A look at the positive side of a familiar AA warning
MANY BEGINNERS in my area are fond of saying, “I go to lots of meetings and I stay away from people, places, and things.” I’ve often felt like correcting the speaker by saying, “Surely, you don’t mean all people, places, and things.” I hold my tongue because we all know what they mean, and from personal experience I wouldn’t do anything to undermine the seriousness of staying away from those people, places, and things that could threaten our sobriety.
Yet the importance of the positive people, places, and things to my recovery, as well as the discipline required to be in contact with them, is so obvious to me that I do stress these whenever possible.
When I was four months sober, I was taken aside by one of my sponsors and told that I wasn’t going to make it unless I learned how to relax and have fun. I was badly shaken by the voice of doom this man used, and at the same time felt this was a rather absurd statement coming from someone who seemed at every chance to stress the fatal, chronic, progressive nature of my disease. He went on to say that I had shown good discipline in every area of my life except play, and in the next year or so of my recovery, I realized that he was right. Indeed, it took all the discipline I had just to go to New York City for the day, or to the shore, or especially to buy myself something.
As I’ve progressed in sobriety, I have learned over and over again that certain types of dissatisfaction are caused by a need to be around those special people, places, and things that have a unique meaning to me, and that heal me in their own ways.
For people, my two sponsors top the list. My life has been running fairly smoothly for some time now, so I no longer call weekly. Yet I still find a certain type of glow after a good talk with one of them, and perhaps their endorsement of a course of action I have been contemplating. Then there are just certain people in the program who give me a lot of love and attention when I run into them, and certain hard-liners who get me pumped up on sobriety.
I have also found that there comes a time to go to my family for the kind of nurturing that only time with them gives. After all the pain our family has endured over many years, our mutual recovery from our individual demons, both mental and chemical, provides us with a special bond and with a set of feelings that is unique.
I also find it valuable to be around people who knew me when I was newly sober (and bewildered, crazy, numb, etc.). I can see in their eyes sometimes how far I’ve come. One man used to just shake my hand and shake his head, while looking at me with a big smile on his face that made words redundant.
Some of the most important people have to be the continual stream of new AA members, who get me in touch with my own recovery, keep my priorities in order, and sometimes remind me of the proper way to work the program (“Half measures availed us nothing”).
I was very isolated in my drinking years, and developed a severe travel phobia, which kept me inside my house and within the limits of my little town. One of the first breakthroughs of getting sober was discovering the big exciting world out there, a lot of which centers around the nearby city of Philadelphia, a gem of a city with many opportunities for adventure. Inside the city, AA came alive for me when I saw bankers in three-piece suits sitting casually next to ragged street people at a meeting. When one psychotic street person flipped himself backward off a chair onto the concrete floor, he was picked up by a conservatively dressed businessman. I have never seen the spirit of AA expressed so clearly for me. I have found that among my “places” are city meetings, simply because of the mix of people.
I also need new meetings quite often, to make me listen more and get involved in personalities less. When I feel that I know what most people in my home group are going to say before they raise their hands, it’s time to hit the road. There is a particular excitement about meetings where I don’t know anyone, and a particular shyness returns. On the other hand, there is a special kind of fortifying effect from large nearby meetings where I know a lot of people. Just having so many people saying hello and asking how I am has snapped me out of many a rotten mood, or pool of low self-esteem, and taken the edge off exhaustion or anger.
I also find a certain something at anniversary meetings–a feeling of thanksgiving, a touchstone of our common miracle. And let me mention in passing that I avoided the dentist for years in spite of great pain, and that my white teeth are a constant symbol of my sobriety–my twice-yearly return to the office where I was told that they must clean my teeth in two sessions before they could even start to assess the damage in another place.
Finally, I have rediscovered nature. I played hermit while growing up, and hated people and civilization. Nature provided me with an escape, and in early sobriety, I found yearnings for the great outdoors returning. But something about these feelings tipped me off that I was not going toward nature, but feeling the desire to run away from people again. Now that I have lots of people in my life, I have gratefully gotten in touch with a deep-rooted love of nature, and have to get to my special places on a regular basis or find myself developing a certain type of restlessness.
As for things, I need plenty of hot soaks in the tub with my favorite reading material and bubble bath for the winter when I can’t get outdoors, in order to compensate for the restrictions of the weather. I need good-tasting and healthful food to reinforce good feelings about myself and compensate for the cigarettes and coffee I have had to give up in sobriety. Having been a slob all my life, I now find a clean and orderly apartment and attractive clothes necessary for my personal peace of mind. And finally, I have found a new joy in music, which had always been a love of mine but dried up in my drinking years. I carried my first little stereo home in a shopping bag on the trolley in early sobriety and was thrilled beyond words when I first heard it playing in my rented room. Now, I have a whole apartment and a selection of favorite albums and tapes, which I need to spend some time with at least once a month.
And while mentioning “things,” I will close with some tools of the program: meditation, a recently discovered part of my program; the continuing need for the Steps; and the wisdom I pick up in the Grapevine.
So when I hear beginners reciting their staying away from the three great evils, I say nothing. But the people I sponsor and try to encourage are told repeatedly how important it has been to me to strenuously pursue many people, places, and things.