I know what’s on my shelves. And upon revisiting the stockroom, it’s just like I expected: outdated product. It was somewhat clean when I last did an inspection. Why would I have new rotten produce shipped in?
Step Four: Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
Once I got through Step Four a couple times, it became one of those steps that got put away, like holiday decorations. Yep, I know what’s in that box. Now let’s move on to the daily struggles of my life.
One of the fears my alcoholism likes to try out on me every so often is this thought: ain’t no way you can possibly dedicate yourself to all twelve steps consistently and evenly across the board. And, thanks to the very nature of time, realize that concentrating on any one aspect of my disease means the other plates are starting to drop and crash. It’s too big to work all at once.
So I feel the need to compartmentalize. Hence Step Four in mothballs. And when I do spend time on it now, how searching and how fearless need I be? Must there be new discoveries about my terrible self each time for this step to be completed successfully? Lack of revelations means what, exactly?
My moral inventory is on my clipboard, and I’ve got the big red marker. Find the stinking thinking on the top shelves and dump ‘em. Disinfect my ego.
Lesson Learned: Food spoils if it’s not eaten. Instead of charging exorbitant prices for my bounty, I need to try giving it away. Who said this business was supposed to turn a profit?