Arthur R. Marshall Loxahatchee National Wildlife Refuge
Reply
Monthly Archives: April 2009
PAWS: Why We Don’t Get Better Overnight
Most of the problems associated with sobriety do not stem directly from drugs and alcohol. Instead, they occur after the chemicals have left our bodies. The problems caused by these alterations in our nervous systems, physical condition, and psychosocial adjustments are known as Post-Acute Withdrawal Syndrome (PAWS).
Continue reading…
Never Too Late To Stop Drinking
New Study Finds “it’s Never Too Late To Stop Drinking”
Where there is life there is hope and it is never too late to stop drinking, even with the most severe case of alcohol-related liver disease, according to new research from the University of Southampton.However, the downside is that up a quarter of people with alcohol-related cirrhosis die before they get the chance to stop drinking. Alcohol-related cirrhosis develops silently but usually presents with an episode of internal bleeding or jaundice – which is often fatal. ….
Quote:
Most men, even in this comparatively free country, through mere ignorance and mistake, are so occupied with the factitious cares and superfluously coarse labors of life that its finer fruits cannot be plucked by them. Their fingers, from excessive toil, are too clumsy and tremble too much for that. Actually, the laboring man has not leisure for a true integrity day by day; he cannot afford to sustain the manliest relations to men; his labor would be depreciated in the market. He has no time to be anything but a machine. How can he remember well his ignorance — which his growth requires — who has so often to use his knowledge? We should feed and clothe him gratuitously sometimes, and recruit him with our cordials, before we judge of him. The finest qualities of our nature, like the bloom on fruits, can be preserved only by the most delicate handling. Yet we do not treat ourselves nor one another thus tenderly.
~ Henry David Thoreau (Walden, 1854)
How The Drug Smugglers Stay Ahead Of The Cops
By Fred Burton and Ben West
For several years now, STRATFOR has been closely monitoring the growing violence in Mexico and its links to the drug trade. In December, our cartel report assessed the situation in Mexico, and two weeks ago we looked closely at the networks that control the flow of drugs through Central America. This week, we turn our attention to the border to see the dynamics at work there and how U.S. gangs are involved in the action.
The nature of narcotics trafficking changes as shipments near the border. As in any supply chain, shipments become smaller as they reach the retail level, requiring more people to be involved in the operation. While Mexican cartels do have representatives in cities across the United States to oversee networks there, local gangs get involved in the actual distribution of the narcotics.
While there are still many gaps in the understanding of how U.S. gangs interface with Mexican cartels to move drugs around the United States and finally sell them on the retail market, we do know some of the details of gang involvement. Continue reading
Loxahatchee Sunset
Sunset at the Loxahatchee National Wildlife Refuge, Delray Beach, FL
Another Good Reason For Support Groups Like AA and NA?
Americans in the 21st century devote more technology to staying connected than any society in history, yet somehow the devices fail us: Studies show that we feel increasingly alone. Our lives are spent in a tug-of-war between conflicting desires—we want to stay connected, and we want to be free. We lurch back and forth, reaching for both. How much of one should we give up in order to have more of the other? How do we know when we’ve got it right?Two recent studies suggest that our society is in the midst of a dramatic and progressive slide toward disconnection.
The Meeting After The Meeting
by Bill
It’s ridiculously easy to hide out at meetings and cut down the benefits of a 12-step program by at least 50%. All you have to do is get there right on time (or, if you don’t mind being rude, a couple of minutes late). Then you sit in the back, don’t raise your hand to introduce yourself, and if anyone approaches you just give your name and keep conversation to a minimum. Walk straight out after the meeting is over, avoid speaking to anyone, and leave the area.
Simple, right? And just the kind of thing we’re good at, us alcoholics and addicts. Hey, aren’t we the people who felt alone in a crowd? The ones who never felt that we belonged — unless we had a few in us — and who made a career of isolating so that we wouldn’t have to explain our behavior to anyone?
Hell, if we’re not experts in avoiding entanglements, who is?
But hey — what’s recovery about, anyway? It’s not about quitting; we already did. It’s not about closed minds; we already know how to do that. It’s not about isolating from others; that’s our stock in trade. It’s not about being judgmental — heck, we know The Way Things Ought To Be already.
Recovery is about spirituality, and I’m not talking religion here. I’m talking about opening up for the human spirit: letting ours out to play, and letting other folks’ in. You don’t do that by isolating. It’s about learning to live life in the real world, clean and sober, and you don’t do that by deciding on short exposure that an effective way of accomplishing that “isn’t for you.”
Many of us have found, over the years, that the “meeting-after-the-meeting” was nearly as important as the main deal. I’m talking about the gathering in (or for smokers, in front of) the meeting hall afterward; the trips out for coffee and conversation; the chance to take a look at our fellows under conditions where we can consider things like sponsors, study groups, recommendations about other meetings to go to, and invitations to sober fun outside of the rooms.
These are the things that move us toward sobriety in the real world, not just for an hour a day. We learn to interact socially again, with people who know how to treat us while we’re learning. We learn to identify with something besides our common disease. We learn that being clean and in recovery is about learning to live out in the world, not inside our own heads — and we learn all these things in safe places, with safe people who have our best interests at heart.
I don’t mean to imply that everyone in the rooms is someone we would want to hang around with, nor should anyone get the idea that they ought not to use common sense in choosing their companions, whatever the source. But there’s safety in numbers, and people’s true colors shine through when they’re not in a meeting with their meeting faces on. And let me ask you this: where else are you going to look for compatible companions? Down at the local bar? In the alley behind the pawn shop?
So, open up a little and see what’s happening in the Real World of Recovery. Let a few of us old-timers be your guides. Maybe you’ll find someone who has what you want. Maybe you’ll open the door a bit, and let that spirit get some fresh air. Maybe…just maybe…you’ll find a new way of life.
What have you got to lose? It’s not like you have anything better to do.
Right?
Kids
by Bill
Our older daughter, age 39, and her husband, age 40, are on a trip to Tennessee to celebrate their first wedding anniversary, so Dad has been checking the weather radar, texting information about the tornado warning along their route, reminding them that their new Mercedes is rear-wheel drive and to watch out for hydroplaning, and so on and so on….
Now there’s no question in my mind that they appreciate the information. It’s interesting, however, how I feel compelled to carry out this exercise in fatherhood — not to mention codependency. My daughter is an uncommonly sensible woman. My son-in-law has his Crackberry, and is totally capable of pulling up weather information if he can’t get adequate updates via satellite radio. They’re both native Floridians, know all about our changeable and often violent weather and, in short, flat out don’t need the Old Man interrupting their road trip.
But from the time she was ten until she was around twenty-one, I was more and more disengaged from fatherhood in general by my alcoholism. I was not only not the father I could have been, but I failed to advocate for her and her sister during their bouts with an emotionally (and occasionally physically) abusive stepfather. That may be just as well. Drunks who carry guns for a living probably shouldn’t advocate. But that’s neither here nor there regarding my missed obligations. I was never alienated from my girls, but I wasn’t exactly there every time I needed to be, either.
Now, I guess I’m sort of overdoing it a bit. She’s no longer a teenager, and I’m a grandfather. I know she loves me, and she knows I love her. It’s probably time to ratchet the fatherhood rheostat back a few degrees, but it’s hard to get over the idea that those largely-missed years need to be lived somehow. I know this is all in my head, and I know the kids don’t mind. I probably don’t need to change a thing, but I do need to get my head wrapped around the fact that I’ve already done amends to my kids, they love me, and I can just sort of relax now.
Getting Through Tough Economic Times
|
Mr. Nasty
by Bill
My wife was commenting this morning on the previous post about being judgmental (she approved), and the conversation turned briefly to my writing.
I remarked to her that, if I wanted to, I could have a wildly popular blog. All I’d have to do is combine my writing with the acerbic sense of humor and unerring aim for the soft spot that I used to bring to most of my social intercourse. People love that stuff! Mark Morford is one of the more proficient practitioners of that style, and there are many others.
It’s true. I could do that. I could let myself revert back to the unpleasant, sarcastic, go for the throat, skewer-them-before-they-get-you personality that so many knew and detested. On the Web, it would go great guns. There are no end of folks who love to listen to others being put down, and if it’s eloquently done, so much the better. Commentators wouldn’t have a chance, either. When you don’t care how people feel, you can say whatever you like. On the Web it’s even easier, because you are totally free of any threat of effective retaliation. (I have to throttle myself sometimes, as it is.)
But I do not want to be that person any more. It’s not enough just to have changed for the better. I had fifty years or so to perfect that miserable s.o.b. What’s more likely than that I would end up back there — especially if folks began praising me for it or (heaven forbid) I ended up making money at it.
So, I think not. I like me the way I am. If I improve, so much the better, but I sure as Hades don’t want to backslide. If you go back to doing the things you used to do, you get the things you used to get.
How Judgmental Am I? Plenty!
by Bill
How judgmental am I? Plenty. It’s a character defect that I’ve worked hard to change, with only limited success, ever since I’ve been sober.
It runs in the family. My grandmere was one of those old French women who could never give a compliment without modifying it with a matching putdown. ”She’s pretty, her, but look at that dress!” My mom was the same way. She’d drive down the road commenting on every fool that came across her path. An otherwise quiet, gentle soul, she never missed a chance to point out a shortcoming. Thankfully, that didn’t carry over to her kids, but any relative beyond her own siblings, or other passerby, was fair game.
So I came by it honestly, and I reveled in it. There’s nothing like the ability to look at others and see their faults to perk up the spirits of a kid with chronically low self-esteem. We won’t go into detail. Suffice it to say that by the time I was a full-blown alcoholic, I was also skilled in letting you know that I knew — as Rush Limbaugh titled his book — “The Way Things Ought To Be.”
In all fairness to me, I was as hard on myself as I was on others. For many years (fifty or so) I never measured up to my own standards. An uncommonly handsome young man, I always thought I was skinny and gawky, with a big nose. It wasn’t until 15 years into recovery when I saw a yearbook photo of myself that I was able to get my head around the fact that I had been a good looking kid.
As a writer, for decades I stayed away from anything that wasn’t cut and dried. I wrote technical articles and manuals, and eventually edited the work of others, because I believed that — even though I had a passion for writing — I wasn’t good enough to do “that other stuff.” Those ideas and feelings carried over into the rest of my life in ways too many to count. Yet I was always ready to point out where you were wrong, where you had screwed up, where you could have done better — anything that would let you know that I was on top of things, knew how it was, and that you’d better work hard if you wanted to measure up.
I was the guy who damned with faint praise; who, when offered a choice of a special meal, would say “Yeah, that would be OK,” instead of, “Oh, wow honey! What a great idea!” Who would tell a child, “Nice job on the picture, honey, but wouldn’t it have been better if you had….” (I still get tears in my eyes when I think of that stuff, and believe me I’ve made amends to both my daughters. But it didn’t fix all those years.)
And why did I do those things? I’ve learned — finally realized — that it was because my own opinion of myself was so low that I couldn’t let anyone excel. I had to being them down to what I thought was my level. Pointing out their so-called defects made me able to feel better about those I imagined were mine.
As a drunk, it got worse. I was a bombastic pain in the ass. I alienated people right and left. Simply didn’t know how to act — and didn’t care. I was the smart guy. I was the cop. I was the martial artist (more overcompensation). I was the Mensa guy (another shot at proving I was as good or better than you). I was the one who knew The Way Things Ought To Be. I was the asshole.
Anyone relate?
Years in recovery have helped. Meditation has helped. Living with a woman who won’t put up with my crap and tells me when I need to pay attention to my thinking has helped. But I still have the days, especially when I’m driving (of course I used to be a driving instructor, chauffeur, blah, blah, blah…) when there are far greater numbers of jackasses out there with me than one would reasonably expect. I’m not, by any means, the guy I’d like to be.
But I’ll tell you this: every time I catch myself doing the judgment thing, it reminds me of how much worse it used to be, and that I can move onward, and that the program I’ve been trying to live for all these years really does work.
And that keeps me trying.
New Look, A Little More Focus
Dear Faithful Readers (both of you),
As any fool can plainly see*, we have another new look. I think I’ll be keeping this one for a while. It’s pleasant-looking and — more importantly — it’s easy to read. I had some complaints about the dark theme. Everyone thought it looked smashing, but found the contrast wanting.
I’m also planning to seriously reduce some of my online presences elsewhere, and give more attention to this blog. Despite my efforts in other places, I’m unlikely to save the world. Here, however, I just might help some poor addict save his or her ass. (See below)
So. We’ll see, won’t we? Or maybe not.
*Mammy Yokum, 1947
Which brings me to another thing that I thought of when I was writing the lines above.
We go to meetings, we talk to people over coffee, we share over the phone, we take meetings into institutions, and all the other 12th Step work that we’ve come to enjoy, most of us.
Occasionally someone will pop up and say, “Hey, I really liked what you said,” or we’ll be leading a meeting and sort of see the little light bulb go on over someone’s head. But did you ever stop to think about all the shy folks — the ones who listen but don’t comment? We’re communicating our ideas about recovery to a lot of people, every time we open our mouth at a meeting, or the meeting-after-the-meeting, or at a family gathering, or on our blogs, or here at TSR, or anyplace else we speak of recovery.
No, we don’t get feedback from all those folks. They don’t come up to us and shake our hand. Sometimes they don’t even meet our eyes. But they hear us. Everyone has some addiction in their life — their own or that of someone dear — and you can’t really talk about recovery in public without drawing a lot of surreptitious attention. Depending upon what we say, their entire view of addiction, recovery — hell, maybe even of their own lives — can be changed, and we’ll almost certainly never know a thing about it. As we say in the rooms, “You may be the only book on recovery they’ll ever read.”
Think about that, my friends.
Speak carefully, and well.
Portions of this were also published on The Second Road.
Tony Blair Chides Pope’s Attitude On Homosexuality
Wow! He’s only been a Catholic for a couple of years, and already he’s taking on the Pope. You go, Tony!
|
