April Articles Online
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Most Humble?
If there really were a Ôhumility pin,' his would have been confiscated
I attended my first
AA meeting in November 1979. I kept
coming, and after several dry periods
punctuated by drinking bouts, something
changed inside and I got sober.
That was September 1980, and I was
20 years old. By the grace of God and
thanks to AA, I have been sober ever
since. In the following 28 years, I've
gone from being one of the youngest
people at meetings to one of the oldest
in years of sobriety. But I usually
keep quiet about it at meetings, because
a funny thing happened on the
way to old-timerhood.
There's a little thing called ego
that creates big trouble for alcoholics
like me. Back in my drinking days, all
of life revolved around me and my
demands and expectations. And that
did not change overnight in sobriety.
Now, many AAs talk about the
importance of service, and that was
true for me. My sobriety began with
service at the group level. I got involved,
and in the process became
part of AA. In the beginning I cleaned
ashtrays (this was back when almost
all AA meetings were smoke—filled),
washed coffee cups, and set up and
took down tables. Later on, I chaired
meetings, found speakers, spoke at
meetings, handled group finances
and so on. All that activity may sound
laudable, and I believe it was necessary
for me to get sober and stay that
way. But more than a little ego was
mixed in with it, even though I tried
to hide that fact from you and me.
In AA lingo, I "talked a good
program." Back then, it was common
for AAs—especially more experienced
members—to comment
on things that others said during
the meetings. This is now referred
to as "cross-talk" and frowned upon
by some groups, especially if the
person commenting strays from
relating his own experience with
the topic at hand. But that kind of
discussion once was typical, and I
always had something to say. And
I wanted to be one of those folks
with 10 or 15 or 20 years of sobriety,
because they could really talk
about AA with authority.
As my years of sobriety increased,
so did my hidden (and sometimes not
so hidden) self-importance. You've
probably heard the joke about the
special pin that is given to honor an
AA member's exceptional humility
and how, once he wears it, they take
it away. Well, for the first 10 years
or so in the program, I was always
aware of how long I had been sober,
and if you had seen me at meetings
more than a couple of times, you
probably knew how long it was, too.
Needless to say, if there really was
a "humility pin," mine would have
been confiscated right away.
Fortunately, life continued to
happen. And the longer I was sober,
the better able I was to let it
happen, to participate in what was
happening and to appreciate it. AA
remained important, but I developed
a life beyond the meetings as well.
Sobriety was the foundation but not
the whole building.
Years before, I'd heard that "alcoholics
are just like other people,
only more so." I laughed at the saying's
humor, but missed much of
its meaning. By now, though, I had
come to understand that all people,
alcoholics or not, experience fear and
pride and anger and resentment and
anxiety: It's all part of life. Through
AA, Al-Anon and counseling, I
gained more ability to deal with my
shortcomings. But I was a mighty
long way from sainthood or even
from being a particularly praiseworthy
person. Gradually, I came to see
and accept the truth of that.
No matter how long the plug
had been in the jug, each day
brought new opportunities to "live
in the solution" or, conversely, to do
what I always did and get what I always
got. And somewhere along the
line, without really being aware of
it, I quit announcing sobriety time.
It ceased to be particularly relevant.
So old-timerhood, in the way I once
imagined it, never came .
Don't get me wrong—I am grateful
for my years of sobriety, and I
listen with particular care to every
new or returning member, because
they carry the message of how my
life could be if I pick up a drink. But
time in the program does not confer
authority. In some ways, the reverse
is true: Someone sober for a year or
two is more likely to be helpful to a
new member, because his or her experience
is fresher than mine. Having
more perspective on drinking and
early sobriety is great for me, but the
span of time that brings perspective
also brings distance. That's why it is
so important for me to listen with
my heart, because it keeps my memories
green. If what I say at a meeting
makes sense to you and you can
use it, that's wonderful. But if it's not
something you can use, then it doesn't
matter how many years I have.
And so, when early September
rolled around again and the group
chairman asked if anyone had a recent
anniversary in sobriety, I kept
my hand down. It just seemed like
the right thing to do. I'm not suggesting
everyone should do that.
Far from it: New members need to
know, and sometimes older members
need to be reminded, that a
drunk can stay sober for years, even
28. But I've come to understand the
truth of the saying that the longestsober
person is the one who got up
the earliest that morning. Each of
us can live but one day at a time
and my kindness and thoughtfulness
today (or lack thereof) is much
more significant than the numbers
of years since my last drink.
Mike S.
Whitehouse, Ohio
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