thepoint_202412

By Claire A.

I went to Unity Day this year. I wanted to go, and I didn’t really want to go, but I had committed to it. My spouse was getting ready to go to a festival and my kid was going to have a lazy day at home. I wanted to relax too. I didn’t know how to find the meeting. I didn’t know whether I was going to drive or take MUNI. I didn’t know who would be there. It was hot. I didn’t know if someone would be appalled if I wore shorts to a church. My driver’s license had expired, and the new one hadn’t arrived yet. My alcoholic brain, as usual, was finding a million reasons to not do the very thing that would help me stay comfortably sober. 

AA has taught me to breathe, and to suit up and show up. I didn’t wear shorts, but I did dress comfortably. I printed out my new temporary license. I drove up Geary, fearfully swearing at the traffic, because even though I am afraid of going to Unity Day, I damn well know how you should be driving.

There were dozens of available parking spots underneath the church and my car would stay blessedly cool all day. As I walked toward the church, I knew I was in the right place when I saw a man wearing a shirt with “Resentment #1” printed across the back. My people! 

Old friends and new were finding each other in the basement of the church, enjoying a cup of coffee and organizing themselves for a day of work and fun. I heard laughter and I saw folks hugging and shaking hands. My fear quite forgotten, I was soon joining in. People I had only ever seen in a Zoom meeting were popping up everywhere.

I joined a sharing session about trying to get more people into service, and my first thought was “good luck getting alcoholics to do anything they don’t want to do.” But I sat and listened, and I did hear some good ideas. I can’t remember any of them now, but my idea was to write this article and talk about how much I have gotten out of service. In fact, I have gotten so much out of service, I might have to do a serial column to get it all down on paper.

For this column, though, and because I only have space for about 100 more words, I want to talk about being an IGR (Intergroup Representative). AAsfmarin.org describes the job as “the connection between the members of your group and Intergroup” which sounds simple enough, but boy did it teach me. I learned to listen to what was important to my group rather than assuming I knew or stressing out because I didn’t know. I worked through my fear of making announcements. I also learned to relax and trust my own judgement. There is an enormous amount of information available about all the good stuff AAs are doing in SF. Slowly, I learned I could choose what I thought would be of most interest to my meeting, and keep my announcements brief. Above all, I felt the satisfaction of doing a tiny part to keep our program humming in SF, and to make sure the hand of AA will always be there.

If you’ve read this far, thank you. I hope you’ll consider being an IGR. You can find out more at www.aasfmarin.org. Your group probably needs an IGR. And if you serve, I’ll see you at the monthly Intergroup meeting! 

By John. W.

‘Twas to be the jewel so long missing
From the crown belonging upon my head
The gold star of my progress commemorating
The passing to another of the Step lore I had wed.

Armed with this attitude, my first attempts failed.
So eager to preach, to promote, I forgot humility.
Attraction got lost, no surprise my targets had bailed.
My inventory when honestly taken exposed the roots of my futility.

My failures still confirmed, the work brought me a release,
A shield I could don, forged from the fire of intensity
Stoked by my work with others who suffered and sought peace.
To them I could be useful, in humility I had the propensity.

With renewed spirit and as The Promises began to be fulfilled,
I reveled in the joy of the accomplishments and success.
That “More Will Be Revealed” had not yet in me been instilled.
Thus, when the other’s slip occurred, on it I did want to obsess.

“You’ve Got Some Nerve” was a feeling that seemed
So justified in the having and so selfish upon reflection.
A great sponsor I was, when joy and smiles to me beamed,
Yet when “my guy” slipped, all I beamed was consternation.

While I professed it to be more at my shortcomings than his,
I managed to sow a resentment that had he but listened to me
This relapse would never have happened, nothing would be amiss.
Of course this was crazy and through my insanity’s fog I began to see.

My sadness was real, my friend had returned to hell
I was not sure if he could escape his choice and recover
Or if our powerful disease would cause him to never get well.
To live or die the stark choice, soberly I knew there was no other.

As days passed while his drama unfolded in rehabs remote,
My meditative ways left me to ponder my side of this street.
So mesmerized had I been by pride and the urge to emote,
I had forgotten the steps I had trudged, the soul for which my heart beat.

For me another bottom it wasn’t, instead an awakening it became.
I couldn’t “fix” my guy any more than I had “fixed” myself.
I could carry the message, but his disease was his demon to tame.
A hard lesson learned, but with it too came untold wealth.

By Anon.

How often I had heard the words: “I stopped going to meetings . . . “ woven somewhere within the fabric of an explanation for a “slip,” for a decision to have a drink after some period of sobriety. Whether one drink, many, or years that followed,the reality of which the observation bespoke did not seem to matter. Nor did the “time” the speaker possessed before succumbing to the urge, impulse, desire, fantasy, or just plain lie which preceded the drink, seem to matter. From those who uttered these words, I heard none remark of the wonderful time they had while “out.” To a person, when the time was described, invariably the description invoked regret, remorse, frustration, horrible loss and a 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, both because they are escaping this horror while reminding all who pay attention to it, of how close it lingers to each recovering alcoholic.

During a meditation/discussion meeting I recently attended, the topic posed was one’s most favored, most memorable meeting. In my mind I immediately jumped of course to my local, 7:00 a.m. Log Cabin meeting, 7-days-a-week, 365-days-a-year, where I got sober as the clear choice. Upon the reflection promoted by the meditation aspect of the setting, I realized that while this was a “favored” meeting on so mainly levels, it was quickly challenged by the 7:00 a.m. at the Masonic Hall, the 7:00 a.m. at the Alano Club, the 7:00 a.m. in Fairfax and of course the 7:00 a.m. Urgent Care meeting. The obvious attraction had initially eluded me, the reflection allowed me to see – these were all 7:00 a.m.-ers.  

I then recalled whenever I traveled, whether to New Jersey or Los Angeles, or anywhere in between, I always looked for a local meeting which started at or before 7:00 a.m. I seemed to have found over the years of practicing the principles of staying sober which my sponsor had drilled into me [Thank You Higher Power for putting this generous and loving soul into my life], that those folks at the 7:00 a.m. meetings, no matter the city in which they convened, had what I wanted in AA. That is not to say the same experience does not occur at other meetings, of course it does. It is to say I found I experienced a whole new attitude and outlook upon the day in front of me when I started it off with a meeting. It also was what my sponsor did, what his sponsor did, and it [by today’s count] worked for several decades for each of them so who was I to knock success where before had been only abject failure. So the amorphous “7:00 a.m. Meeting” had to be my favorite. However the meditation period had not yet ended, and this alcoholic “monkey mind” continued to spin despite my efforts to contain it. What was I missing?

“Favored or memorable” was the topic. I then recalled that beautiful Friday afternoon in June, high blue skies, contrasted slightly with white clouds, a perfect afternoon by which to start the weekend.  Although my drinking caused quite a rift in the 14-year marriage, that was weeks ago and I was sober now for six weeks. I was sure this ‘marriage hiccup’ would be smoothed over any day now, the lawyers were working on it. I arrived home earlier than my previous normal, funny how not stopping on the way home for a quick drink [read four], started to get me home at a reasonable hour.  My three children, none of them teenagers yet, were having a great time with the neighbor kids, all was well as I exited my car. The young man who spoke my name, inquiring as to my identity caught me off guard. Innocently, I  uttered “Yes that’s me” without thought. The kick-out order and subpoena he then handed me did not foretell I would never spend another night in the house I loved, with a family I adored. In the span of 60 seconds I literally discovered I had nowhere to go!

Sober for only 6 weeks, still my sponsor had done good work.  My first thought was not to which bar I could head, but to what meeting I could go.. 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, I received in return the experience of several who had been through what I was just starting. 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 it was because of that meeting and the fellowship in it which was so freely given to me, those circumstances did not take me out that night. Wearing the same wrinkled suit and tie from the day before, I was at my Cabin at 7:00 a.m. the next day. Neither bright eyed nor bushy tailed, but sober and not hungover. This prescription I have found stood me well when I needed it the most. I have since heard going to meetings described as “The Easier, Softer Way.” I think I know from whence comes that saying – been there, doing that, one day at a time.

By Dede. H.

It’s a small way to say thank you
It’s a tiny way to help others 
It’s often not thanked or noticed
It’s something I too can do 
Even when I don’t feel like it 
Act myself into a better way 
Of thinking, of being, of not sinking
So low I don’t know what to say
I need to be more active do less
Thinking and drinking and thinking
It was a bad way of living 
Sometimes it felt like death 
I was broadsided by life
Completely out of breath
Now you’ve quietly helped me 
I can help you too 

Bringing Joy to the Less Fortunate

By Rick. R.

How appropriate it seems that there are twelve months in a year and we have twelve steps in the program. November is often referred to as the Gratitude month, due to the celebration of Thanksgiving. The joy of good living is the theme of Step Twelve, and it blends right in with the Christmas holiday season in December, ending with the New Year’s Eve celebration. This time of year brings joy to many of us but it also brings distress to some of the less fortunate ones who have yet to be blessed with the gift of sobriety and peace of mind, in and outside of A.A.

During my drinking days I used to be extremely uncomfortable about the holidays. I never knew how to act around normal people unless I was half smashed. When invited by one of my siblings to Thanksgiving dinner, I felt like a charity case and would rather just hang out at the bar where I felt safe. I never got into the spirit of reaching out to others. My family always celebrated the different holidays, especially Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I would always (due to my discomfort) put a damper on it by complaining about the tacky gifts  people bought for each other at Christmas and the mad rush to go shopping and the commercializing facade it had become. Any excuse was better than facing me and the miserable wretch I had become. 

 After being sober for several years it occurred to me I still had some of those same attitudes, and I was still holding on to them to some degree largely due to the inconvenience of it all. I explained this problem to a dear friend once, and he asked,” Does the rest of the family enjoy the holidays?” I said, “Yes.” He then said, “Why don’t you just take a back seat and just watch the joy in their eyes as they experience these things.”  I did exactly what he suggested and when I started to observe my wife and two adolescent girls and the childlike innocence and happiness it brought to them, it gave me a whole new appreciation for this time of year. It brought tears of Joy to my eyes. I no longer wanted to be the grouch, putting a damper on the oy that they were having. I have been following this line of thinking ever since and it  changed my whole perspective concerning these things.

This change of attitude has inspired me to apply the unselfish lessons I have come to understand and now I spend the holiday season filled with Joy. If it works like that for the holidays, then why can’t I bring it with me for the rest of the year? This has been my mission ever since my friend suggested it and I am always looking for the opportunity to brighten the lives of people less fortunate than myself. I try to do these things anonymously and without fanfare. I also try to consider the discomfort I used to feel when I was the one on the receiving end of a charitable gesture. I am careful to do these things in a way that preserves the dignity of that other person. I do not have to wait for the holidays to do these things. Every day is a holiday in and outside of my home, and you can believe me when I say: I reap more than my share of the joy. I hope this brings a new perspective to those who, like me, have trouble enjoying this time of year and I hope you all have a joyful Holiday Season and many more.