I’m grateful it’s Friday morning. I’m grateful for the thump of the newspaper outside my door. I’m grateful for rediscovering things. I’m grateful for all the times I got lost. I’m grateful for the Boy Scouts. I’m grateful to be sober today.
Here it is, Friday, at last. And I am going to share with you what I consider to be the greatest “Friday” song of all time. If I had my way, this song would have played during the lay-up drills before IC West Trojan basketball games on Friday nights.1 I could listen to this song every single day (non-Fridays, too):2
I was thinking about Wile E. Coyote yesterday—this is the product of a complete Road Runner Immersion Program. Being the versatile alcoholic that I am, I can go from complete indifference to overwhelming obsession in about two shakes of a lamb’s tail.3 I can remember so clearly watching the Coyote’s futile pursuit of the Road Runner and really wanting him to catch the bird—no, I really wanted him to. I felt that. I knew it was a cartoon and that the Tantalusian premise of the show required that he never consummate his pursuit. But I really wanted him to.4
That was the kind of thinking that was very close to the core of my drinking. I came to fix on something that I wanted needed, developed very strong feelings very quickly, came to view the object of my desire deeply-felt and very valid need as indispensable, like oxygen, and then couldn’t contain my anger as this thing I had invented (and knew I would never get) didn’t come to fruition. I’m going to tell you what goes really well with that: a flinty, chilled glass of Sauvignon Blanc (or seven).
An important part of my recovery has been developing the ability to identify troublesome thinking patterns. When I look back, I can see this pattern and others, emerge at a pretty early age. I’m not sure where these thinking patterns develop, whether they’re imprinted or passed along or taught, but these ways of thinking started causing me problems in elementary school. That’s how far back I can remember feeling the same kind of resentments that spun through my head on a succession of barstools as an adult. Resentments that were based on a really tilted, not realistic word view and fueled by assumptions that had almost no connection to reality. Meaning—these were all inventions of my own thinking, my own brain.
I struggled mightily with intrusive thoughts and anxiety and seeking relief from that constant strain was definitely part of the allure of drinking. Just like I couldn’t stop drinking, I also couldn’t just stop thinking.5 I wrote these terrible stories in my head and they drove me to do some terrible things. What I finally learned was that I could write a different story—if I wanted to. That’s what I eventually learned from a lot of therapy and a bunch of failed rehab attempts—but that wasn’t enough to keep me sober.
That came when I finally internalized the central teaching of the Big Book: I am not the center of the Universe. There is a Power greater than me, that could restore me to sanity. A power that could help me change my outlook from entitlement to gratitude, that could help me start looking at ways I could be of service rather than ways I had been wronged. A power that could help me change my life; save my life.
As I mentioned in my explication of the Coyote, we only get glimpses of his true internal struggle in the very disappointing Fritz Freleng episodes. I think we can assume Wile E. Coyote is not terribly happy, he doesn’t really smile, when you come to think of it. If I was to guess, WEC has the makings of a pretty solid alcoholic. But what if he could have re-framed the central struggle of his life? What if the Coyote could convince himself that the point of this was to chase the Road Runner, not catch him?6 Is there a better, more inventive and creative chaser of Road Runners than Wile E. Coyote? I’ll answer that for you: There is not.7
I know that sounds suspiciously easy, very judo-esque—if it was just a matter of doing that, why did it take so long? It sounds easy, but it takes some work, it involved convincing myself of an entirely different set of premises about life and it required a lot of internal salesmanship. But that’s the point: My drinking was also driven by some pretty persuasive salesmanship. I convinced myself of a lot of ridiculous lies in order to keep drinking. I knew I had the power to change how I thought, what I believed, it just took time and practice—and gratitude and studying the Program—to help me change the story I was living.
Recognizing, as Bill W. did, that I was not the center of the Universe, was what finally sent me down what seems like the right path. Recognizing that true happiness comes from service to others, not being served; that I’m a part of a big, crazy, unexplainable thing that can generate tremendous amounts of happiness or sadness, joy or misery. As Shaggy the Yoga Instructor reminds me, “you can’t choose your outcomes, but you can choose how you experience them.” My life finally changed when I stopped imagining how life could be if everything went the way I wanted it to and realized I was exactly where I was supposed to be and the things that were happening were generally the things that were supposed to happen. And you know what, that’s a pretty groovy feeling. How groovy? This groovy:
Thanks for Letting Me Share
I lost to the Pep Band—who doesn’t love the Flintstones Theme over and over?
You perceptively ask, “this seems within your power, why not grant yourself this seemingly minor wish?” Because they aren’t on iTunes or Spotify—I guess their agent is working on getting them a better deal.
My dad used to say this a lot—I think it’s not very much time, but it wasn’t clear whether these were voluntary or involuntary “shakes.”
By contrast, I really felt nothing each time Gilligan and friends failed to get off the island. Hey, wait a minute, is there a theme developing?
The rhymes and sing-song-y tone are not intentional.
This change in thinking would have been entirely consistent with the “Rules of Wile E. Coyote.”
One of the great lines in golf: Jack Nicklaus concedes a very missable putt in a Ryder Cup match saying: “I think you were going to make it anyway, but I’m too much of a gentleman to let you miss it.” That’s why I told you the answer.