Taking A Leap

I’m back for what must be Round Three. I’m going back to the beginning again using some of the material I put together for a project called Discovering the 12 Steps. The material here isn’t that, but the rumination of someone in recovery about the journey from Taking A Leap to today.

A Series of Questions

Some years ago, I assisted in creating a program introducing people to 12-Step recovery. This program targeted treatment facilities to introduce the 12-Step fellowship and the attending Steps to people who had never been exposed or to those whose experience had been less than favorable.

My involvement consisted of answering a series of questions regarding my experience. I was also one of many filmed discussing their experience with the Steps. The series is now available. Since I’m not here to sell anything, I’ll say it has been distributed widely and includes many from the Minnesota recovery community.

Every once in a while, I will come across this questionnaire in my many folders of past work. Whenever I come across it, I think, “I should share what I wrote here.” I have considered that because it contained a lot of experience not captured by the original project. So now, I have a blog.

I will share my answers to these questions over the next few weeks and months. I also encourage others who have read these words to share their answers in this blog. This should be fun. I like to talk about recovery, but it only works when I get every perspective.

The Basics: Question One

The project started with the origins of the 12 steps, the scope of their use, their intent, and the spiritual component.

It then moved into practical information such as finding a 12-step group (open groups, beginner meetings, women only, men only, cultural, gender orientation, etc.). Then adding the importance of relationships you can’t get attempting the 12 steps alone, what happens at 12-step meetings, how to find a good fit in a sponsor, and so on.

For the first segment, the first question was:

Did you think, “I’m afraid of opening up to a group of strangers?”

My first meeting outside treatment was in Tucson, AZ, in January 1987. While in treatment, I committed myself to follow through with anything I said I would do. As I went out the door after 31 days in the desert, my counselor asked, “Are you going to a meeting tonight?” I responded, “Yes.” This wouldn’t be the last time I would wish I hadn’t made that commitment to myself.

Tucson isn’t known for its snowfall, but they had a blizzard that night. First time in 13 years, and I was going to drive to a meeting in a town I didn’t know, at a location I’d never been to before, and decidedly pre-GPS. The positive thing was I was from Chicago, so driving in snow wasn’t an issue.

I barely remember anything about that meeting except it was in a church and was so full of people some of us sat on the floor. It had that late 80’s hootenanny feel to it. I don’t know why I can’t remember anything else. Probably because nothing bad or funny happened, those are usually the things I remember.

The next day I flew home to Chicago. The flight was barely filled. I was sitting near the back of the plane with several empty rows in front of me. Once the plane was at “cruising altitude,” the flight attendant parked in the back asked me if I wanted a beer. I politely declined but asked if she had coffee. She gave me a cup of coffee, and then cooly asked, “Would you like some Bailey’s in that?”

I’m thinking to myself, “I just got out of treatment. What the hell’s wrong with you? Do you work for them somehow? Is this a test?” I didn’t say this out loud. I just said, “No, thank you. The coffee’s fine.”

Looking back on it, it’s a miracle I didn’t say, “Yeah, do that. And you know what? Give me that beer too, and keep ‘em coming until we land in Chicago, and you have to push me out that little window on the side of the plane.”

That night, I went to my second meeting at the venerable Mustard Seed. At that time, the “Seed,” as it was referred to, was located in a converted fire station. To walk into that building was to see what was meant by “We are people who normally would not mix.” (Alcoholics Anonymous, pg.17) It was a veritable panoply of Chicago life in one large room. You could also smoke two packs of cigarettes without lighting up.

I spent many nights in that room, found my sponsor there, and learned the true meaning of fellowship. But not that night. I found a seat in the meeting area. I sat in awe. Two people on either side of me shared they had just “relapsed.” They had both gone to treatment, and then they used. I wasn’t afraid of opening up in front of a group of strangers, but the information they shared scared the shit out of me. Until then, I hadn’t thought returning to use possible.

The next day, back at work, I headed to Madison, WI, where I would conduct recruiting interviews with prospective college seniors. That night, I had the address of a meeting. Unfortunately, as in Tucson, although a little less peculiar, it was snowing hard. I couldn’t see street signs; I could barely see streets. I was pretty lost.

Suddenly, in front of me, I saw “Easy Does It” on a car’s bumper. At a stoplight, I pulled up beside this person, honked my horn, rolled down my window, and said, “Are you a friend of Bill W?” The driver said, “Who?” Come to find out; he’d gotten the car from a friend of his who had gone to prison. I didn’t find that meeting, but I’d made an effort and felt that counted.

I’ve lost count of how many meetings I’ve been to since those first three days out of treatment, but I’ve thankfully and gratefully been sober ever since.

How many of you remember your first meetings? I’d love to hear your stories. Were you afraid to share in front of a group of strangers?