The Spectacular Demise of the Me-Centric Universe
Daily Gratitude List 3.1.23
I’m grateful for the new coffee. I’m grateful for the new red notebook. I’m grateful for eccentricity. I’m grateful for moving forward and not thinking as much. I’m grateful for projects. I’m grateful for sunny mornings. I’m grateful to be sober today.
Humility is one of the key ingredients of sobriety. Maybe we should think of humility as the yeast of sobriety. I think humility and it’s evil arch-enemy, ego, are a bit misunderstood, though. I think rooting out egoism, well, rooting all of it out is probably impossible, but at least being able to identify it, is a critical part of getting sober, in the opinion of this alcoholic.
If you were to have asked me around the pinnacle of my drinking career if I was an egotistical person, I would have looked you straight in the eye, probably scrunched up my face a little bit in harsh, judgy appraisal and then say,
Actually, I’m probably the most humble person you’ll ever meet.
That was, of course, a joke, and one I used to tell pretty frequently.1 If by humble, do you mean putting other people’s needs ahead of my own, carefully considering my role in every relationship, observing other people’s boundaries, not inadvertently putting myself at the top of every list of considerations, finding ways to be of service to others as opposed to just myself?
no, I wasn’t that kind of humble.
I was the kind of humble where I saw my contributions to nearly every venture as strangely indispensable yet never sufficiently rewarded, the kind of humble where I was entitled to just about anything I wanted, was not obliged to follow the rules the rest of you did, because of the general greatness of my person and the overwhelming nature of the burden I so quietly and humbly carried.
So, not actually that humble at all. One of the great lessons I learned was from my first sponsor here in NY—V. V and I would meet at outdoor tables along 1st Avenue during the Fall of 2020—drinking tea, shivering a bit and helping me finally get really sober. By this point, I already had a year of sobriety, well, a year of not drinking. I hadn’t been going to meetings, had been quite un-sober from an emotional perspective, and was still capable of generating a fair amount of chaos—even though that last drink had been a while ago. That was how I ended up needing to find a new domicile and landed here in NY.
Anyway, V. and I were talking one day and he challenged me to really think through my motives in each and every communication, every interaction I had with other people--before I did it. The charge was to really think about what I was saying and, more importantly, why. In a world where immediacy and rapid response are considered the most important elements in communicating with others, it was challenging to slow down and ask myself, “Hey, BD, what are we doing here?”2 This is difficult for another reason: One of the causes/consequences of alcoholism is the impairment of the pre-frontal cortex and the elevation of the Limbic system in decision-making and emotional response.
I was a Boy Scout and took the opportunity to learn as much as I could about things like starting fires, which was explicitly encouraged.3 I will tell you, a fresh, fragrant, living pine bough does not burn very well. Plus they tend to be really sticky. Dry pine boughs? Well, that’s a very different situation. Thoroughly dead, dried-out pine branches burn really, really well. An old brown xmas tree? That’s like a car bomb waiting to go off. We alcoholics are like the dry pine boughs. It doesn’t take much, it’s pretty unpredictable and it’s undeniably spectacular when we ignite. That’s not a fire water will extinguish.
Here was the immediate problem: Many of the responses I was now being forced to slowly analyze, were what I considered to be in the “burning desire,” category. I just couldn’t not say the words that were dancing in the Limbic system forest fire. Surprisingly, this would lead to an escalation of the expression of feelings, the growing spiral starting to resemble a small funnel cloud, or the whirl the Tasmanian Devil created as he approached. And, pretty predictably, the crazy spiral of emotions would leave me anxious, isolated, out-of-control and wondering how I was really going to stay sober long-term.
I started seeing patterns. I started seeing that a really significant percentage of what I considered even innocuous friendly communications were actually pretty manipulative. I began to see how frequently I used the responses of other people to satisfy my own emotional needs. I’ll send you a really interesting article, or make a really funny joke, or whatever thing I do to get your attention, because I need something from you: A response. Validation. I need you to tell me what I’m not really good at telling myself, to fill the hole I’ve never been able to fill. And then if you don’t do it quickly enough, or just the way I want it, or when I notice that the hole is still feeling kind of empty, well, I’ve got some pretty good reasons to be angry with you. You know what pairs really well with that completely validated, correctly self-righteous anger?
I started realizing that maybe I didn’t need to say as much. There’s that saying, “Does this need to be said? Does this need to be said now? Does this need to be said now by me?” Well, it turns out there actually isn’t that much that goes over that transom. What is left? Actual expressions of interest in other people and their lives, or authentic expressions of my own feelings—it’s actually quite a bit.
There’s a lot of talk in AA about seeing our own roles, our part in the events that got us here. The process of the Fourth and Fifth Steps does include an explication of sins, but I think it is more about pattern recognition, seeing the thinking patterns and behavioral patterns that led us so far astray, down such long windy dark paths.
There’s nothing wrong with reaching out to other people to share sadness or fear or meh-ness or happiness and exuberance; that’s what human relationships are made of. But understanding my own motives is part of what set me free. Instead of feeling unacknowledged and anxious as I waited for those comforting little bubbles on the message screen, I started asking myself what was going on. I started seeing that I was able to resolve a lot of those feelings directly—just by asking myself the question. I wasn’t reliant on someone else recognizing something in me—it was enough that I knew it. That was a big change.
The Me-Centric Universe was actually a pretty dark place. It was completely dependent for illumination on passing comets and asteroids; thin, evanescent hints of flame and connection and light. Never enough. Anger roiling in the always night. Good luck on the whole not drinking thing in that Universe.
It turns out there is usually another source of light available. The funny thing is, when that light turns on, that Me-Centric Universe reacts exactly the way a vampire does on a sunny Sunday morning. That light allows one to see much more clearly, it becomes possible to actually see the things that need to be corrected. There is no longer a resentment-inducing dependence on the light cast by others. That always just left us in the shadows anyway. This light is comforting and warm and suffuses us with a glow that’s probably listed as “Okay Yellow” on color charts.
My life changed for the better when the Me-Centric Universe met the fate of all galaxies and universes: A dramatic burst of entropy, a chaotic explosion, then drawn into a nearly infinite black hole to be re-formed as the seed of a new universe. The spectacular demise of a universe usually has fairly significant, adverse impacts on the inhabitants. Of course, that has not been the case in connection with the demise of the universe formerly known as “The Me-Centric Universe” I’m not exactly sure about everything that’s happened or exactly how this new universe works, but in the the meantime, I think I’ll harken back to the exactly correct words of patron saint Dr. Silkworth:
“Whatever it is, you’d better hang on to it. It’s better than what you had before.”
I often told this joke in social settings to see who was following along. This was ruined when a certain president began saying this exact phrase, except un-ironically.
Yes, I often refer to myself using my own secret nickname. Hopefully, that’s ok with you.
I also learned very important survival skills, but they do require that I be carrying a potato at pretty much all times. Be Prepared.