Motives

I’m going to allow myself a rare indulgence.  Usually, I share about readings that have struck me or that I can apply to my own life.  Today, I’m responding to a reading that I wish someone else had read.

I was doing my significant other a favor… cleaning up his closet, folding his laundry, and reorganizing his shelves (I’m Felix to his Oscar), so they’d be spiffy when he returned home from a 4-day trip.  My intentions were good.  I really was, at least in part, trying to do something nice for him.  In an honest inventory of my own part: I was also acting, in part, out of my own need to control and keep things tidy.

I found a box. A jewelry box.  I didn’t open it.

This isn’t a huge surprise.  We have discussed “it,” and I had promised not to look around the house for it.

And I wasn’t.

I think I want to be surprised more than he wants to surprise me.  To my credit, as tempting as it might have been, I have never gone searching for it.  The thought  that I might stumble upon it during my cleaning spasm never even crossed my mind.

Yet, he accused me of “being curious” and looking for it… and I wasn’t! The anger and frustration of an unjust accusation is nearly enough to send me into the throes of martyrdom and self-righteous indignation.

I read this a few days ago: “Every time I catch myself trying to figure out other people’s motives, I’ll stop and ask myself: ‘What did I say or do that prompted the action? Why did I react to it as I did? Does what happened make a major difference to me, or am I making something big out of a trifle?” -One Day at a Time (July 20, p202) and I really wish he would have read it.

How dare he put words in my mouth and tell me what my motives were?!?

Then, I come back around full circle and realize.  The argument was silly and blew over quickly; after all, this is a great time in our lives.  Besides, I have the questions in that reading to ask myself.  As much as I wish he would read them, the only way I am going to achieve any peace of mind is to ask myself:

• What did I do or say that prompted the action?
• Why did I react to it as I did?
• Does what happened make a major difference to me, or am I making something big out of a trifle?

Ahhhhh, there we go.  Much better. 

The Great, Metaphorical Train Trip ~ Part 2

On Friday, we were supposed to go for lunch at Le Cirque with another couple.  They had to cancel due to illness, which left a romantic lunch for two… or should’ve.  The argument over appropriate attire (something I normally deal with using live and let live, but in this case I had called in advance about the dress code after reading something on the restaurant website; I didn’t want to travel all the way downtown only to be refused service) ended with me slamming out the screen door and heading for an extravagant lunch by myself. Once again, a tremendous feat of live and let live program I would not have been capable of three years ago.  That story, in and of itself, is probably worthy of its own post…

However, that story isn’t what I’m writing about today.

I had an epiphanous train trip last week, and I had another one today.  Last week, on the other hand, I got lost.  This week, my train trip was more of the norm: I got on, traveled to my destination, and traveled back.

(Actually, for the record, the downtown train service was unexpectedly canceled, forcing me to take the uptown train one stop to catch the downtown train… another unexpected detour that I handled pretty gracefully.  I had afforded myself enough time for such a delay, and I didn’t let myself get crazy or upset that I might be late.  I maintained my serenity and just kept going… but that’s not the point of the story either.)

The point of the story actually centers around my return trip. Despite the morning’s argument, I had had a great day.

• I drove to the train station around 1 pm, and alternate parking near the train ended at -wouldn’t ya know it?- 1 pm… which meant an entire street of available spots for my choosing.  I was grateful for that.
• I hadn’t let someone else stop me from doing something I really wanted to do.  I was grateful for that.
• I had just eaten an amazing lunch.  I was grateful for that.
• I didn’t feel at all awkward about being by myself when I ran into a co-worker at the restaurant.  I was grateful for that.
• I had managed to hop on the express train home, which meant I’d get home quicker.  I was grateful for that.

Then, I got off the train at the last stop.  A man, in his mid-sixties, dressed neatly, but obviously quite intoxicated, sat on the bench outside the train with his pants at his ankles.  His shirt covered his prodigious belly and, thankfully, his family jewels.  He had clearly soiled his pants, and -in an effort not to sit in the uncomfortable mess- had pulled them down and perched himself bare-bummed on the bench.  His ruined, exposed underwear was visible to everyone getting off the crowded, rush hour train.  It was a small act of grace that his genitals were not exposed, affording him a shred of dignity in the awful tableau.

I didn’t know what to do.  (I’m not even sure why I’m writing about this other than for my own possible catharsis and the need to release it from the disturbed space in my mind where I’ve locked it away.)  I looked at other people’s faces to see if they were seeing it too.  They didn’t know what to do either.  No one looked shocked.  I know that if I were looking down at myself, I wouldn’t have looked shocked either.

I’ve been a New Yorker my whole life, long enough not to be shocked by odd occurrences… but don’t let that fool you into thinking that New York is a wild amazon of debauchery to which its residents are coldly callous and disaffected.  I had never really seen anything like this.

I didn’t know what to do.

All I know is that it affected me deeply.  I was struck with incredible gratitude for my own sobriety, that I have struggled with mental sobriety but never with the arduous, self-effacing task of physical sobriety.  It made me think of my qualifier, who hasn’t been in my life since 2007, but who has often found himself in awkward, embarrassing situations due to his drinking.  I prayed that this wouldn’t someday be him. More than anything else, though, I felt a profound, tangible sadness for this man and his disease, and I pray that his Higher Power gives him exactly what he needs for today.

The Great, Metaphorical Train Trip

I’m a city mouse.  I’ve taken public transportation all of my life.  On Friday, I had a pretty strange trip home from a great downtown lunch with a friend… one I can only look at after the distance of the weekend as symbolic in a lot of ways.  My train ride home should’ve been fairly straightforward: the 1 train (preferably the express) all the way to the last stop… a little light reading, a quick doze, checking out the other passengers without looking like I’m checking them out…

On my way to the 1 train platform at the 14th Street station, a woman asked me, “Does the 1 train stop here?”  When I replied that it should, she said, “I’ve been waiting and waiting, and it hasn’t come.”

I didn’t have an answer for her, but I proceeded down the stairs anyway to wait in the grimy, rancid, blistering heat that is unique to the NYC subway.  Aware of the woman’s fruitless wait and not wanting to perspire in the train tunnel for another five seconds, I audibly sighed with disappointment when the approaching train was an F train and not the 1.  It was hot, I was tired, the signs were misleading, and I probably wasn’t in the right place, so I jumped on the F train solely for respite.  It would be air conditioned, and I could reroute myself once in cooler climes.

Once on the train, looking at the map… oh crap! This train doesn’t run along the 1 track anymore! It runs slightly east (and ultimately to Queens).  I hop off at 23rd Street.  Now what? Turn around and take the F train back to 14th Street, so I can wait there for the 1? No.  I don’t want to go backwards.  I’ll hop on the B and head uptown.  There has to be some better option once I get to 42nd Street.

Hop off the B train (which just might be the oldest, smelliest, cruddiest trains in our transit system) at 42nd to check the map.  I’m tired, I’m hot, I’m disoriented, I’m making stupid decisions that are taking me waaaaay out of my way.

At 42nd Street, I intend to ascend to street level and walk my way back to the 1 train.  I go past the turnstile (which means I can’t switch to another train anymore without paying subway fare again) and check the map.  Oh crap! I could’ve just stayed on the B until 59th Street and transferred to the 1 there.  Well, duh.  I’m not going to head back up to the street now.  I’m going to pay for another Metrocard and get back on the B.

Alas- finally thinking clearly! I transfer at Columbus Circle and ride the rest of the way home.  But the entire time, I’m thinking how like my life this train ride is.  I knew where I wanted to end up, but I took a BIG, ole detour to get there.  Right now, I’m preparing to the next step in a happy, healthy relationship, which is where I’ve always wanted to be.  Today’s trip reminds me of the 10 years I spent with the alcoholic, my detour, which was also full of twists, turns, decisions not fully thought out, and delays…

So here’s what I gather from my trip today:

1. I got myself derailed by being in a rush to escape discomfort and acting without thinking through all options.
2. I could have avoided the whole delay by taking a minute, even if that meant sitting in the discomfort long enough to see which options were available to me.
3. I could have avoided the delay by checking to make sure I was in the right place.
4. Sometimes my choice meant more discomfort or more money.  To my credit, I wasn’t afraid of either and ultimately made good decisions to get myself back on track.
5. I didn’t go backwards.
6. I kept going, putting one foot in front of the other, and doing the next right thing until I found my way back to where I wanted to be.
7. It took me an extra hour to get home, but that’s okay.  It’s uncanny how, when I get lost, the exploration often serves me at a later date.  I’ll need to get somewhere else and find my way more easily because “Oh yeah, I remember this place.  I got lost here once.”  (Nothing like getting lost in a new place to help you remember its details!) How like program! Getting lost ultimately serves us because it gives us the tools to find our way next time.
8. Delayed time isn’t lost or wasted time.  Being lost means learning, and that’s okay.

Piggybacking on Yesterday’s Post

Doing some more reading to help me out with yesterday’s problem (i.e., to remember patience), I found this too:

I was “led to Al-Anon by an unknown power,” and I am obligated to express my gratitude for this act of grace by accepting “certain responsibilities,” including  “to be concerned about their [Al-Anon friends] difficulties and to try to help them solve their problems spiritually.”

I’m working on being entirely ready to remove this defect of character (step 6)… this impatience. Here’s where it’s sticking: all my life, I’ve seen giving as something that ultimately takes away from me. It’s as if love, resources, help, time are all finite in number, and if I give to others, there won’t be enough for me. When I do give, I get resentful.  Such is the sick mind of someone who spent 10 years caregiving for an alcoholic.

Even with my AlaTeen work… It was great to accept a commitment, and I know that helping others work their programs, theoretically, helps me work mine.  I know that service is working my program, but I miss the Tuesday night meeting I have to give up in order to run AlaTeen.  I’m struggling with that. 

Listening without Judgment

Struggled a bit this week with a program call from someone with a lot of drama.  We have very little to discuss unless she’s talking about her husband, her lover, and the interminable chasm between them.  God help me- I get impatient. I want to scream, “If you don’t like things the way they are, then get off your @#* and change them! Grow up! Take accountability for yourself!!!”

How quickly I forget the years I spent rehashing, whining, crying over my love woes before program.  Amazing how the tables turn.  Now I know why my friends stopped taking my calls back in those days… because it’s exhausting listening to someone go on and on and on and on about something they can change with a simple change of attitude.  They just choose not to.

“Each of us puts the Al-Anon program into practice in our lives as best we can, moving at the pace that is right for us.  I avoid speaking harshly . . . Perhaps someone needs more time to work through a painful situation than I do.  Their story may sound repetitious to me, but who am I to judge? . . . Tday I will try to extend to my fellow members the respect, patience, and courtesy that I want for myself.”  -Courage to Change (July 15, p197)

What Comes of Missing a Meeting…

Long story short, I had to miss my regular, Tuesday night meeting this week.  I can’t help but see what ensued as ironic.

I was upstairs sorting through some old photos when the lights went out.  Not ten minutes earlier, I had shut the windows because the wind outside was blowing the curtains wildly.  Thunderstorms had been predicted, but this wind was really something.

In complete darkness, my boyfriend came running up the stairs (how he made it so quickly with no light, I’ll never know!). “The storm must’ve blown out a transformer!” he was yelling.  By this time, lightning and thunder were crashing like drums, and the windows were rattling.  It sounded like rocks were hitting against them, and I half expected them to pop out of their sashes.  The rain was horizontal.

“Is that a funnel?” my boyfriend said, incredulous.

My dog, the smart one in the family, had already retreated to the bathroom, the only room in the house with no windows.  Shaken, I did the same.  My other dog, a puppy really, yelped at a thunderclap and ran downstairs to his crate, where we found him shaking.  (Poor thing!)

Within 20 minutes, it was over… but the ordeal would last for days.  A straight line of trees was uprooted, leaving a chaotic mess strewn with broken glass, downed electrical wires, blocked streets, and crushed cars.  (The surprising thing is that we live in a suburb on the East Coast.  I never thought I’d live to see the day that a tornado went through my backyard! I’ve only seen them in movies!!!)  Here are some photos:

With self-centered tongue-in-cheek, I wonder if the ensuing three days without electricity is my “punishment” for missing the meeting.  Okay, I’ll stop now because that’s just stupid.  Anyway, the whole point is that I’m throwing a bunch of posts up all at one time because, with no electricity (i.e., no laptop, no router, no Internet, etc.), I’ve had to hand write my thoughts and type them all at once.

I also snapped this shot, which shows that there’s something beautiful that comes out of everything.

Note: The electricity came back two hours after I brought Dunkin’ Donuts to the Con Ed workers.  Coincidence? I think not.

Pity Party

Today’s reading in One Day at a Time make me think of self-pity in a different way: “Self-pity comes from concentrating on the negative aspects of life.” It says I should “settle for a little less than my romantic dreams make me think I ought to have . . . To expect life to be tailored to our specifications is to invite frustration” (p191).

Wow.  I just wrote about this issue about a week ago.

This reading was a big, fat wake-up call.  I didn’t think I was self-pitying, but I have definitely been mentally holding out for something more, something bigger.  I remember reading once (not in program literature) that the person always searching for happiness (or searching for anything, for that matter) will never find it.  Inherent to your searching is the presumption that you don’t already have the thing you want.  If you search for happiness, that is, you assume that you don’t already have it.  Instead, settle into the business of being happy now rather than searching for happiness somewhere other than where you are.

Although I worry that the reading above may encourage people to “settle” passively, there is something to be said for the sentiment without that very loaded word (settle).  Perhaps accept is a better word.  Accept a little less than my romantic dreams.  Yeah, I think I can do that.

Choosing Not to Fight

Today’s reading in One Day at a Time really resonated (p189):

“What harm would it do to ‘back down’– to accept what the alcoholic says, whether it makes sense or not? Why don’t I just Let Go and Let God?”

Although, the alcoholic is no longer in my life, I (sometimes) still refuse to “back down” in arguments.  My current partner and I have the same fiery, stubborn zodiac sign, and we can carry a fight over trifles until the cows come home.  Sometimes he’ll say “black” because I said “white.”  Sometimes I’ll say “black” because he said “white.”

What the crap is that?!?

I’ve learned so much in this program about letting go.  Now I have to apply it in this context to this relationship.   I have to remember that easy does it. The only thing that arguing does for me is make me lose my serenity, which then upsets me.

“To withdraw from an argument may not make you the winner, but what you have saved is your own dignity and grace.”

Exaaaaaactly.

A Neat Idea

A year ago today, I started something new while working my program.  Always a big writer in books (at first for the sheer illicit thrill and then because it was just plain convenient), I started summarizing each day’s reading in pencil at the bottom of my One Day at a Time and Courage to Change. If I need a refresher or a reminder, I can look at my notes during the day without having to read the whole passage again.  It gives me the main gist of the reading in a quick, easily digestible form, especially when I’m on the go.

I don’t know what made me start this on Independence Day last year, but it’s been helpful to me in working my program.

Happy 4th of July to you.  Here’s hoping that today we remember that we are fortunate to be born in the privilege of freedom and relative prosperity.  (If you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your back, a roof overhead and a place to sleep, you are richer than 75% of the people in the world. If you have money in the bank, in your wallet and spare change in a dish, you are among the top 8% of the world’s wealthy.) While it’s great to be American, it’s also great to be a global citizen… one who extends kindness, humanity, and good will to all people.

Cleaning My Side of the Street

I read a great post yesterday on Syd’s blog that hit a lot of important points for me.  Today, I’m really grateful for an online community of program folks.

1) Self-Centeredness: In my ongoing step 4 work, I think I am considerate and thoughtful in many ways.  The problem is that I have a TERRIBLE(!!!) memory, so I need to physically type “Lauren’s grandma having surgery- call!” into the To Do List of my Blackberry and set a reminder for the day before the surgery.  This is pretty inauthentic.  The problem? If I see Lauren before looking at my Blackberry, I’ll walk on by, say hello, exchange pleasantries, and not mention the surgery even though I had every intent of being nice! I wish I could remember these things better! I wish it came more naturally! There are some people who remember everyone’s kids’ names, which sports they play, and to ask about that nagging broken toe Lil’ Billy suffered sliding into third.  Why can’t I do that? Maybe I’m too self-centered to remember other people’s” stuff.”  Maybe I’m being tough on myself.  I’d like to be better about considering other people and what they must be feeling.  The irony? Reality check: I can be most difficult with my closest loved ones, but I am better at being selfless for them.  I am kinder to acquaintances but not always as selfless.  What to do? I guess try to become willing to remove this character defect and pray that my Higher Power will remove it.

2) Cleaning My Side of the Street: I haven’t really heard this expression, but I like it.  Syd mentions it being about giving before receiving, and I’d like to try and remember to give the things I most want to get.  Instead of being frustrated that I extend courtesies that aren’t returned, I should remember to “be the change I’d like to see in the world.”

3) Relying on Someone Else to Fulfill My Needs: This was a goodie! I learned this lesson with my qualifier.  In the rooms, I learned to be independent.  I learned that I wanted and needed things that were completely unrelated to him (insert sarcasm here- can you imagine that?!?).    I went from codependent to independent… but I got really good at independent.  Really good.  Now I’m learning to be interdependent.  It’s the next phase, I guess.  Like anything new, the learning curve is intense, and I’m not doing it perfectly.  Now that I have a healthy, happy relationship, I want to spend more time together, and I find myself nursing some of the old sulkiness when “he” can’t/doesn’t want to have Together Time. I’m learning to negotiate this balance between I and we.  I’m learning that I don’t need someone else to fulfill my needs in a totally different context than the first time I learned this lesson.  I’m learning to give him room within the relationship.  I’m learning to enjoy my alone time again and not worry about what he’s doing.  I’m learning to live and let live with an emphasis on the live part.