Many times I forget that everyone isn’t thinking what I’m thinking. Not everyone is approaching things in the same manner and with the same motives.
A Month of Promises (pages 83-84), sentence 12: We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.
Often, what I assumed to be common sense for everyone was common sense only to me. And during my drinking days, my common sense was out the window, down the street and around the corner. Rationalizations, mania, depression, justifications, anger, fear, loneliness, paranoia, selfishness, arrogance, and hatred: these were the filters I shoved my “common sense” through. The outcomes would vary; from lashing out to isolation, from mistrust to pouting. None of them helpful to whatever that actual point of the exercise was: I’d lost track of that way back. Now it was about me: what I thought was wrong, what I needed to bitch about. Not offering up any viable, helpful solutions, not advancing things towards an answer; just pointing out the futility of whatever. I must have been a real treat to spend time with.
This program has not only saved me from an alcoholic nightmare of an existence, but it’s also taught me to look at things as a whole. To step back a few feet. Take things in. Appreciate the filters of others. What’s their common sense? I go as far as to imagine I’m a ghost, leaving my body and standing behind whomever’s in the room, and looking at things through their eyes. Turns out they aren’t out to get me. And if they are, I’m sure I deserve it.
But that’s a step for another day.