Category Archives: The Point

Articles on recovery and fellowship written by members of A.A. in San Francisco and Marin.

Miracle on 24th Street

by Adam R.

On Christmas Eve 2018, I woke up to my husband having a stroke. My higher power carried me through, and I want to share my experience, and the hope and refuge provided to me. I experienced one God-shot after another. From the morning until midnight I was aided. The first miracle was to get my husband to agree to go to the hospital. We live four blocks from Kaiser’s emergency room, but we still needed an ambulance. Alone with him, I had to get to the front of our complex to unlock the gate. As it would happen, my neighbor, a nurse practitioner, was out walking to work. I asked her to watch my husband. She went straight in to our bedroom. The ambulance found our hard-to-find address in minutes. 

At the ER, I found that Kaiser had an advanced stroke intervention program. He was prepped and brought to their neurosurgery center in Redwood City. My sister and her wife met me at the ER and prepared to drive me to the Peninsula. It was a miracle I was able to reach her. 

As I was about to pick up the phone, the neurosurgeon called

The neurosurgeon called me and described the risks and benefits of the procedure: the possibility of the procedure making the brain damage worse, or the possibility of permanent disability or death. With this dismal news, I called our niece back East. We worked out how to get ready for the next family member to call: my husband’s 91-year-old mother. She had lost her daughter a few years earlier, and I was to tell her she might lose another child that day. As I was about to pick up the phone, the neurosurgeon called. I didn’t think I would hear from him for hours. Good news: the blood clot was removed successfully and the paralysis had subsided substantially. He was already stable. The sense of relief and gratitude rushed through me. I was able to call his mother at least with less than miserable news—a ray of hope. 

Christmas Eve in the hospital room was not what I had planned. I had to find somewhere to eat and bring some sense of the holiday into the room. Across from the hospital a K-Mart was still open. The store was slated to be closed. There was a shortage of staff, long lines and a credit card system that barely worked. I was able to give the cashier patience and thanks. I walked out with an oversized Christmas owl, whose head stuck out of the bag. 

photo credits available on request to thepoint@aasfmarin.org

Across the parking lot was an Applebee’s. I walked in with my owl. I was seated at the bar with sports blaring out of mounted TVs overhead. As God would have it, a drunk sat next to me, stimulated to conversation by the owl. I remembered the saying, “There go I, but for the grace of God.”

I got an Uber to the Alkathon at 2900 – 24th Street

It was time to leave the hospital. I got an Uber to the Alkathon at 2900 – 24th Street. I know that I needed to be with my fellows. I had friendly driver and we talked the whole way to San Francisco. I didn’t mention what had happened. I was grateful to have a break from the drama of the day. 

When I arrived at 9:55 PM, I was greeted by a locked door. One of the women from the meeting let me know the last Alkathon meeting has just ended. I said what was going on for me. I was full of gratitude just to be with my A.A.s, none of whom I had ever seen before. Then one of the women announced they were taking me the Dry Dock, where there is one more meeting. For me, this never happens. A group of three young women took me, a total stranger, a 61-year-old man, into their car and drove me straight to the meeting. Again, I was taken care of. 

They drove me straight to the meeting

The meeting was about to start. I sat in front of a woman who resembled my first A.A. sponsor from 35 years ago. There was another woman who I knew slightly from meetings. There was also an African American Uber driver who talked about 12 Step work he had done in his car. After the meeting ended, I walked around trying to find some food. With nothing open, I decided to wait for the 22 Fillmore. Who gets on but an old timer from the meeting! We talked along the route and both got off at Geary Boulevard. He went in one direction, and I went home. 

Instead of feeling lonely in my empty home, I felt the power of all that had happened. I was truly carried, as was my husband. My heart was full of gratitude. This was my Christmas miracle. 

Swedenborgian Mediation Meeting on Lyon Street

by Bree L.

Dunkin, a member attending the Swedenborgian meeting for the first time, said, “This is truly a gem in San Francisco. It’s one of the oldest landmarks and a real Zen place to meditate and pray.” The meditation meeting is a chance to reconnect with the origins of A.A. on a spiritual level.

The sanctuary is built almost entirely of wood such as the strong manzanita tree trunks overhead supporting the roof and manzanita branches placed above the altar. The catch is nothing is symmetrical (although not so obvious as one looks around). This unfinished affect reflects the Swedenborgian belief nothing is ever completely finished, and our own A.A. statement about progress not perfection, since nothing is ever truly completed. 

Its unfinished affect reflects A.A. ideas about progress, not perfection

Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, “Emanuel Swedenborg . . . saw and showed the connection between nature and the affections of the human soul” (The American Scholar). There is also a connection between A.A. and the Swedenborgian Church. Lois Wilson’s maiden name was Lois Burnham. She was the granddaughter of scholar Reverend N. C. Burnham, founder of the Swedenborgian Academy of the New Church, Pennsylvania, in 1876. Lois was also a first cousin to world-famous Chicago architect Daniel Burnham, family friend and aesthetic mentee of Reverend Joseph Worcester, the Swedenborgian minister who designed and built this church. 

Bill W.’s wife Lois was the granddaughter of the founder of the Swedenborgian Academy

Every Tuesday evening at 7:30 p.m. there is a candlelight gathering in the Fireside Room of the Swedenborgian Church at 2107 Lyon Street. The adjacent dining room also houses a dining table used many years ago by William James and his family. This is the same William James who wrote the book Varieties of Religious Experience referenced in Appendix II in the Big Book of A.A.

The meeting begins with a few moments of silence followed by the Serenity Prayer. The Serenity Prayer is followed by this statement from As Bill Sees It: “The other steps can keep most of us sober and somehow functioning. But Step Eleven can keep us growing, if we try hard and work at it continually.” The secretary reads an introduction to A.A. ending with Step 11.

Swedenborg saw connections between nature and the human soul

Swedenborgian detail photos by navarre

Next is a message about meditating by John G., who started this unique meeting. He expands upon the anonymous April 1969 Grapevine piece, “Seeking Through Meditation,” stating meditation had been neglected because so few know about it. Meditation is awareness, attention and listening. For one who has spent a lifetime drinking it is hard to listen, especially to one’s self. The summary is: as one’s attention drifts, one begins again. The reading suggests there need be no dismay, no discouragement and no judgement. Also, no success, no failure—just the gentle willingness to start over.

Meditation is awareness, attention and listening

The 20-minute silent meditation begins with a mindful, group recitation of the Third Step Prayer. A peaceful tranquility overtakes the entire room. After the meditation newcomers, birthdays and visitors are recognized. The meeting is then open for discussion.

The sharing has a quiet tone that honors the respectful atmosphere. This is followed by the seventh tradition and a thank-you for all the trusted servants taking care of the meeting. There is no recitation of “How It Works,” traditions or promises, yet there is a feeling of going back to the roots of A.A. and what it stands for. The meeting ends with a group recitation of the Seventh Step Prayer. 

Step 12: Practice, Principles & Service

by Ali L.

Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and practice these principles in all our affairs.

To contribute to the stream of life. To do the right thing even when no one is looking. In other words, learning how to be a responsible, decent, adult human being. I found myself getting sober at 41 (almost 9 years ago now), with really no idea of how to be a grownup, what it meant to be of service or even generally to care about others to make the world a better place.

Struggling against the stream of life

I always found myself struggling against the stream of life. The only motivation I ever had was how to make myself look better in the world to get what I needed and make sure I was ok. And that was as far as I ever got.

I really appreciate this idea of “practicing.” It does not say, mastering these principles in all our affairs, or perfecting these principles in all our affairs. It most definitely does not say, thinking about these principles in all our affairs. To practice is simply the application of a principle or belief as opposed to the theoretical ideas relating to it. 

Before I got sober, I had many high-and-mighty ideas and theories about the kind of person I believed myself to be. But my actions indicated otherwise. I thought myself to be honest, but I was lying, with every breath, about who I was. About my fears and my anger. All of it hidden at the bottom of a bottle, and even that I hid.

I thought I honored life and cared about others, but I would carelessly drive drunk with no regard for who might be hurt. I thought I loved my family, but could not be counted on to even make it to the hospital when my grandmother became ill. I was too busy partying with people I don’t even remember, in the endless and empty pursuit of “fun.”

I learned the sacred inhabits the mundane

After years and years of living this life, I no longer even clung to the ideas of who I thought I was. The discrepancy between who I thought I was and who I actually was became too great. These hollow theories were replaced by bone-crushing shame. And so I made my way into the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous. 

photo credits available on request to thepoint@aasf.org

Through A.A. I have learned that the sacred inhabits the mundane. Everything I do becomes an opportunity to be of service and to practice the principles. Cooking for my loved ones. Cleaning up after myself everywhere I go. Watering my plants. Picking up trash. Greeting people with kindness. Waiting for my turn patiently, or even joyfully. Making my bed. Brushing my teeth. All of these simple, everyday tasks, elevated to opportunities for honesty, hope, faith, courage, integrity, willingness, humility, brotherly love, justice, perseverance, spirituality and service.

Now when I wake in the morning, I make it my practice to say, “How can I be of service today? How can I be truly helpful?” And the answer comes in everything I do, everywhere I am, with everyone I meet. 

The Art of Living: Digging Deeper

by Rick R.

The first 164 pages of the Big Book contain the framework for how to overcome the disaster of a life consumed by alcoholism. As I drank myself into a corner, ran out of options and desperately searched for answers, something told me to read the book Alcoholics Anonymous. There I found people who had overcome troubling issues in life. Each chapter has a particular subject which explains specific areas we could improve thoughts and behaviors. It seems that if we did what they suggested in those 164 pages, everything would be fine with us alcoholics, but wait! Next, they published The Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions to give more amplifying information as to how to incorporate the steps into our daily lives. 

Fear and insecurity dogged me every step 

As I continued to grow in the program, I sought more understanding of the depth of this disease. I began examining how symptoms had developed in me. The first 164 pages scratched the surface of my alcoholism and also challenged my commitment to pursue sobriety. I uncovered many character defects in the facets of my mentality. Fear and insecurity dogged me through every step.

As I became strong enough to overcome an ego-driven approach to these issues, my conscience started getting a foothold. It motivated me to dig deeper, pursue a life based on unselfish principles and abandon my faulty past thinking. I had to come to terms with a power greater than myself. I was encouraged to read a book by Emmet Fox called The Sermon on the Mount, considered to be the inspiration the A.A. founders incorporated into the solution for doubters like myself. It removed my doubts. 

The root of our troubles

Next, I had to learn how to become a good husband, father, friend and coworker. As we share our experiences with each other, we are learning how to address facets of our sick mentality. My wife came home from an Al-Anon meeting in my early years of sobriety. She was all excited about the topic of Examining our Motives. That one little statement changed my entire way of thinking about my behavioral problems. “Selfishness—self-centeredness! That, we think, is the root of our troubles” (Big Book, p.62).

If selfishness is the root (motive), then unselfishness is the obvious solution. This simple understanding starts the habit of living with unselfish motives. As a result, I am not ashamed of anything I do today. I have a clear conscience, and it is so much easier than I thought it would be. It doesn’t say generous. It just says unselfish (duh!).

photo credits available upon request to thepoint@aasfmarin.org

My conscience started getting a foothold

The world is full of supporting information concerning psychological problems alcoholics face when seeking answers. When we use the word love, I thought it was a feeling. However, I found a version of love in a book by Scott Peck, The Road Less Traveled. He defines love as caring for and nurturing another person’s soul. It is an action word. I can love everyone even if they don’t love me back by sincerely wanting the best for them and offering my help.

Using these examples is my way of encouraging everyone who finds it difficult to experience quiet satisfaction from the program. I find answers by looking deeper into the subject. We can seek out the solutions that help set in place those unselfish principles and habits which lead to what an old friend refers to as “Peace of mind and a quiet heart.”

Bucket Brigade Night Service

by Kim C.

Nearing the end of my Teleservice commitment next month, I thought I’d take this opportunity to share my experience and express my thanks. Over a year ago, my sponsor and I were trying to identify a 12-step activity that would be a good fit for me. In the past, my ego had gotten over-involved in any role I would categorize as caregiving. I had to learn the difference between caregiving and being of service.

If I’m not aware, caregiving can result in my over-focus on outcomes as a reflection of me. I can fall into the trap that my job is to deliver my message, not the message. If I don’t stay attached to the program, I can become attached to the idea that it is me helping someone, not A.A. or God, and I cannot carry that load.

Part of a bucket brigade, keeping the service available around the clock

Through Teleservice, I’ve realized that delivering the message is a simple as picking up the phone. I love the continuity that Teleservice provides. I feel like part of a bucket brigade, keeping the service available around the clock. A live person can be reached throughout the day, a 24-hour offering. The day’s coordinator cheerfully requests confirmation of those taking over the line and finds substitutes from the volunteer pool if needed. I always felt appreciated and part of a team.

I chose the 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. shift due to work schedule challenges with the other shifts. I’m not a night owl. In my using days, outside issues kept me awake at night for more drinking. Taking the night shift meant that the caller did not have a sharp talker at the other end of the line. As it turned out for me, that didn’t matter. Callers mostly wanted to talk. Many of the callers at those hours were under the influence and were arguing with the A.A. voices in their heads. There was nothing I could add but acceptance of the struggle, love for the person struggling. Others were sober and were feeling the long, dark night. Maybe they attended a meeting and were working through something they heard, said or didn’t say.

At night it’s a little different

photo credits available upon request to thepoint@aasfmarin.org

Teleservice at night is a little different from the other shifts. We have a little more time to listen and less concern about keeping the lines open for other callers or referring to 12-step volunteers.

By the end of the year I learned to be more thoughtful to my partner. I now take the calls in the living room and sleep on the comfy sofa. It’s a whole different experience sleeping on the sofa while I’m being of service (not because of an alcohol-fueled, resentment-laden fight).

I think I’m ready for an H and I commitment.

Gladly Rendered

by Claire A.

Subconsciously I think I have always known that service makes me feel good. Putting aside my own will briefly to help someone else, even if I was grouchy about it at the beginning, always wound up feeling good. It took coming into A.A. to make me become intentional about it—to seek service.

One of my first commitments was coffee-making. This was really difficult: there was a certain way to do it, a huge canister coffeemaker that I didn’t know how to use, but most difficult of all, lots of opinions about how it should be done. To be truthful the good feeling of being helpful was lost in my fear of doing it wrong. Thankfully, I kept doing it, and the opinions died down. Then I started to feel annoyed that no one was thanking me. Ha!

One of my first commitments was coffee-making

photo credits available on request to thepoint@aasfmarin.org

What really helped me most at that moment was remembering why I was there: to help alcoholics. I had no way of knowing whether someone might walk in off the street and feel more welcome because there was fresh coffee made. I had to have faith. And it was an important lesson to me, to just show up and let God do the heavy lifting. This is a lesson I need right now in my life. 

My husband’s father died about two months ago. He was a loving father and grandfather, and I loved him very much. I miss him, and I anticipate that this holiday season will be very difficult without him. His passing leaves a large hole in the extended family that seems to be getting filled up with a lot of family anxiety and anger. It’s a bit scary right now, not knowing how things will work out. And, of course, my husband is grieving the loss of his father, which is a process. The bottom line is there are a lot of big things happening around the family right now, over which I have zero control. 

It’s a good time to remember service. There are endless ways to be helpful, both in program and out. I can take a commitment, but I can also reach out at the end of a meeting and say hello to a newcomer. In a bigger way, though, I can be of service in my day. Being of service means I change my attitude from looking for what I can get to looking for what I can give. Looking at what I can give helps me to connect with others by thinking about how I might be able to help them.

Even a small, kind action helps

One of the great things about service is that it requires action. I can get so stuck in inaction! I’ll say to myself, oh, I’ll do it later. Then later comes, and I’m like, oh, I feel so tired, I really need a nap, and then I’ll get up from a nap, and I’ll be like: what happened to the day? It’s so predictable.

When I focus on what I can do for others, though, it just nudges me that little bit to get going. When I get going, I can get my stuff done and be of service. At the end of those days, I feel good. It doesn’t take a huge project to be of service. Even a small, kind action helps. And if it is a big project then often a small action, taken in faith that God is there to guide me, can be a great first step.

Too Many Years, Not Enough Days

by Bree L.  

Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m one of those who came in through the back door (controlled drinking and other 12 step programs). That is, unlike those who came in the front door—the “real” alcoholics, who knew they were alcoholics out of the gate. I wasn’t all that sure for the first month or so. Yes, my life was a mess and I’d cut down to one glass of wine for special occasions. I wanted the benefits of the program without full-on signing up so I played around with my attendance those first months. Then came a time when I knew in my bone marrow I was an alcoholic and this was where I belonged if I wanted any kind of life. 

That is why when my friend Jamie M. said, “Too many years and not enough days,” it didn’t ring true with me. I’d come in slow and gotten closer while Jill came in fast and then got slower. I’d never been loosey-goosey with the program, because I was afraid of returning to my old ways. Here is how Jill explained her dilemma.

A few of us with years under our belt go through periods of barely hanging onto the A.A. lifeboat

photo credits available upon request from thepoint@aasfmarin.org

She had 21 years of “sodriety”—her program had plateaued. She maintained one monthly service commitment, went to sporadic meetings, had no sponsees, and was thinking about dropping out of the program. “I was at a crossroads,” she says. “I wasn’t drinking but I wanted more and saw it might be beyond the A.A. program.” 

She took a trip from San Francisco to Cape Cod, a vacation place she knew from childhood. While there she walked by a distinctive church she remembered from long ago. Coincidentally, there was an A.A. meeting there. She was curious about what the church looked like inside. She says, “That was probably more of a draw than the meeting.” 

She wanted more of a sense of who she was 

As the meeting began they asked for newcomers and one woman approximately the same age as Jill raised her hand to identify herself as a newcomer. As the meeting progressed the woman spoke and opened with the fact that a week earlier she’d had 17 years. Today she had 6 days. Then came the line, “I had a lot of years but not enough days.” Jill listened closely to a description of reduced meeting attendance, no service commitment, no community work and no sponsees. The woman explained that she was doing the equivalent of resting on her laurels.

This was a cautionary tale for Jill.  She returned to San Francisco and recommitted herself to A.A. Within 3 months she had 2 sponsees, 4 meetings a week, a sponsor, and she took on 2 service commitments. Now seven years later most of those things are still in place. She stresses that one is never exempt from service and has firmly placed herself in the middle of the boat. 

When Pam G. was asked how she’d accumulated 28 years, she spoke of what she was doing to keep her program alive. She spoke of a time when she strayed from the program, saying. “I’ve been away for whole years at a time. I didn’t drink but I didn’t go to meetings.” She had stuck very close to the program in the beginning but then, as she says, “The program gave me a life.”  She became disengaged. She was a teacher and a single parent who was overly conscientious about her work. When she retired in 2001, she came back to A.A.  She wanted more of a sense of who she was and has stuck more closely since. 

Pam talks of friends with many years who don’t come to meetings. They have accepted the benefits of A.A. and moved on. Some became therapists and say they’re afraid of running into patients at the meetings. She says, “Non-participation is self-perpetuating. The longer one stays away the harder it can be to return.”

A few of us with years under our belt go through periods of barely hanging onto the A.A. lifeboat. Some never do make it back. The way to fight our way back in is to gather those days and with our H.P.’s help we’ll stay.

Home Group at Park Presidio

This A.A. found a meeting that feels like home

by Henry Y.

I believe it was one of the first A.A. meetings I went to back in early 2013. I remember it as small and welcoming, and that is still the feeling I get each time I attend a Park Presidio meeting. More recently, Park Presidio has supported me over a period of years where I began to lose faith in A.A. and life in general. I shared frankly about these struggles—with depression, with my first onset of suicidal ideations, with a creeping cynicism that needed to be expressed to be understood—and the group members would tell me to come back the next week. I didn’t always do this, preferring to keep the group at arm’s length. I think I feared that it would eventually lose its potency and I would become disillusioned and disconnected from this group of people as well. This, it turns out, is a self-fulfilling prophecy that comes true when I believe the false prophet that whispers in my ear. Each time I returned, I was reminded that I often could not help but feel connected to these people, even if my depression told me this would be impossible.

Sometimes the meeting might be disorganized

As is so often the case in A.A., I was elected as secretary because it was exactly what I needed to remain a participating member. It is a commitment that forces me to be involved in the meeting. I can never totally retreat into my own head. Something about reading the script, remembering newcomers’ names, and noting where someone has filled in on a commitment for the week helps me get more present. To my mind, part of the beauty of different meetings lies in their imperfections. It reminds me every member shares a common goal: to stay sober and help other alcoholics to achieve sobriety. Even if sometimes the meeting might be disorganized, disjointed, or disrupted.

This also applies to me. As secretary, it has honestly been a pleasure to let go of the notion that I can achieve “perfection” in my role. For example, serving as secretary has required me to find a speaker each week. This aspect of the commitment is especially beneficial to me, because it forces me to connect with other people. Once I’ve exhausted the small circle of people in A.A. I feel comfortable texting on a regular basis, I am forced to branch out. Sometimes I put this off until the 11th hour. Then my self-consciousness really goes out the window and I find the willingness to ask someone whom I might not otherwise ask. In those moments, without necessarily thinking that much about it, the spirit of service is easily more potent than my self-centered fears. 

I was elected secretary because it was exactly what I needed to remain 

photo credits available upon request to thepoint@aasf.marin.org

I enjoy seeing the same people each week and hearing their shares because I get to observe them moving through different challenges and life events. I realize I sometimes prefer to play the role of A.A. drifter, never totally connected to any one A.A. group. While I think it is important to continue to explore new meetings and meet different members, I also see how playing the drifter has allowed me to avoid the more intimate connection that comes with seeing someone every week. In short, Park Presidio has shown me the importance of having a home group and holding a commitment that forces me (at times) to be of service. Oh, and it’s funny as hell. We are not a glum lot, after all.