The Best of Grapevine, Vols. 1,2,3. Группа авторов

responsibility not to add to those horrors, but add to them I did, especially when I slipped into my vodka bottle. People became indistinct shadows to me; they were bent upon my destruction; everybody threatened me. I was escaping the responsibility of living, true, but I was also adding to being responsible for the curtain going up on opening night with me flat on my back, asking for help from the only prompter who can rescue me.

      The job looked much too big when I came to AA. It bugged me that I was responsible for attending meetings. I was hurt and enraged when my sponsor didn’t call or stop by and take me to a meeting—thereby making me responsible for going to meetings by myself. I disliked meetings because those present didn’t talk about things I wanted to hear, or they said things I didn’t understand. When some members seemed serene and competent, my defenses went up—who did they think they were? When I asked a question at a discussion meeting and it was answered, I became enraged because I thought everyone was after me, looking at me, putting me down.

      If we hit bottom with a public bang, the time will come in our AA tenure when we will have to venture out of the house and face that public. Face the very same people who were eyewitnesses to our final day of disgrace, whatever it may have been. This is defi­nitely a responsibility. By the time I exposed myself to the view of my knowing neighbors and business associates and acquaintances, I’d fortified myself with months of AA. Some of the first things I learned were that if I thought God could forgive me, who was I not to forgive myself? That now I had a new life, was a member of a Fellowship that cared, that there were understanding people standing behind me, that I should not fear, that I had a responsi­bility to stand up and be counted, sober. As our Big Book says, I could go anywhere, do anything within my capabilities, as long as my motive was right, as long as I felt I was putting myself under the big director, my Higher Power.

      Even today it bugs me to feel that I am responsible for my actions. Worse yet, I am responsible for the thoughts that lead to the actions. At times the whole shebang becomes so overwhelming I am forced to go back and start all over again—“First Things First”; “one day at a time.” I must put one foot carefully after the other; be careful that I don’t always look down, but also look up to see where I am going and note that the sun is shining, that I am sober, physically well, my mind cleared of booze and pills. I must be grateful in the knowledge that there is a Power greater than myself. Perhaps I am not responsible at all times for the adversity in my life, but I certainly am responsible for trying to cope with that adversity sober.

      To my chagrin, I’ve learned the hard way that I am responsible for slipping into mental and emotional depressions. I can usually take action that will forestall a depression when I conjure up one and begin to slide into it. My depressions are mostly brought on by frustration, fear of the future, self-pity, rage at my lot in life, but above all fear .

      AA has taught me that I will not be asked to bear more than I can, regardless of what I think, but that I am responsible for reporting for duty and making the effort to overcome the adversity, and in so doing to overcome myself, which is my first responsi­bility.

      D.W., Van Nuys, Calif.

Coping with Unemployment

      April 1978

      One afternoon in June, the boss called me into his office. The result of our dialogue was, “You’ll be much happier with the next company.” I was fired.

      This employer, nine years ago, had given me every oppor­tunity to straighten out my drinking problem. He was overjoyed at the change in me through AA and had promoted me several times during my sobriety. But there had been an organizational change, and my job no longer existed.

      How could this happen to a good guy like me? Some tears fol­lowed for my sorely bruised ego. A conversation with my sponsor assured me that my worth as a human being has nothing to do with a job. Was he right? I believed it in my heart, but my stomach wasn’t sure.

      The self-knowledge and spiritual awakenings gained through work with the Twelve Steps enabled me to go on without a break in stride. The boss was considerate. The organizational change did not take place for three to four months, and I was invited to stay on till then. I decided to show them. I dived into the job search and almost landed a terrific position back in the hometown. The dis­appointment was bitter at coming in second. My sponsor told me that God does not sober you up to throw you on the woodpile.

      Sent out 300 resumes. Lots of activity, some interviews, no job offers. The sponsor said that you don’t get any cross to bear without the strength to carry it. I knew from experience this was correct. Why did I need to be reassured all the time? Thank God for sponsors and the Fellowship.

      I was stripped of responsibility at work. Everyone was whispering about me behind my back. One day at a time. The sponsor promised that wherever I wound up, it would be where I was supposed to be, and better. I doubled up on prayer and meditation to an hour a day.

      Time was up! Then, a last-minute extension to the first of the year working on special projects at half salary. Could I take it? Yes, one day at a time. Add another half hour to meditation, and be grateful. The sponsor said the reprieve was probably connected to the increased prayer and work on the program. I thought so, too.

      Sent out 400 resumes. Some activity, some interviews, elec­tions, holidays, and no job offers. I was starting to worry about money, but I knew I had what I needed. When would this end? The Serenity Prayer was a great help.

      Unemployed and a statistic! I wasn’t alone. Lots of AAs had gone through this sober. They came forward to offer support. I stood in the unemployment line for three hours. I increased my work with others and stayed close to newcomers. A new moral inventory revealed a lot of resentments and problems over work. Was being fired an answer to my prayers? Be careful what you pray for—you might get it.

      Sent out 400 more resumes. Back to the hometown to renew old friendships and business acquaintances. All the people I thought I would never need. You do meet the same people going down as coming up. Please, God, don’t let me forget this lesson. People were kind. They seemed to understand they could be on the other side of the desk some day. Why didn’t I ever think of that?

      A break—an outstanding job! They said bring the wife down. Then a last-minute phone call: Sorry, we decided to pro­mote from within. The sponsor said that if I was meant to have that job, I would have gotten it. Thy will be done!

      Ten months later. No job, but making it a day at a time. The Big Book is right; sobriety can be maintained with or without a job. A job is a circumstance. A job is not a survival matter like sobriety. Everyone gets a job sooner or later. My faith was being tested. Had God misplaced my file? Was I a failure? No, God has a perfect plan for me. This process has given me a closeness to people and God that would not have been possible otherwise. My life is continuing to change steadily for the better.

      Several weeks later, I landed a good job. My wife and I have relocated and are comfortable in our new area . The program is the same, and we look forward to going on from here. Without a doubt, this has been the most significant sober living experience of my life.

      If I work my program, I will be okay. All my experience says, exactly as the Big Book states, I get everything I need in Alcoholics Anonymous. And when I get what I need, I invariably find that it was just what I wanted all the time.

      B. K., Freeport, Ill.

The Impossible Dream

      November 1971

      During my days as a practicing alcoholic, I had a maudlin habit. At some point during the evening, I would weave woozily from the kitchen, fresh drink in hand, and stack a pile of mawkish ballads on the record player. Then I would settle down to wail my off-key accompaniment. Two or three drinks later, I would be supine, a steady stream of tears coursing across my cheekbones and rolling wetly into my ears as I agonized and empathized with the heartbroken vocalist.

      I am grateful for one thing: When the song “The Impossible Dream” came along, I was newly sober. Even sober, I wept over that one! And today, when