I’m grateful for two really, really lovely children. I’m grateful for a chilly November morning. I’m grateful for the things that had to happen. I’m grateful for amends, promises and freedom. I’m grateful for the way it works. I’m grateful to be sober today.
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My daughter often suggests that our conversations too often focus on the weather and my views on the rapidly increasing tempo of the passage of time. She lays the blame squarely on me and will often begin our conversations with a sort of sarcastic request for a weather report. In the same vein, my frequent complaint, “I can’t believe it’s already [fill in blank for fast approaching holiday or other recognizable date] is usually met with semi-icy disdain and the phrase intended to keep the conversation with me moving: “Anyway, Dad...”1 Anyway, last night she began our conversation by saying, “I can’t believe Thanksgiving is next week.” HaHaHa.
That’s a long way to go, just to be able to write, “I can’t believe that Thanksgiving is next week.” November is an event-strewn month for me: In addition to Thanksgiving, my Dad’s birthday (he’ll be 83) is on the 22nd, my grandfather’s was on the 24th and mine is the 28th.2 My Dad and my Grandfather were pretty important figures in my sobriety and that is something I’m writing about for next week. However, you know my penchant for number sequences and this is what I was looking at:
22, 24, __, 28
Of course, the missing term in this sequence, the missing term in my life, is helpfully supplied by none other than Bill W.: He was born on November 26, 1895! Yet another promise fulfilled! Saying that, though, reminds me of the “AA Promises,” which may be among the most misunderstood portions of the Big Book. There are a number of different “promises” identified in the Big Book, but the most often-cited is this:
If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are halfway through. We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others. That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows. Self-seeking will slip away. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.
Big Book, pp. 83-84
Of course, this passage is full of meaning, but it needs to be properly parsed. First, it’s worth noting that the the Promises are mentioned in conjunction with the completion of the 9th Step: (made direct amends to those we had injured) and the phrase, “if we are painstaking about this phase of our development” is pretty important. The Promises do not arrive as a consequence of not drinking, they are a direct consequence of reading the Big Book and working the Steps.
I hear people at meetings talking about the economic insecurity part of the Promises as the “cash and prizes” of sobriety. Of course, this phrase is not in the Big Book and none of the Promises come close to suggesting such a thing. When one reads the Promises closely, it becomes clear that they flow exclusively from internal change, not from changes in other people or the outside world The freedom and happiness come from doing the work of the Steps, from deflating the ego, putting a power greater than oneself at the center of life, practicing humility, compassion and understanding, carrying the message to the alcoholic who still suffers. What is gained, is actually what is lost: self-seeking, fear of economic insecurity, self-pity. Isn’t the phrase, “Addition by Subtraction?”
I was working with a Sponsee earlier this week and we were going over some things he had written about a pretty devastating relapse he endured about a year ago. I had asked him to write about why things were different now, the prompt may have been something like “Why didn’t you go the corner store and buy vodka this time?” One of his reasons was this:
I’m finding healthy ways to reflect on the past, understand how I’ve changed for the better from them, and forgive myself for mishaps rather than continue to beat myself up and embrace regret—which would make me spiral towards a drink possibly…
I thought this was just brilliant and as he’s reading it to me, I just got the biggest smile on my face and said, “You want to know a beautiful thing?” He said, “Yes.” I said, “One of the Promises just literally came true for you.” I turned to page 83 and started reading:
We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.
We were both just quiet for a moment as we let that sink in. He hadn’t meant to write something about the Promises coming true, that happened as he was doing the work, completing the silly assignment I gave him. Of course, me being me, I had to repeat it a second time, “This is really cool, one of the Promises literally came true for you today. You wrote it in your own words.”
I’m learning that sobriety is not about grand announcements or proclamations, it’s certainly not about “cash and prizes.” It’s about the small, subtle realizations as I change my life from the inside out. Realizing I’ve gone a whole day without really thinking about drinking; realizing that thinking about my past didn’t require me to feel that horrible, cold icy feeling as I remember how I’d hurt people, how I’d hurt myself. The growing realization that I could live this way, that I could be happy this way. Those are the Promises of the Big Book and they do come true.
I love going to meetings where they read the promises and call out, “Are these extravagant promises?” And everyone in the room is supposed to respond: “We think Not!” That’s exactly right. As the Big Book says:
They are being fulfilled among us—sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them.
Thanks for Letting Me Share
This girl had a whiteboard in her bedroom in the 7th Grade—you do not mess with her.
Depending on how you count it, I could be turning 60. Saying this does not elicit great feelings of joy.
Beautiful :,)
Loved this post! Particularly the opening line: "My daughter often suggests that our conversations too often focus on the weather and my views on the rapidly increasing tempo of the passage of time."
I thought it was my Britishness that made me talk incessantly about the weather - what it's been like, what it's going to be like, what I hope it to be/not to be - AND the fact that 'man, the older I get, the faster time goes!' Happy to be reminded that I'm not alone. 🤣