside his laboratory, and no ethical or moral constraints to balance his work.

Does that seem an accusation of our times? Dr. Frankenstein confesses his own dilemma: “In the year I created the Creature I had no intimacy, had not read a book, had a meal with friends, heard a concert or been to church.”

Maybe that seems a heavy admonition against workaholism, but how much do competition, secrecy and speed to market drive this same isolation in science today?

The original story makes the point that scientific experimentation of itself is not wrong; the trouble lies in its separation from social discourse.

Shelley’s point is subtle but important: Dr. Frankenstein is a tragic figure not for experimenting but for neglecting to take responsibility for the impact of his work. The issue is not to prevent creativity but to take responsibility –collectively and individually--for the social and human cost of each new technology.  

   

Frankenstein is the perfect myth for us right now. It’s about scientific inquiry outside of community dialogue. Think about Syria’s poison gas, our drones, fracking, “killer robots” and our detached way of dealing with death.

It’s so easy to point a finger at science but we find ourselves, as consumers and patients, demanding better healthcare and cures for the diseases that killed our ancestors. Every day we read about medical breakthroughs--new technologies for cancer, heart disease, fertility. How do we draw the line?  

Many of us hope we’ll get to benefit from some of those lifesaving advances, and we may even hope that advanced military technology might shorten war by intimidating our enemies.

We don’t want scientific progress to stop. But we, not just scientists, have to ask Shelley’s questions: What is the value of human life? What is the consequence of saving one? Or of making one?  But we have to consider the unintended consequences and ask, “Who’s the monster now?”

Our tendency is to point a finger and say, “It’s them…” and  “It’s their fault…” But our lesson comes from Shelly’s classic story and the scary movies:  He’s in the house with us.

How to Live Without Fear?

If you ask someone in early recovery how to handle your fear they are likely to tell you that  "Faith and Fear cannot coexist." or they will say, "If you feel fear then you need to do more service." But if you tell someone with long recovery that you are feeling fear they are much more likely to say,

"Oh, I hate that feeling!"

In later recovery we do know that faith and fear frequently coexist, and that while we should pray and help  newcomers, and be of service those are distractions from--not remedies for--fear.

But a long-timer will get you laughing and that is the best medicine after all.

It turns out that the best advice is that simplistic bumper-sticker slogan, which was also the title of a simple and simply fabulous book, "Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway." Some of us, whether because of our thinking or our biochemistry, will feel more fear than the average bear. And no matter how much therapy, meds or esoteric practices we throw at it--we'll still feel more fear than the average bear.

And speaking of bears, this week I bought a print by artist Jessica C. White, and the title is "Information Desk." I knew I had to own this and keep it near my desk. Here it is. Take a look:

Isn't that swell? It makes me smile--at all of my fears.

Lean In--Go Toward

Has this happened to you: You learn a "trick", or an approach or a life strategy in early recovery that then, over time, slips away and later you get to revive it?

It happened to me this week. I began to remind myself of a favored strategy I learned from one of my early sponsors.  Whenever I told her about a person or a situation that I was fearing or resenting or trying to avoid she would say, "Go toward her" or "Go toward them". It wasn't easy but it aways worked. It's a quite brilliant technique.

But then, probably, I thought I knew it and it slipped from memory. But this week finding myself --more than once--dreading a meeting and then a person and then a project--I thought, "Hey, go toward it." And it worked.

I think this is also why I want to always go to meetings and I want to remember my early recovery--not just for how painful it was back then--and Oh Boy--it was painful!--But also to remember how carefully I listened to sponsors and other recovering people. Pain is a great motivator to learn. And wanting to get out of pain was a great motivator to try new things even if they sounded a bit wacky--like going toward something that I wanted to get very far away from.

So give this a try--Go Toward something scary or uncomfortable or hard. And also tell us the other lessons of your early recovery that you want to revive and use today.