Beyond
My Wildest
Dreams

As a young kid, I had always wanted to believe in a higher power. Something greater than myself. When I’d stare out at the Rocky Mountains or the beauty of Lake Tahoe, or float effortlessly in a creek, it wasn’t difficult to accept something grand and beautiful at work. When I was out in nature, I felt a sort of synchronicity to it all. But it ended there.

I grew up Hindu. Brahmin, to be precise. And though my parents did the best they could to teach me their religion, I failed to see how those Gods — the same ones that mistakenly chopped off the heads of their children; the same that had hundreds of wives; the same that demanded the killing of cousins in the name of duty — had anything to do with my life.

Naturally, there grew a divide between the idea of the Higher Power that was handed to me, and how I went about my life. What did God have to do with paying my bills? Getting a job? Getting a girl? I had to do those things for myself. I had to climb the ladder myself. And when I fell down, I had to piece things back together by myself. I had to be proud. I had to achieve. I had to figure out the formula and solve it all. And through this way of living, I became self-reliant. Reliance on anyone or anything else was weakness. Plain and simple.

When I came into AA, I had my doubts about this whole God thing. I stumbled over the lingo and was turned off by the Judeo-Christian vibes. I heard people say “our father” and talk about the “bigger book.” They held hands and said prayers I didn’t know. Hell, when I grew up, we sat crossed legged on the floor in front of statues and chanted in Sanskrit. Needless to say, I was lost.

There’s probably a mix of reasons why I kept coming back. The ultimatum from the wife. The excuse to get away from the kids for a while. The chance to go for a long drive. But another reason was that I wanted to believe. I wanted to believe in this idea of something else “out there.” I wanted validation for the feeling that I got when I was in the middle of the woods. Lost in the Milky Way. Absorbed in a sunset. I wanted to believe, and I wanted access to that feeling over and over again. I wanted that drug.

“Coming to believe” has been a journey. My idea of a Higher Power is always evolving, always morphing. It’s a bit like baking. I’ll take a teaspoon from here, a pinch from there, a sprinkle of this, that and the other.

I’m only sober today because a man told me I get to choose my own conception of a Higher Power. Thank God for that! Thank God for AA.

Sometimes — a lot of times, if I’m being rigorously honest — I don’t want to read the Big Book. I don’t want to call my sponsor. I don’t want to work with sponsees. I don’t want to look at my part in things, or work the steps. Sometimes I want to just wallow in my own self-pity and self absorption. And when those times come, it’s often my fellow AAs that come to the rescue and snap me out of it.

This one old timer who has since passed away — I’ll call him Lyle — used to start every share with, “I came up here to see my heroes today.” And I get why he’d say that. I hear people share about all the things they’ve been through in life, and how they’ve managed to stay sober. The death of a spouse. The death of a child. One guy had thirteen people that he was close to die within the span of a year. Another guy has to take care of his child with a long term disability and can’t get out of the house most of the time, let alone get to a meeting. One lady buried her daughter after an overdose.

A friend of mine has ALS, and he’s sober. AL-fucking-S! Can you imagine?! Talk about heroes. And not only is he sober, he’s taking the world by its balls. He’s coaching Little League, he’s fully present for his sons, he bitches about the Phillies poor base-running with us. Unreal. As a friend of mine says, how dare I not be grateful today.

And I guess that’s what I really wanted to share. Gratitude. I’m grateful I’ve got heroes that pull me out of the mud. They remind me that no matter what, I don’t have to drink today. I get to be part of that club. The no-matter-what-club.

Let’s not drink today and see what happens.

I was early in AA and struggling with sobriety — for me, it was like riding a bike; I kept falling off and couldn’t stay stopped — when I learned the power of the telephone.

I was supposed to be watching my twin girls — just over 18 months old at the time — while I insisted my wife get some respite with her friends in Philadelphia for a bit. Not longer after she left, I placed my girls in their cribs and shot out the door and bolted to the liquor store. The next thing I knew, I came to on the couch with my wife standing over me. I’ve never forgotten the look on her face. It was a mix of disappointment, anger, and confusion. She didn’t say much. She didn’t need to. Her hands were just out in front of her, expressing the “What the fuck?” that we were both feeling.

She later told me she was more disappointed in herself than she was in me, because her intuition told her she couldn’t trust me. That she shouldn’t leave me alone with the kids. My own kids.

I was a mess. Baffled. How did this happen again? What had happened in the time that she left and the time I came to? Were the girls okay???

I had gone to a meeting earlier that day. A guy — I’ll call him Jerry — gave me his phone number. I didn’t know what else to do, so I called. He picked up.

To this day, some ten years later, I’m forever grateful that he did that simple thing. He picked up. It’s a simple but powerful thing we do for each other in AA. We show up for each other.

Jerry didn’t say much. He kept it short since I was still drunk. But he said one thing I’ll always remember. “Try again tomorrow.” And I did. I kept trying until it stuck. And I guess I still keep trying.

Today I have a group of guys on a text chain. We bitch about the weather. We bitch about getting old. We bitch about the Phillies (and soon enough, the Eagles). But mostly, we keep each other sober. We show up.

Thanks for letting me share.