On the train this morning, heading to a new satellite office. Not a new job; just working out of a new location at a newly acquired sister company. So I don’t know anybody; everything’s new. This is not a rut. This is not routine. This is not doing the same thing over and over again. This is all new, bringing with it all of the first day jitters.
I’m not sure why the train has the power to make me anxious, but it does. I’m guessing it’s the locked-in aspect, the fear of forgetting something once inside the sliding doors. There’s no escape – no quick one, anyway, and I’ll be dependant on this railway to get me back home later today. In the meantime, I’m marooned in a strange land with only a backpack of work things. Boarding and unboarding. Walking and walking and walking. It’s like the expressway, only on foot.
Step 12: having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
Here’s why I’ve always been hesitant about going into the city: it’s hell for the maintenance drinker. Unless you don’t mind popping open a cold one at 6:45 a.m. in front of your fellow commuters, it needs to become a little clandestine. Even now, while walking through the station, my alcoholic brain picks out places that might offer privacy and the chance to guzzle. Thank God I’m not active. Who has the time?
I used to worry about finding a time and a place to drink myself free of worry. Now the drink’s gone, but the worry remains, like an itch from a phantom arm. And since it can’t be the mechanicians regarding my alcoholism that’s got me worried, it’s must be something else. Bring on the displacement!
Update: Now it’s much later in the day, and I’m on the train home. I’m still uptight: there’s a ton of work that needs doing, but most of it couldn’t be touched due to technical difficulties from the satellite office, so I’ll be working tonight. That’s another thing about the train – you’ve got to wait for it.
Lesson from all of this: Nobody else seems to be wound up. I always assumed it was because they’ve learned how not to sweat the small stuff. But I think in this case, it’s about learning to accept the things I cannot change. Some things are just built to be too darn big.