I'm grateful for reading a beautiful story in the back of the Big Book that reminded me it’s never too late to improve myself in AA. I’m grateful for a vibrant morning run in the park as the sun shined on the mountains. I’m grateful for vegan nuggets. I’m grateful for our new lamp and the much-needed light and charm it brings to our living room. I’m grateful to be reminded that this is a program of action and not intentions. I’m grateful for attending anniversary meetings and hearing how far people have come along in their sobriety - regardless of time. I’m grateful for healthy routines sprinkled throughout the day to ensure I stay on track with my serenity. I’m grateful to be sitting on the couch writing this with my partner & puppy beside me and realizing that this is all I truly need in life.
My navigation of Denver AA over the past several weeks has been full-on and enlightening. Unlike NYC where I had my schedule (and mind) loaded with various commitments that conveniently precluded me from going to in-person meetings, that has not been the case in my new home. My social calendar is wide-open and I'm able to leave my dog, who has pretty severe separation anxiety, without the neighbors complaining about his barking.
Denver is primarily a car city so while I drive to most meetings I am also very lucky to have a host of them within walking distance. Three of them are LGBTQ meetings I frequent multiple times a week. In NYC I only attended such meetings virtually, but going to live meetings surrounded by my fellow LGBTQ folk has been an enriching experience despite the baggage I bring to them.
As I've gotten older I haven't quite enmeshed myself into this community the way I did in my 20s. Back then I fell into group of gay pals who frequented Fire Island every Summer, were much more extroverted, party-centric, and seemingly comfortable in their own skin. In retrospect this may not be entirely accurate, yet it is how I assessed the situation. While I am appreciative of all the growth I experienced as a gay man with these former friends, I always felt unease around them. Much of this was self-inflicted, but it was still real pain. Rather than learn to share that truth with them, or even find a new group, my solution turned to drinking my anxieties away. I felt that the Tito's bottle gave me the superpower to be the gay man I wanted to be. It gave me the superpower to be comfortable around my gay friends and even be the "fun one" when I got just the right amount in my system. The story obviously doesn't end happily. My drinking progressed to where I didn't stop at the point where I felt good, it stopped at the point where I blacked out and thereby blocked everyone out, including my gay friends.
Years of tumultuous drinking lead to isolation from my people. Returning now to the LGBTQ community as a sober individual has been interesting. To watch my mind take in everything without introducing the insecurities of my past is a struggle. I don't have that "secret weapon" of vodka boosting my confidence, I simply have me with no additives included. When I go to these meetings those sinister questions I had in my 20s creep up - are these people judging me for not being sober enough? Cool enough? Out enough? Insightful enough? Eloquent enough? It doesn't help that the attendees are mostly gay white men so I delude myself into believing how can they possibly understand me? However because these sour thoughts are no longer kept afloat by vodka I am able to productively shift the course of my thinking.
Rather than spiral out, I lean on one of my favorite acronyms in sobriety: PAUSE - Postpone Action Until Serenity Enters. I take a deep breath in and close my eyes. I let my mind think my unhealthy thoughts temporarily, abstain from judging myself for having them after all these years, and then allow them to melt away. After moving past the initial negativity, I find the space to remember that this is my disease talking. This is my alcoholism attempting to push me to feel "other" rather than be a part of this beautiful AA group. I recall my Step 4 work by listing the defects coming into play - ego, pride, anger, jealousy, fear, etc. Naming these traits somehow mitigates their power. My mind begins shifting towards more constructive questions. How can I be of service at this meeting? How can I be a good fellow to my community rather than seek ways to establish distance? What can I bring to the meeting rather than take from it?
I'll admit that after going through these mental gymnastics my actions are still wanting. I need to be of better service by doing things like sharing more vulnerably and signing up for a commitment to helm a meeting. For today though the important thing is I recognize what I need to do and am taking small actions each week to get there. I am showing my face regularly and introducing myself to strangers - a radical act for this introvert. I am slowly, but healthily, reintegrating myself into the LGBTQ community I had so closely associated with my alcoholism. I am beyond grateful that moving to Denver - and to this specific part of the city - has given me the opportunity to explore and deepen an aspect of my sobriety I didn't realize needed to happen. It has opened the door to me discovering a core part of myself I had muted for so long.
I first went to a gay NA meeting in Boston in 2002 after a year long relapse. I wasn’t expecting acceptance, and during my share I mentioned that I was straight. The response was a rousing “Keep coming back!” which made me laugh out loud and broke the tension. It was a great meeting.