The Point

by Bree L.

This alcoholic never was much for prayer and meditation. They were for the geriatric set. Meditation was for yogis, not for me. Life was to be lived and grabbed—carpe the diem. Besides, I was too busy, too involved. I had to plan, prepare and my life needed a lot of micromanaging. Prayer was something a person did at church. There was one main prayer, the Our Father, that everyone knew and said. That was the Methodist Our Father with the add on’s, not the shorter Catholic one. Prayer was appropriate only on special occasions, church, funerals, and of course times of gigantic stress.

They were for the geriatric set

For a while transcendental meditation (TM) was the rage. Being a self-willed alcoholic, I skipped the $75 “mantra” fee and did it myself. My 20-minute meditations were abbreviated to 10 and then 5. My foray into TM lasted about a week. In my late teens, I saw the light and converted to Catholicism. My prayer capacity increased. I learned the correct Our Father and Hail Mary necessary for penance after confession. There was also the closing prayer for a perfect act of contrition. All along there were a truckload of times when I prayed, it was quite explicit, but it didn’t seem to work. This includes early years of praying that my father would stop drinking. Later I prayed to find a suitable husband. 

Approaching Steps 11 and 12 with the guidance of my sponsor, I tiptoed around prayer and meditation. Of course I could rattle off prayers. Hey, I had some down cold. But as with life I was physically present but not spiritually aware. (Although I did look very holy as I lifted my eyes to heaven.) With Steps 11 and 12 my higher power came down from the heavens, off the wall and into my heart. Along with that my prayers also evolved.

As with life I was physically present but not aware

Today the Third Step prayer is a mainstay. Father Tom talked of using one breath per word and that slowed the whole process down. I say it slowly, repeat it slowly, savor it slowly and work to digest every word. Many times I have to stop and start over again because I’ve forgotten where I was. I get hung up on that part about bondage of self. Where does it exist? Thus far I’ve climbed past my ex-husband, my wayward daughter and the guy in the meeting who grandstands. Then I’m back to the beginning knowing that any bondage of self is of my own making. 

The biggest thing I have to remember is that I’m not in charge and saying rote prayers keeps me in my head. It can become so automatic that I don’t even remember what I’m praying for. Sometimes during a meeting I’ll drift off to my own meditation. There are quiet times nobody is talking and I take the opportunity to close my eyes and slowly begin, “God, grant me the serenity,” or “God, I offer myself to thee.” Another trick is to visualize a best outcome of things that bother me. I’ve wanted my wayward daughter to come to A.A. However, she’s strong willed and tells me Heineken Light will suffice. I visualize her at her own meeting, partaking of what A.A. offers or going to A.A. activities. I end up giving her a mental hug and courage to be the best person she can. This beats agonizing or worrying about her drinking. I also don’t manufacture resentments by trying to control her. 

Lately there has been one of those meeting outliers, who has his own agenda and works to change our A.A. meeting from the inside out, starting with my meeting. What I’ve done is generate love and tolerance toward this person. I can meditate on his well-being, praying that he’ll see the light in his time (not mine). Prayer and meditation keep me connected to the wills of my H.P.

I asked my sponsor: How does one’s H.P. hear a prayer and does it do any good? Apparently the H.P. is beyond us all. The only way we know of its effectiveness is by equating it with sharing. When I share at a meeting, I don’t know if it affects others and can’t really tell how it might be received. The one thing I do know is how I feel relief and the knowledge, the intuitive thought, that I can now continue with my life. Prayer from the heart makes me feel good. I’m going to keep doing it. 

by Rob S.

My sponsor wisely did not allow me time to develop fear before writing my Fourth Step. He pointed out the Big Book indicates that we are to begin Step Four at once (p. 64). It seemed like only seconds after the Third Step that he laid out four sheets of paper with these headings:

• Selfishness
• Dishonesty
• Resentment
• Fear

Character defects slow us down as surely as the extra weights on horses in a Thoroughbred race

He said to write: “God help me I am writing my inventory” under each of these words. I was informed I was not capable of enough honesty to do this alone. I needed a higher power to help me. After all, a week or so before I had marched into a bar to say, “Gin and tonic, please.” (Thankfully I changed my mind and didn’t drink.) Obviously, my mind lied to me. 

The Oxford Group called the inventory process automatic writing. If the words did not come from deep within, I was not to write them. No “thinking” about it was allowed. More honesty landed on those pages in a few minutes than had come out of my keen-intellectual-alcoholic mind for many weeks. This was not exactly Step Four yet, but it brought about honest information for the upcoming inventory.

From the Big Book I learned how selfishness, dishonesty, resentment and fear had negatively affected me and others (p. 65). These were the very ingredients of the “bondage of self” I had asked to be removed in the Third Step. I needed to learn to face and be rid of these aspects of my personality. How could I do this if I didn’t even know what they were? I believe such understanding is a vital function of this step. The Big Book refers to the above four character defects as our “grosser handicaps”  (p. 71). These shortcomings slow us down as surely as the extra weights on horses in a Thoroughbred race.

Four character defects are “grosser handicaps” 

I was taught how to face and be rid of repeating thoughts of anger—resentments (p. 67). The same for irrational fears (p. 68). I came to realize how dishonest and selfish I had been with sexual conduct (pp. 69-70). This vitally important information was necessary to adequately do Step Five with my sponsor and to be willing to ask for God’s help in Steps Six and Seven (p. 76). Honest information from this step was even helpful in Steps Eight and Nine because I had listed my harms to others (p. 70). 

Dealing with resentments in everyday life

The Fourth Step method of dealing with resentments is very useful in everyday life. There are two tools for this (p. 67):

1. A logical tool: “Where were we to blame? Where have we been selfish, dishonest, self-seeking and frightened?” 
2. A spiritual request: “This is a sick man. How can I be helpful to him? God save me from being angry. Thy will be done.”

If I really apply them, this duo sets me free from repeating anger spells. I have learned to remain continually aware of grosser handicaps because they crop up in Step Ten all through the day and in Step Eleven before going to bed at night. Step Four is a learning process to be used with maintenance Steps Ten, Eleven and Twelve for the rest of my life. 

by Bill P.

a late bloomer. Yet I was out of the house and independent enough to own my own dog before I even had my first drink. Chauncey dog and I stuck to each other as only a needy budding alcoholic and a little wiener dog could.

He was my buddy for seventeen years. If he could talk, he would be able to tell stories I can’t remember myself. Of course, he cannot talk, nor does he have any legal standing in the state of California to make any accusations against me. Nor would he ever betray me over anything not food-related. He is a dog, after all.

That only an emergency vet would know what to do was also a fact

As of a week ago he is also dead. So there is that. In Atlanta where I got sober, people would often say that feelings aren’t facts. I guess they say that here, too. I’ve heard people say before that this saying is absurd: feelings aren’t real? That’s nuts. That’s not what it says, though. It says that they are distinct from each other. They don’t have to be in agreement: knowing the facts won’t tell you how you feel, and knowing how you feel won’t tell you the facts. We ignore either at our peril. 

Last Saturday, I returned from lunch to find that Chauncey had failed to recover from a seizure he had that morning. His right arm and leg no longer worked. He had no bladder control. I wrapped him in the same blanket he came home in when he was a puppy and called a friend: can you give me a ride to the emergency vet? Chauncey and I had been to the emergency vet many times before, but I knew there was a chance that he wouldn’t come home this time. And then I held him and tried to comfort him as the vet sedated and killed him, and he didn’t come back after that. I got home and looked around and said aloud, “Where’s Chauncey? Where’s Chauncey?” I cried and cried. 

I can tell you what happened. I can tell you what I did. I don’t think I can show you how I felt here, though. Maybe what I write here makes you feel something, too, but those are your feelings. Mine are my own. The next day I went to a sober function and saw a friend of mine. I told him about Chauncey, and he gave me a hug.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I want to crawl into a hole and die.”

Facts tell me if I drink, a lot of bad things I don’t want to happen are going to come along for the ride

Those are feelings. Feelings are being miserable, being sad. Feeling like a failure, like a loser. Feeling like the king of the world, or like a piece of shit. “Feelings aren’t facts” tells me that those feelings are real, but they aren’t reality. If I feel I am something, that doesn’t mean that’s what I am. If I feel I should do something, that doesn’t mean that’s what I should do. It just means I feel that way. They seem a lot more real than that, because feelings inspire action. If I feel like I want to crawl into a hole and die, I will want to sit at home and eat ice cream and play video games. In the moment, that seems like the right thing to do. Leave me alone, I’m not happy and I don’t want to be around anyone.

Facts, of course, aren’t like that. When Chauncey was paralyzed on his right side, that was a fact. That only an emergency vet would know what to do was also a fact. If I feel like I want to crawl into a hole and die, I have to consider the facts as well as the feelings.

If I only consider the feelings, then drinking looks like a great option. It will change that feeling, for one thing, and nothing else I do is guaranteed to do that. But the facts tell me that if I drink, a lot of bad things I don’t want to happen are going to come along for the ride. And if I only ever deal with the feelings, the facts that made me feel the way I feel are never going to change. I can drink and feel “better.” Chauncey will still be dead, though. I can order a print of Chauncey from Shutterfly, though. I can give his poop bags to the neighbors. They’re little things, but at least my apartment will reflect reality after I do them.

It may hurt, but I can look at these actions and say, “This would be the right thing to do,” even if my feelings are crying out at me as I’m doing them. Respecting the facts won’t always lead to happy feelings, and that’s okay. But still: what to do with the feelings? I can’t change them. I can’t ignore them. How can I bear them?

I share them. As best I can, I never experience a strong feeling alone. Ideally, I talk about that feeling with someone it’s relevant to. So when Chauncey died, I wasn’t alone. I had a lot of reasons I thought I should be alone: I don’t want to burden someone else with this, I’m not close enough to anyone to share this moment with them. But I learned from my first sponsor not to do anything alone if I don’t have to. So I had a friend with me.

When I came home after putting Chauncey down, I let people who knew him know. I talked to them over the phone (not just text!). Hell, I even called up an ex. No one was going to feel like I did, and I wasn’t going to be happy, exactly, but calling them and talking about what happened and how I was feeling meant that I didn’t have to carry the burden of those feelings by myself. 

Oftentimes I use meetings to share that burden: I take what I’ve got, and I just talk about it. I don’t know why, but I didn’t need meetings to help handle Chauncey’s death. My sponsor, on the other hand, I did talk to about it, because he’s my accountability partner. I don’t experience any strong feelings without telling him, because if I don’t, odds are good that I’ll slip into dishonesty. The same goes for my home group: I brought it up there, because they need to know what’s going on with me.

I learned from my first sponsor not to do anything alone if I don’t have to

Last Saturday, I got rid of a lot of Chauncey’s stuff. I threw away his leash and harness. I put his crate, the crate I bought on the way home from picking Chauncey up at a Shoney’s parking lot in Commerce, Georgia all those years ago, out on the curb by my apartment in the city. After I put the crate out, I walked to the grocery store. I thought about that crate. The feeling of loss overwhelmed me again. I had to collect myself. I sat down for a moment before continuing on. When I went to church the next morning, I remember seeing that the crate wasn’t there anymore. Someone had taken it and would presumably get some use out of it. A small blessing not to have to see it anymore. When I came home that afternoon, the crate somehow was there again. Not only that, but Chauncey’s leash and harness were laying on top of it, like I had set them out to put them all in the car for a road trip. 

What happened? Did I not actually see the crate gone? Did someone take it and then return it? How did the leash get there? Did a scavenger find it in my trash and decide to put it there? What does this whole thing mean? Is it a sign from my higher power? Do I need to unpack this and understand it? The crate and harness stayed on the curb after that. Nobody took them. When the garbage collectors came later that week, they threw it all out.

Like I said: feelings aren’t facts. I may not have all the facts, but I’ll always have feelings. And I’m grateful to the program for showing me that I never have to bear them alone.

By Rick R.

Why the program of Alcoholics Anonymous works so well on the disease of alcoholism is hard to fathom when we first arrive. Most of us are confronted with the idea that our perception of life had been wrong from the start. Issues like faith, higher power, insanity, surrender, denial, guilt and shame had to be revisited to see where past thinking let us down.  We painted ourselves into a corner in life. Some of us become open to the idea we may need outside help. When we go through this process in the spirit it’s presented in The Big Book and the 12 and 12, wonderful things happen for us. 

Every time we uncover another piece of the puzzle, we free up that part of our mind

When I first entered the A.A. program, I tried to look forward to see how it could influence my life. Today it’s much easier to look back at the way the program worked for me. I wish there was a way to package it and give it away, but as I look back on my own experience I realize each one of us is conditioned differently.

Few of us can envision what the end result will be. If we did we would cut right to the chase and never look back. In the beginning we usually spend most of our time coming to terms with the most obvious symptom of alcoholism, the drinking. I was no exception. Unfortunately, many of us never get deeper into the program where most of the healing takes place. 

Some of us find happiness, peace of mind, and other things which were lacking in our lives. To acquire them we must get serious about the process of recovery. This does not mean we will not experience joy and peace until we complete the process. Not at all. Every time we uncover another piece of the puzzle that barred us from being at peace it allows us to free up that part of our mind that has been wrestling with that issue. We can finally put it to rest. 

Few of us can envision the end result

The day-to-day improvement in self-esteem is reward enough to inspire us to address the next issue that needs attention. One by one we resolve these matters as we trudge the road of happy destiny. Another natural result with this new awareness: we refrain from making the regretful mistakes of the past that caused our discontent in the first place. 

Replacing the wrongs with the rights, you might say, doubles the pace of our growth. We only live once and it would be a shame to spend it with that awful mental grinding that goes on between our ears when the solution is right before our eyes. If we spend all of our mental energy obsessing on not drinking one day at a time, we can do this for years and then, one day, just pick up that drink. A drink has no appeal to alcoholics who are at peace with themselves and with others. Why waste the only life we have, when the answers are laid there at our feet? Don’t get stuck in the rut of complacency. Trust this process and ask yourself if you’ve been thorough with all twelve steps. If not, I recommend revisiting those loose ends and dealing with them. Give this a try and you won’t regret it.                 

by Claire A.

I’m pretty sure “someone” is looking out for all of us, if we care to acknowledge there’s a higher power we can tap into. I don’t mean to be grouchy, but I don’t completely agree with that saying – I’ve seen plenty of alcoholics who are struggling. What does it mean that someone is looking out for them? They aren’t dying? What about those that are dying? 

It’s easy to think that someone is looking out for me personally, because I can’t even believe I ever made it to A.A. It’s a huge blessing. And I have certainly heard plenty of stories in the rooms about people who have survived insane car wrecks and multiple suicide attempts. But for every one of us who survives and gets sober, how many others are out on the street or on the bathroom floor? How many are driving into a ditch or hitting others with their cars?

I stopped growing emotionally when I started drinking

Coming at this saying from a different angle, I feel it invites comparison between children and alcoholics. And though alcoholics (this one, at least) lack the innocence of children, there are similarities. 

It took me a while to realize that I stopped growing emotionally when I started drinking. The moment I felt the relief of that first drink, that liquid courage, I stopped needing to find my own source of courage. When I drank to relieve stress, I stopped learning to seek stress relief in exercise and meditation (or doing less!). When I drank “socially,” which was actually anti-socially, I didn’t need to learn how to manage social situations, how to get along with others, or how to leave at a reasonable hour. 

It’s astounding to me how many examples of stunted growth I have. I couldn’t dance without drinking – I didn’t learn how to be comfortable in my own body. Internally, I reacted to others at work in a juvenile way. Because I was too terrified to actually confront anyone, I gossiped about the people I feared. I couldn’t communicate with others. I couldn’t really stand other people. Toward the end, I couldn’t stand myself. It was thoughts of suicide that drove me to get help which eventually led to A.A. 

Basically stuck at a much younger emotional age

In A.A., working with a sponsor, I started to see how immature I was. In working the 4th and 5th steps I saw how I held grudges, obsessed about what others thought of me, plotted revenge in my head, fell prey over and over again to my own fears, and was basically stuck at a much younger emotional age. Looking at my character defects and taking responsibility for my actions has let me grow up a little. I’m a work in progress. 

One of the greatest teachers and joys in A.A. has been working with other alcoholics. Seeing another person’s eyes light up as they take hold of the program, laughing with them over our crazy behavior, sharing what worked: these are all things I never dreamed of, and they are one of the greatest satisfactions of being in A.A. 

Now, I suppose the “someone” in the saying could be me and possibly you. As the A.A. saying goes, “I am responsible. When anyone, anywhere, reaches out for help, I want the hand of A.A. always to be there. And for that I am responsible.” Obviously, I’m a tiny part of this thing, but I and thousands like me are looking out for alcoholics who are ready to try this program. I suppose that is someone after all. 

by Bara B.

Step 2: Came to believe a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

A new year with perfect vision. “I can see clearly now the rain is gone, I can see most obstacles in my way” with the help of the steps and my sponsor. If my words can be of service I’m happy to reach someone.

To me the beginning of Step 2 means came to a meeting. Came to: woke up. Came to believe there’s something or someone out there (or even inside us) that could restore us from the despair of alcohol and drug addiction to being happy, joyous and free? From powerlessness to letting go of our fears, we walk into the sunlight of the spirit.

This is what Step 2 promises: hope

This is what Step 2 promises: hope. I’m living proof of that. Six months of my late teens to early twenties were spent in an assortment of psych wards in two states, thanks to being under the influence of drugs and alcohol. Maybe some of that is bipolar disorder which exists in our family’s genetics. And alcoholism didn’t help. I had dropped out of college by then, and was completely lost and drifting. These episodes brought me to California in the late seventies, determined not to go back to the psych ward. 

At 21 I had left behind Albert, my sweet two-year-old son from my first marriage. I made the decision to surrender custody to his father but it left me broken-hearted and gave me more reasons to drink myself into oblivion. A family tragedy brought me to A.A., but not right away.

My brother was almost killed at the hands of my violent, alcoholic boyfriend. The knife came very close to my brother’s heart. I felt I had to choose between the two men, and I chose my boyfriend who later became my husband. I can’t describe the crippling guilt and shame I lived with for so many years. Together we drank up and down the Coast, from San Francisco to San Diego and back. We stayed in run-down hotels, complete with cockroaches, drinking until we passed out. I felt like a fugitive – on the run with a would-be murderer and cast out of the family I loved so much.

And we had a son together. My twisted thinking was that this child would make up for losing Albert, and this time I wouldn’t lose custody. After five or so years of dragging Billy along with us on our drunken adventures, we settled for a one bedroom apartment. This was a huge step up for us. And I got a look at the lives we were leading, though still managing to hold down jobs. 

Gifts of the program

I came into recovery through Al-Anon. I told myself I was through with drinking, and now I could focus on getting my husband sober. After several hundred Al-Anon meetings, I realized I had one finger pointing at my husband and three fingers pointing back at me. I started attending A.A. meetings.

That husband never got sober and eventually died of cirrhosis. We had divorced by that time and I lost track of him. A social worker called me to tell me he’d died and was buried at Holy Cross Cemetery. As far as working Step 2, I believe the principle behind it is humility. I work the step by praying and meditating. I have a “God jar” that I use to place things or people I need to turn over.

A postscript: I have a continuing relationship with my first son Albert and attended his wedding. My second son Billy and I also have a very close relationship. And I’ll be attending my nephew’s wedding this March. I’ve just retired from the school district and was able to buy a little cottage up near Mt. Shasta. I was happy to be asked to contribute to the Point at a meeting yesterday. All these are the gifts of the program. I continue to come to meetings, I continue to believe, and I hope you find the sanity and health I’ve found in these rooms—beyond your wildest dreams.

by Robert S.   

The Big Book implies a vital spiritual experience is necessary for alcoholics to face and be rid of the obsession to drink (p. 27). Yet paradoxically we are told that belief was not necessary to accomplish this miracle—we need only become willing to believe (p. 46). I found it wasn’t necessary to define God before doing the 12 Steps, but I began to see the result of my willingness to believe several months afterward. I experienced a release from the deadly mental obsession that had plagued me for nearly 30 years. My willingness to believe came before doing the steps, but my belief came afterward. 

Pouring whiskey into milk

I had been released. I had experienced the personality change sufficient to recover from alcoholism. It took about a year before the release took place for me. Program language explains I had a spiritual awakening (slowly) rather than a spiritual experience (suddenly) as mentioned in Appendix II (p. 567). 

The Big Book does not say I must understand God, but it speaks of God as we understood Him in Steps 3 and 11. This idea simply means we each may entertain different views of a higher power. Although I may not understand completely, I can see results—we have over two million sober alcoholics in A.A. Many of us claim to be saved from the pit. Sam Shoemaker, Bill Wilson’s Oxford Group mentor, thought Step 2 was not theological but evidential. The evidence of our willingness is in the meetings. 

Not theological but evidential

As I studied the Big Book I realized the authors used certain words in a unique way. One of these is “sanity.” Sanity, in Big Book-speak, is when an alcoholic can see and act on the truth concerning the matter of drink. Alcoholic insanity is when they cannot.

Here are two examples. Alcoholic insanity: Jim pouring whiskey into milk was “plain insanity” (p. 37). Alcoholic sanity: Fitz Mayo “couldn’t drink even if he would” (p. 57). I believe I am—as are we all—endowed with a powerful truth that can override the false ego which tells us to drink. We just have to be willing to listen to it. The Big Book tags it as “The Great Reality deep within” (p. 55). Some call this spirit, soul, overself or God Self. The true self has the ability to encompass and overcome the false ego-driven self. However, this blessing is manifested only so long as we remain in fit spiritual condition (p.85). 

No longer in my emotional vocabulary

It has become A.A. cliché that an alcoholic cannot drink on the truth—only on a lie. My false self usually believes what it wants to believe in spite of anything standing in the way of a drink. It has the unique capacity to believe a lie, even when it knows it’s a lie. For me, alcoholic insanity resulted in 24 unsuccessful years of “quitting” forever.

Today, drinking is no longer in my emotional vocabulary. Seemingly gone, as the Tenth Step promises, “the problem has been removed” (p. 85). Someone wrote, “The better I understand God, the less I know God.” Came to believe is a decision of the heart, requiring willingness, rather than of a conclusion of the mind.

by John W.

How often I have heard the words “I stopped going to meetings” as an explanation for a slip, a decision to have a drink after a period of sobriety. Whether it was one drink or many did not seem to matter. Sometimes years followed the slip. Nor did it seem to matter how much time the speaker possessed before succumbing to the desire, impulse, or just plain lie which preceded the drink. I never heard anyone describe the wonderful time they had while out. Invariably they mentioned regret, remorse, frustration, horrible loss and the progression of an illness that was relentless in its effort to devour and destroy its host. No wonder many believe the most important person in the room is the newcomer. Newcomers are escaping this horror and reminding us of it and how close it lingers to each recovering alcoholic.

A painting, by an ex-con A.A. who attended meetings for 20 sober years, hangs on the wall as a reminder of how this program turns lives around

During a meditation/discussion meeting I had recently attended, the topic posed was one’s favorite, most memorable meeting. In my mind the clear choice was my local 7:00 a.m. Mill Valley Log Cabin, 7-day-a-week, 365-day-a-year, meeting where I got sober on Tennessee Valley Road. Although not a log in it, in those early days the fireplace could be used to burn logs. This fire often made the smallish “L-shaped” room quite cozy, despite the benches and hard folding chairs. A painting, by an ex-con A.A. who had graced that Log Cabin for 20-odd sober years, still hangs on the wall as a reminder of how this program can turn a life around. 

Upon the reflection promoted by the meditation aspect of the setting, I realized that while this was my favored meeting on so many levels, it was quickly challenged by the 7:00 a.m. at the Masonic Hall. This was a larger, open room, which was always cold, even in mid-summer, belying the warmth of its members.

Then I thought of my home group at 7:00 a.m. in the Alano Club in San Rafael. I liked it because it was A.A. on the ground floor. It had the frankness of one drunk talking to another at the most basic level. If you could not find a person there who told your story, you were not trying hard enough. 

Although a bit of a longer drive for me, there was also the daily 7:00 a.m. Attitude Adjustment Hour in Fairfax, in the large room which, I was told, doubled as the City Council meeting location (46 Park Road). Great pastries in the morning, often home-made and great sobriety there. Everyone seemed to have at least 100 years, except the frequent newcomers who were welcomed like family, at least the family you wanted to be part of. My son got this caring treatment while he was there attending meetings and I could never thank those folks enough for their kindness to that stranger to them.

Then there was the 7:00 a.m. Urgent Care meeting. This smaller, more intimate group’s die-hard persistence stressed in personal, actual terms, the seriousness of their purpose. On Wednesdays, it seemed like half the drunks in Corte Madera showed up on Meadowsweet Drive.

I looked for a common thread

As I mused about the attractions of each of these meetings I looked for a common thread. I saw these meetings were all at 7:00 a.m. It dawned on me that whenever I traveled, whether New Jersey, Los Angeles or anywhere in between, I always looked for a local meeting which started around 7:00 a.m. Over the years of practicing the principles of staying sober which my sponsor had drilled into me that those folks at the 7:00 a.m. meetings, no matter the city in which they convened, had what I wanted in A.A. That was not to say similar experiences did not occur at other meetings. Of course it did. Yet I experienced a whole new attitude and outlook upon the day in front of me when I was able to start it off with a meeting. It was also what my sponsor did and what his sponsor did.

This practice worked for several decades for each of them. Who was I to knock success where before had been only failure? So 7:00 a.m. meetings remained my favorite. Focusing back on the reflection from the meditation/discussion meeting earlier, my alcoholic “monkey mind” continued to spin despite my efforts to contain it. What else was I missing?

I remembered a beautiful Friday afternoon in June of 2005: high blue skies, with white clouds, a perfect afternoon to start the weekend. “Favored or memorable” had been the topic. Although my drinking had caused quite a rift in my 14-year marriage, that iceberg had been struck months ago, but I had been sober for 10 weeks. That ship would soon be righted as the collaborative divorce attorneys were working on my drinking’s wreckage. I was home earlier than my previous normal. Funny how not stopping in transit for a quick drink, or four, now got me home at a reasonable hour. My three children, none yet a teenager, were having a great time with the neighbor kids in our quiet court. All was well as I exited my car. 

The young man who spoke my name caught me off guard, so I replied “yes” without a thought. The kick-out order and subpoena he handed me did not warn me that I would never spend another night in that home I loved with the family I adored. In the span of 60 seconds I had become homeless with nowhere to go. Although sober for only 10 weeks, my sponsor had done me well by then. I am grateful that generous and loving soul is in my life. My first thought was not which bar, but what meeting I could find. 

The 6:00 p.m. at The Loft was only minutes away and had just started when I arrived. Shortly before it ended, I shared my experience. Too numb still to think, after the meeting I received in return the experience of several who had been through what I had. They added their hope for me that I too could survive as they had. They shared their strength with me when I had lost all of mine. 

I did not drink that night, nor have I had a drink since. But I know most certainly that it was because of that meeting and the fellowship which was so freely given to me, that I did not go out that night. Wearing the same wrinkled suit and tie from the day before, I was at my Log Cabin at 7:00 a.m. the next day neither bright eyed nor bushy-tailed, but sober and not hung over. I have since heard attendance at meetings described as the easier, softer way. This program and fellowship supported me well when I needed it the most. I follow those ways now, one day at a time.