I’m grateful for keeping at it. I’m grateful for basketball in the park. I’m grateful for insight, intuition and inspiration. I’m grateful for things I didn’t say. I’m grateful for where I am. I’m grateful to be sober today.
The weather and my schedule have graciously permitted me a couple of glorious mornings of shooting around in the park. As we continue to explore the brave new world of sobriety, which is more fundamentally the brave new world of myself, I start to see the things that actually generate peace, contentment, joy—even fun—for me.1 I would say that playing basketball would be pretty near the top of the list. We moved into a house in 1971 that had a garage capable of supporting a backboard and rim. Thanks to my dad, there was soon a place to shoot baskets.
This was a good thing. I was a 4th grader and this was my fourth consecutive year of starting a new school. While the process of making new friends was underway, I shot a lot of baskets. A lot. I was out there most afternoons, even when the weather was kind of iffy. In those very olden days, getting the ball up there was enough of a challenge, there was no room for showmanship or swagger.
Shooting baskets pretty quickly became the time when I worked things out, or let things out. Sometimes there would be imaginary game situations playing in my head, or certain people watching me put on dazzling displays of shooting. Mind you, this all took place in the backyard, and in my head. I played a ton of pick-up basketball in in high school, college and law school. There were an appalling number of mornings in college when I would determine that the learning potential posed by the morning’s slate of classes was underwhelming and would instead head to the Red Gym and spend the better part of the day waiting for “next.”2
Playing basketball, I think, released a lot of really good brain chemicals for me, because I was always happy and content when I was playing, but also dependent. I remember the incredible sense of despondency when I’d get injured and couldn’t play. I remember being a young lawyer (!), blowing out my ankle and feeling a sense of panic set in as I crutched around and realized it was going to be a long time before I could play again.
Hmmm, that sense of panic thing seems familiar.
It’s also how I felt about situations that would deprive me of the opportunity to drink. People sometimes use the phrase “addictive personality,” as in, “I can’t possibly start watching [fill in name of show I don’t watch], I’ll never be able to stop, I have such an addictive personality.” There’s some truth to that. While addiction gets described as a “disease of connection,” the more I think about it, it seems like we alcoholics are capable of great devotion and connection—especially to the things we think are keeping us sane and helping us manage the world. Basketball was one of those things for me, but only to a lesser extent, the larger connection, the one that was so big it blotted out the sun, was, of course, drinking. I believed that alcohol was what helped me manage my life, what helped me deal with the problems posed by life and other people. We know exactly what I’m talking about:
I’ve had an insane day. Whew, yes, I’ll have a glass-and-a-half of Sauvignon Blanc. [eagerly drinks, catches the bartender’s eye, nods to indicate the desire for another, waits for almost audible click in brain] Ahhh, now things are ok.
I believed that alcohol was what restored my sanity, on an “as needed” basis.
I hope you saw that coming. The Second Step of the Program of Alcoholics Anonymous says:
Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity
As threatened, we’re going to work through the actual Steps and having talked ad nauseam about Step One, well, you know what comes next. In my view, this is the most pivotal and maybe difficult Step. Yes, doing Ninth Step amends is terrifying, but I think Step Two involves a lot more thought, self-reflection and willingness to change than just about any other Step. It’s because this Step requires the re-appraisal of the old world and the development of a brand new one. Do you really think that can be accomplished in a weekend?
Because I have a number of newsletters to fill and tend to be verbose, we’re going to go in excruciating detail here. Step Two is a big project and the first part of any project is understanding the constituent parts and the phases of work. I think there are a number of of “steps” contained in Step Two and understanding them is a key to doing them. Here are what I think are the parts:
“Came to believe.”
Just as Step One forced the admission that I had been dishonest with myself, that I couldn’t control my drinking and that my life wasn’t sustainable. Step Two is going to eventually force me to admit that what I believed before, that drinking was one of the things that made life work, wasn’t true. My alcoholic life was built on false premises. The phrasing of “came to believe,” implies a process, I think that process requires an assessment of what I believed before and a frank admission of its fundamental falsity.
“That a Power greater than ourselves”
The modern idea of life is built on self-propulsion. The tenets of most early religions were designed to help people make peace with the fact that life was going to be “nasty, brutish and short,” and mostly beyond the control of any individual. John D. Rockefeller and Horatio Alger and all of that began introducing the idea that if you just worked hard enough, applied yourself diligently, you could accomplish anything you set your mind to. I think that spawned the notion that we could and should control a lot more of the world around us.
To me, one of the early signs of the coming apocalypse was the advent of Starbucks designer coffees. The endless series of choices, even down to the number of “pumps,” just always seemed to me to reflect the obsession with the idea that control could lead to perfection. The problem with that conception is that it rarely comes off as we alcoholics expect, we get upset and resentful. You know where that goes.
The phrasing and the capitalization of “Power” is meant to instill humility and is the first assault on the alcoholic ego.3 This step of the Step requires the admission that there is a Power greater than ourselves. And this is going to prompt a quick digression:4
There is a broad misconception that AA is some kind of religious cult and that there are certain beliefs alcoholics must hold in order to stay sober. In the rush to combat this misperception, people sometimes emphasize the malleability of this Step and the attendant beliefs—suggesting that the Power greater than ourselves might be a doorknob? I think that’s a lot of mental gymnastics and pretty much impossible to stick the landing, given the next few words, “could restore us to sanity.” I think talking dog is a better answer than doorknob, if you’re going to go that route.
Again, this step of the Step is a process, I think you actually have to start building out your conception of what that Higher Power actually consists of and how it actually works. Not to get ahead, but the next step is going to ask that we make a “decision,” to turn the whole shooting match over to this Higher Power. Maybe the Second Step is a little about getting to know this Higher Power a bit better, see if there’s chemistry. I think starting a list of the characteristics that a Higher Power might possess is a great project. I have my own list, which I still supplement as things literally strike me:
The construction of the Higher Power continues with this:
“Could restore us to sanity.”
I always ask people on the podcast this question: “Superpower, if you had one?” The Higher Power being conjured up during Step Two has to have at least one superpower and that would be restoring alcoholics and addicts to sanity. We are going to need to believe all this—see infra—so it’s important to construct a Higher Power that satisfies that very difficult prong of the test. Also, we’re going to have to come up with a notion of what “sanity” might be like? Another way to look at that question is to do a little more “unmanageability” work, but drop the First Step sugar-coating and call it what it is—insanity.
There are plenty of Steps ahead that will shed further light on the exact nature of that insanity and how it warped and impacted our lives, but that process also begins here, in the Second Step. And that is the most important thing I think there is to understand about this Step—that it is a process. Too often, and I know this was true in my case, when first presented or second or third-presented the language of this Step, I would just say nod my head and say yes, “I believe that.” You can draw certain inferences about my drinking career from 2010-2019 and one of those is:
Just answering “yes” to the Second Step doesn’t produce sobriety.
Like Step Three, these are not magical incantations, these are prompts for some pretty difficult self-questioning and assessment. The Steps aren’t supposed to provoke nodding agreement and rote recitation, they are supposed to prompt a revolution in the way we look at ourselves and the world around us. That doesn’t happen on a Sunday afternoon or during an hour long AA meeting.5 Even a “Step Meeting.”
There is a lot of talk in sports about “trusting the process.” The problem with that formulation is that if it doesn’t lead to material success and a big honking championship trophy, then the process is considered a bust. The point of the Second Step is to start persuading us that “The Process,” is all there is. I really don’t think the Steps are like a coffee shop punch card—once you have the requisite number of punches, you are presented with sobriety. I think it’s a list of questions that have to be asked on a pretty regular basis, it’s a changed way of thinking that produced sobriety for me, not simply completing the requirements for the merit badge.
For some reason, the corny image in my head when I think of the words of the Second Step is a flower blossoming—like in one of those time-lapse videos:
That looks beautiful and all, but if flowers have feelings, I’ll bet that hurts like an mf’er. But here’s the real point—you can focus on the end-state, a perfect bloom. But when you watch the video, is there a part where the flower doesn’t look beautiful? I didn’t think so either. The Second Step is a process that is part of a larger process that might be part of a larger process—and that’s the real beauty of it. I’ve found as long as it’s still unfolding, I am staying sober. That’s maybe a process I can trust and a beautiful thing to watch.
We can question why I would choose the phrase, “brave new world,” to describe life when the book of that same name portrays a not-so-nice world.
Maybe the most perfect place to play pick-up basketball ever. An Old “Hoosiers” style-gym, with a creaky floor, set in like an actual castle.
Note to alcoholic ego: “This is your Alamo, baby.”
We all know we can’t believe that.
It could start on a Sunday afternoon.
Another great post! Your missives have become a “must read”.
So needed today. Great post. You’re extremely creative and talented...even got a lawyer. 😏 Have a great day TBD...😎