Are We Restless or Are We Just Human?

You will hear this sometimes at twelve-step meetings— “We are just restless and discontent.”  The basis of that idea comes from the Big Book and recovering people often turn that into a self-blaming statement and turn it on themselves and others.

Sometimes I hear this injunction against restlessness said with a suggestion that if one’s sobriety was better they’d not be restless anymore. 

Or sometimes, even more damming, if one worked the steps the “right” way then that the damned restlessness would slip away.

But that attitude and belief disregards what philosophers and great theologians have taught us about being human. We’ve learned from Epictetus and Aristotle and even Saint Augustine. Augustine was just one thinker who described restlessness as part of the human condition. He famously wrote, “God you made us as we are, and we are restless until we rest in you.” Augustine was not writing about addicts. He was describing the people that God created.

So, I wonder sometimes if it isn’t a bit arrogant to suggest that if we alcoholics just did our program right then our restlessness would disappear? But we forget to ask, if it left us then we’d be…what? —better than other human beings? Where’s the humility in that? 

And I also wonder if we attempt to chase the removal of restlessness like we used to try to chase away uncomfortable feelings-and we did that by using drugs, alcohol, food, work…. you know the list. That’s just addictive “fix me” thinking.

If restlessness is part of God’s creation for human beings, and if we are to be restless until we rest in God, then we might not want to suggest that we have a special path or that we are somehow smarter than God.

Perhaps the wiser, more humbler, and more faith-filled course is to note our restlessness as a sign that we are human and be very grateful for that.

We Are Easter People

I have an Easter memory from years ago. I was living in Washington, DC, and that year was a low point in my life. My older sister had recently died, and both of my brothers were seriously ill; my best friend was leaving town, and on top of that I was questioning my work.

In my journal that April I wrote, “Am I depressed?” When I read those pages now I laugh and shake my head. “Depressed?” That I even had to ask. In that long year I thought I’d never laugh again, just as I thought I’d never again feel love, the joy of easy friendship, or the satisfaction of good work.

I went to church that Easter out of both habit and desperation. I had grown up in a church-going family. It was what we did. And so to honor the family that I was losing I went. I chose a big downtown church for Easter services—one with hundreds in the congregation--not daring to visit a smaller church where I might have to speak to people or be embarrassed by my own tears. I wanted the paradoxical safety and anonymity of being in a crowd.  

The minister that Easter Sunday said many things that I don’t remember but one sentence stood out. He said, "we live in a Good Friday world."   That I understood. A Good Friday world is a world full of suffering, questioning, unfairness, trouble, mistakes, hurts, losses and grief. That was certainly confirmation of my life that day. “But,” he continued, “We are Easter people.” Those words stopped me cold. I was stunned to be reminded that painful morning that there was something other than what I was feeling. 

has stayed with me all these years. He said, “We live in a Good Friday world…”

My life was not instantly transformed; his words did not change the course of my brothers’ illnesses; nor give me answers to my questions. But the idea of being “Easter people” gave me a pause in my grief and the teeniest hope that there really did exist something other than pain.

Today all of the things that hurt so much back then have changed. As my brothers died friends came forward to help. I began to write and publish. Months later I fell in love and moved to upstate New York where a new life began with new friends, new work and yes, of course, new problems. 

What strikes me now is that this believing in “Easter” in the midst of “Good Friday” is as much about being an American as it is about being Christian.  Americans are, by character, a people of reinvention. There is an extra layer of intention that we bring to “new life” that isn’t true even in other predominately Christian cultures.  As Americans we are future oriented, we look forward not back, and we are, for the most part, a culture of optimistic, hopeful people. 

The gift from that Easter service many years ago was the reminder that we are, by religion or culture, a people who believe in possibility. When our hearts are shattered we are sometimes shocked to discover that there is joy as well as pain inside.

Out of the ashes of our mistakes, from our defeats, and even our despair, we rise again in better lives.

Jackie Robinson Day--Lessons for All of Us

On April 15, 1947 Jackie Robinson ran onto Ebbets Field, taking his place at first base and in both baseball and civil rights history.  

Today, with our news filled with stories of injustice and discrimination, we can use this anniversary to find our own places to support social change.

We admire Jackie Robinson, as we should, he was the one on the field. 

But there were others who supported “baseball’s greatest experiment.” Those others can inspire us. So here are three examples from the Robinson story that can be our role models.

First, the man who brought Robinson to the majors: Branch Rickey was the President of The Brooklyn Dodgers. He had a longtime interest in racial integration, but he wasn’t a minister or a politician. 

Rickey was a baseball executive who made a wise business—and moral—decision by signing Robinson. 

Rickey had studied the Negro Leagues for years and he knew that he could fill a ballpark—and probably win a pennant --with players like Jackie. 

Like Rickey, some of us in leadership positions have opportunities to bring money and morality together. We can look for places to advance social justice in our organizations. 

But maybe you don’t own the company; maybe you’re a manager or you run a department. There’s an example in the Robinson story for you too.

Your role model is Bert Shotton. Shotton managed the Dodgers in 1947. He stepped in when the legendary Leo Durocher was banned from baseball.

The Dodgers lost Durocher right after Robinson arrived, and while the team was in an uproar about Rickey signing Robinson. Rickey needed someone in the dugout who could hold the team together while Jackie was on the field enduring physical and verbal assaults from other players and the fans. 

Rickey brought Shotton out of retirement to calm and soothe and knit the Dodgers together during that crucial first year.

Shotton wasn’t colorful or flashy, he just got the most stirred up team in history to settle down and play ball. Red Barber said, “The unsung hero of 1947 was manager Burt Shotton.” Shotton is an example of what many of us could do within our companies to help those who are struggling with change.

But maybe you’re not even a manager; you’re a coworker or a customer. Well, there’s a role model for you too.

Harold “Pee Wee” Reese was Jackie Robinson’s teammate. The most unlikely man to be of help, Reese grew up in the segregated south and even he was initially upset when he was told that Robinson would play. But Reese was an inherently just person. When one of his teammates circulated a petition saying they’d all quit if Rickey kept Robinson, Reese said no, and handed the petition back, causing the protest to fizzle. 

But Reese did something else. Early in 1947 at a game in which the hatred directed at Robinson was particularly ugly, Reese did the simplest --and most powerful-- thing. He left his shortstop position and walked over to Robinson at first base.

 He smiled at Robinson, made some small talk, and then, like any guy talking to a friend, Reese put his arm around Robinson’s shoulder. 

The fans fell silent. Reese had signaled that Jackie was his teammate. “That,” said sportswriter Roger Kahn, “was baseball’s finest moment.”

So today, as you recall Jackie running onto Ebbets Field, look behind him and give a nod to Rickey, Reese and Shotton. They offer examples of how each of us can support social justice and ensure that change will happen. 

Caregiving Has Risks of Addiction

One of the things that happens as we become long-term in recovery is....drum beat!...we get older.

It's true..years pass, we age and the people we love age too. If you stay in recovery a long time there is a very high probability that you'll do time as a caregiver--for a spouse/partner, for a parent, for a sibling.

One thing we are now learning about caregivers is there is a risk of addiction, so for us that becaomes a risk of relapse.

This month I wrote about this concern for Cancer Today Magazine..and here is the link to that story: This is one worth sharing far and wide--its a concern for folks in recovery--woman and men--and for other family and friends.

Have a read. Here's the link:
https://www.cancertodaymag.org/Pages/Spring2019/Recognizing-Addiction.aspx


Spring is almost here!

Don't Stay on the Edge

I was talking with a friend today. Though we’ve known each other a long time, she’s new to recovery. It’s an honor to be welcoming her aboard the USS Recovery.

When we talked I asked her what her recovery looks like, and you’ll not be surprised to hear that she’s fallen in love with the program—the meetings, and the humor, and what people talk about, and the slogans and sayings—they are all fresh and new and surprising to her.

But when I asked how she was building her support team, and did she have a sponsor yet and a home group, and was she gathering a team of sober woman around her? she said, “No, not yet, but I’m going to a ton of meetings.” 

I remember that time of surprise and wonderment—all these people and all this recovery, and all this language and lingo and new concepts. And the thrill of being in meetings where people share such intimate details and –mostly—let go of pretending. 

But I also found myself saying to her, “If you like that part of recovery, come on in to the deeper end.”

I told her that meetings are great and going out for coffee is great but really being a member comes from moving to the center.

What I wanted to say was, “Sitting on the edge of the pool with your feet in the water is cool—and even refreshing --but jump in—all the way in—and swim with us.” 

What I mean is: get a sponsor, sign up to do service, go to at least 3 or four meetings a week, make one of them your home group, and read the Grapevine Magazine, the Big Book, As Bill Sees It, and other literature about recovery and about AA. And go to regional round-ups, and conferences. These are your people now. Show up where they are, make sure they get to notice you and to know you.

The same advice applies if later in recovery you move to a new town. Even after many years of recovery you have to start over in a sense and dive into the center of your new recovery community. 

The water’s great. Jump in!

A Glass of Water is Enough

I was listening to a man read his listener essay on my local public radio station and a man was describing his experience of meeting the children’s television celebrity, Mr. Rogers. 

The man was telling what it was like to be in Fred Rogers presence. He talked about how straightforward Rogers was and how very present and centered. He described the impact of that brief meeting.

The man described how, after Mr. Rogers died, he began to notice that when he was with his own kids he was always trying to be such an entertaining dad. It then occurred to him that Mr. Rogers wasn’t necessarily entertaining, rather he was simply himself. Mr. Rogers just was-- and that was the message that he conveyed to little kids: It really, really is OK to be yourself. 

“There’s no one like you” Mr. Rogers would say, “No one just like you.” And, “I’m glad you’re my friend.” 

Mr. Rogers lived inside that paradox we know so well from being people with addiction. That thing the Big Book talks about: the egomaniac with an inferiority complex.

That simple message from Mr. Rogers is the perfect antidote to that dilemma: We want to be special, but we feel like we’re nothing. Or when we feel “less-than” we try to puff up and look like a big deal. 

“There is no one just like you,” Mr. Rogers says and it’s all there: no need to puff up, you are special, and so is everyone else. It’s like the statistical improbability of Lake Woebegone: Where all the children are above average. 

The man who wrote the listener essay said that he now caught himself trying to entertain his kids, to be a clown, and to buying them things to be a “great dad” when, he realized that he could simply be “their Dad” 

He said in his closing--and this shot straight to my heart-- “I realized I could simply be a glass of water instead of a can of Coke.” 

I got it. I so often want to be a can of Coke because I think it’s better or expected. And because, even after so many years, there is still a part of me that does not believe that I am enough. 

A glass of water instead of a can of Coke. I too often reach for shiny and red and sugar sweet instead of cool and clear and refreshing. Is there anything more truly thirst quenching than a glass of water? Anything more relaxing to be around than a person who just is naturally simple and clear?  

This is another way to say, “Be yourself” and “You are enough.”

But I like this question:

Am I trying to be a can of Coke today or glass of water?

Valentine's Day in Recovery

Even after all these years of recovery I catch myself having expectations for Valentine’s Day.

How many resentments this day has caused: Dates, boyfriends, husbands. Even knowing that Valentine’s Day is a commercially created day, the pressure persists.

How do recovering people practice loving-kindness for ourselves and others on Valentine’s Day?

How does recovery guide me to make Valentine’s Day a happy day whether I am in or out of a romantic relationship?  

And what does love really mean in the context of recovery?

One of the joys of being in recovery is watching other people grow. For me, it has been particularly moving to observe sober men as they change their lives and beliefs.

Early in recovery—just shy of two years --and at that point where the fog was clearing –a man named Fred who was in his late 50’s came to my home group one morning. It was his first day out of treatment and he was in pain. His “bottom” involved devastation at both work and at home. He was hurting.

I listened as he spoke, and I recognized his grief. Then, after the meeting ended, I watched as the men in our group surrounded Fred, they gave him phone numbers and insisted that he come to breakfast with them. I watched as the men taught him and loved him.

Even though others in the group had had done that for me two years before, it was then, with Fred--when I was just sober enough to understand what I was seeing-- that I recognized love in action.

That moment is one of my recovery treasures. That day I felt my heart open enough to care for and give love for another person in recovery.

It makes me happy to see men change. To know that under different circumstances my father and my brothers might have changed too. I love knowing that there is an endless supply of love in these rooms and that we are all changed by that love.

In early recovery I used to hear, “Let us love you until you can love yourself.” It felt like a puzzle, a bafflement. I didn’t think you could love someone into change.

I mean, hadn’t I tried that for years with disastrous results?  I understand now that it wasn’t really love I was proffering, more like control. I was just trying to control someone or trying to make him love me.

In romantic relationships, and sometimes as parents, we mistakenly try to love people into changing. And it generally doesn’t work.

But in our Twelve-step fellowships it does. Our friends in recovery can love us until we can love ourselves. And when we have learned to love ourselves, we can then truly love others.

That changes the meaning of Valentine’s Day for me, and it makes it a special day of gratitude.

****

To read more about love and relationships in recovery take a look at "Out of the Woods" published by Central Recovery Press.