Finding Acceptance – A Spiritual Good Time Charlie – By Mark Masserant

“I amz what I amz and that’s allz that I amz.”
(Every freakin’ episode?) – Popeye T. Sailorman   

Rarely did I go down without a fight. As a result, acceptance in any area of my life was always a struggle proportionate to the current unpleasant episode I was confronted with. My drinking was the common thread that ran through all of my troubles, yet it also helped me forget them. Consequently, defeat at the hands of alcohol was a victory neither pain-free, nor easily gained. Despite the constant upheaval caused by my boozing and my urgent desire to stop, there were unforeseen obstacles that blocked me from accepting my drinking problem.

On the surface, I was certain I had thrown in the towel—the monotonous drone of my name, followed by ‘…and I’m an alcoholic’, was sounded at meetings every night for almost a year. I believed it. But hidden deep beneath all my bullshit, even from myself, an unknown part of me hoped it wasn’t true—that I really wasn’t an alcoholic. In spite of all I’d been through, I hadn’t really surrendered. Somehow, I was shielded from the desperation that should have convinced me.

Nevertheless, even though I’d attended Twelve Step meetings for some time, my journey into recovery couldn’t break ground until I accepted the fact I was an alcoholic. Without my unconditional surrender, I’d never engage in the recovery process—it was unlike anything I ever faced.  I needed to burn the bridge back to drugs and alcohol. To the ground. Although more painful than I’d like to admit, it was necessary; I had to be forced into the unknown and unwelcome region called sobriety, without an exit strategy. When I finally came to terms with it, I knew I’d be lost for a long time.

Still, there were unexpected complications in the early stages.  My personality had changed radically after nearly two decades of drinking, and the image that booze created had to be left behind. First and foremost, the destruction of my failed persona was essential—surely, given time, the old me would drink again.

There had to be a new me, and after the masks and old ideas were discarded, he would be revealed.  It seemed an impossible task, but I had to stop trying to be what I am not, and stop trying not to be what I am. Then the real me would surface. The day arrived when I knew I wasn’t the drunk I used to be, but didn’t know who I was. Everything about me was in a constant state of flux. What was happening to me?

Did I need Popeye for a Life Coach?

“You’ve got to learn to live with what you can’t rise above.”

“Tunnel of Love” –Bruce Springsteen

Freedom from alcohol was essential, but it was just the bare beginning. It’s widely agreed we have a three-part disease—physical, mental and spiritual—yet the emotional aspect is often overlooked, and sometimes ignored. I didn’t feel good—I was restless, irritable and discontented, and sought the solution to those feelings, the sense of ease and comfort that came from a couple of drinks. Produced by the combined breakdown of the three aforementioned facets of the disease, my problem was always about how I felt. I was drinking because I liked the effect produced by alcohol– I felt better. There was no debate about that. But in order to recover, I had to find a way to coexist with all my emotions without my glass crutch. It was a tall order.

There was an extensive backlog of things I thought I escaped from stashed in my Unwanted Feelings Bank for years, some of them haunting me. A few were traumatic. Help was required from my sponsor to identify the working parts of the Serenity Prayer. He was more than happy to offer it—wiggle room be damned, it was I who would have to change and I who would have to accept. Everyone else was disqualified. “Leave ‘em alone,” was his suggestion. “Could anyone ever change you?”

That was a simple question that only a ‘Yes or No’ answer would suffice—when he had a point to make, he deflected all of my ‘Yeah– buts’. It was time to have the courage to feel and to grow past old heartache and woe. As usual, he was right on again. Despite my misgivings, I knew someday I’d be able to laugh at the stuff that damn near drove me crazy.

However, there’s a good reason why Twelve Step vendors don’t make millions hawking No Pain, No Gain bumper stickers. No one likes pain, especially alcoholics and addicts, who drain vast amounts of energy trying to sidestep any discomfort, large or small. But it’s all to no avail—you can run, but you can’t hide. No matter how much you try to avoid it, sometimes you reach in a grab bag and pull out a turd.

“That’s just the way it is. Some things will never change.”

“The Way It Is” –Bruce Hornsby

My inability to deal with problems and hardships, which some of the Wise Guys labeled immaturity, reared its ugly head in many areas of my life. They pointed out that I followed the path of most resistance. ‘I didn’t like this; I wasn’t happy with that, et cetera, et cetera– blah, blah, blah!’  My character defects were invisible to me, but they weren’t to anyone else who knew me. They were smarting from them.

Often at odds with others, I tried to convince them I was right. If that didn’t work, I looked for an easy way out or ran for cover. Accepting that my beloved old ideas were suddenly unusable was difficult and frustrating. There were so many to let go of; namely—that I had all the answers, and that people would like me if I had all the answers; that if I was happy, everyone was happy. And I kept digging up more. So many of my old ideas were balonious*. However, I wasn’t sure how those newfangled ones my sponsor proposed would work out in recovery. I felt like a spiritual guinea pig with this never-ending acceptance stuff.

Furthermore, what was important to me and what’s really important were two different things. Once again in sobriety, I had things upside-down, inside-out and twisted. I apparently missed some critical life lessons, and had to play a quick game of catch-up, or else be found out. With my ego problem, looking bad wasn’t an option. There was so much to learn, and just as much to unlearn. It was time to start doing the things I was talking about.

“It’s always something.”

SNL (20th century) – Roseanne RoseAnnaDanna

Recovery isn’t based on learning how to get what I want, but rather, learning how to live with what I get. It was an entirely new slant on life. Things had to change—I had to let go of getting my way, of trying to control. When I realized my limits, I had to relinquish my feeble attempts at playing God. It wasn’t working. I needed something else. My sponsor suggested a Higher Power.

Early in my recovery, there were many times I questioned my newfound faith—usually when I didn’t feel blessed. When I felt ‘blessed’, it was a state of mind affected by how my life was going—especially when My Will was being done. I thought my faith was strong when things went smoothly and I brimmed with gratitude. It’s easy under those conditions. I needed to see if it would work during the hard times, when I really needed it.

Naturally, I still had my conniptions when things went badly. I was a Spiritual Good Time Charlie.  Sometimes I wondered if God had a suggestion box after a few unfavorable snags from the grab bag of life. Again and again, I had to send myself to my room and let the idiot run around inside of me for damage control. He always wears himself out eventually. As a result, my amends list became more manageable.

This cat didn’t always land on all fours, though. When things really went downhill, sometimes I got so mad at God I think I gave him an ear infection. Sorry!

In spite of that, there must have been a mustard seed of faith inside me somewhere. I never got mad at things I didn’t believe in, like the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy. I didn’t shake my fist at Santa at the mall, either, and never gave Cupid a piece of my mind when I had reason to. None of them existed. They couldn’t listen. Somehow, I thought God would. Nevertheless, it was a strange way to find out I believed in a Higher Power.

“When will I ever learn to live in God?”

 Song title –Van Morrison

I discovered the path of least resistance I choose to travel is a walk of peace and acceptance. My emotional barometer—restless, irritable and discontent—warns me when I’m off the path, and it’s hard to ignore. When I stop fighting everybody and everything, the resistance subsides; when I accept God’s will, there is peace. It’s win-win. A solution for the reality of pain in life is to counterbalance it with as much love as I can offer to those around me. It dilutes some of the sting.

Looking back, I can’t worry about what might have been—instead, I consider what there’s still time to be. I have another chance at life. Despite occasional misfortunes, there’s a magnificent gift I can accept as I continue on. I can live in the amazing space between two drinks—the last drunk and the next first drink. Amidst the miracle of days, weeks, months and then years of sobriety, I discovered something precious between those two drinks—something I almost missed: Life. Mine.

I gladly accept it.

* aka– full of baloney

(Abridged version previously in Step 12 Magazine, Nov. 2016.)

© mark masserant