On days when I’m off the beam, I find it very difficult to investigate what’s wrong. I prefer the nebulous feelings, the ambiguous uncertainties, the wrong-headed ideas. It’s the lazy man’s paranoia: the simplest probing would alleviate the pressure, but I don’t probe out of embarrassment. Haven’t I already drilled there?
Step 4: made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
And when you’re on a clock, and the same obstacles keep presenting themselves, it’s pretty obvious to those around you that you’re not making progress. At least not at the appropriate rate.
It’s like everyone is sitting around, asking me, “Are you done being an asshole yet? How much longer before you stop being an asshole? Do you plan on being an asshole in the future? And if so, how often? We’d like to know, because we’re ready to jump ship.”
Sure, I’m not drinking, but that’s not nearly enough. It’s humiliating; realizing that I can still be a giant tool without liquor. It’s another round of admissions. Not only have I admitted that I was powerless over alcohol, I now must admit that I’m still a jerk. And any type of uneasiness is a red flag that I’m not working the program, so I try to hide them, much like my bottles and cans. A Day At A Time becomes the break-even point, and with each unresolved bad thought, each emotional withdrawl, each isolation, I fall further and further into the red.
So, what’s the good news? The good news is this: without alcohol, I’m at least in the game, on the field, a participant. If I want to turn a leisurely jog around the track into a full-on military obstacle course, that’s my prerogative. But that didn’t work out for Bobby Brown, and it won’t work out for me.
Like they say, slow and steady wins the race. If obstacles come up, I can handle them. First off, I need to figure out if they’re of my own making. Secret note: They’re almost always of my own making.