Answer Addiction

Tag: the promises

  • Comedian Jake Fogelnest: From Self-Loathing to a Life Beyond His Wildest Dreams

    Comedian Jake Fogelnest: From Self-Loathing to a Life Beyond His Wildest Dreams

    Notice they don’t call it the “9th Step Maybes.” It’s not the “9th Step Possibilities.” It’s the “9TH STEP PROMISES.” It’s very clear: we must be painstaking and take the suggestions. But if we DO…some amazing stuff will happen before we know it.

    Comedy Central, VH1, MTV, Netflix. Jake Fogelnest’s TV writing/producing credits are too long to list – and he wouldn’t want me to. I know Jake as a kind, funny, and humble man I met outside of the Hollywood Improv last summer, who treats everyone he meets with the same consideration. I was thrilled when he agreed to be part of this interview series.

    The Fix: What is your favorite thing about being sober in comedy?

    Jake Fogelnest: My favorite thing about being sober in comedy is that I’m ready to work WHENEVER. Whether it’s late nights or early mornings, I’m ready to show up. If I’m writing alone, there’s nothing better than going to bed at 10pm, waking up at 6:00am and just starting to write as the sun comes up. If I’m in a writers’ room, I love being able to come in fresh and ready to go until we need to stop (hopefully at a reasonable hour – usually we do). Or if I’m shooting something, I love that I can make a 4:30am call-time and be relatively alert. Adding a hangover into any of those situations? NO THANKS.

    I even have friends who can drink “normally.” Maybe they’ll overdo it once a year and then have to show up for work hungover and just suffer through it. I always feel SO bad for them! My sobriety ensures I never have a day like that! It’s such freedom! The worst thing I’ve had to endure in sobriety are days where I didn’t get enough sleep or if I have a minor (not contagious) cold. 

    This may sound really simple. I’m basically saying, “My favorite thing about being sober in comedy is that I can show up to work like every normal person on the planet does for their job every day.” I know there’s gotta be some Al-Anon people reading this right now going: “Oh, he’s all proud that shows up for work on time? Let’s throw this little asshole a parade.” Sorry. I know it’s small, but even after all these years of recovery, I’m grateful I can show up. I could be dead! 

    What is the most challenging thing?

    The most challenging thing is recognizing where alcoholism shows up in other areas of my life. Just because I stopped drinking and using drugs 12 years ago doesn’t mean that I don’t have the disease of alcoholism. I’m in recovery, but the alcoholic thinking is still there. It has been HUMBLING to recognize how my character defects can still show up. They find new creative ways to do so all the time!

    If there was an Emmy Award for “Outstanding Achievement in Holding onto Resentment,” I’m afraid I would be at least eligible for a nomination. I might not win, but I think I’d be a strong contender. I could list who I think some of the other nominees might be. It would give you a hell of a headline! Sadly, through recovery I’ve learned restraint of pen and tongue… which really fucks up clickbait! 

    Seriously, it’s all challenging, you know? It really depends on the day. You get some time under your belt and you think, “I got this.” And yeah, maybe I do “got this” in the sense that I’m probably not going to go out and drink tonight. However the underlying stuff that made me reach for a drink in the first place? That comes up all the time. Most people would never know. Or maybe everyone knows! Truth is, I don’t care anymore. As long as I’m taking the night right action and not being a jerk. 

    I can say I’ve been a LOT better this year about practicing self-care, reaching out for help and making sure I stay in touch with my higher power. It sneaks up on me, but I do get reminded: this journey is never done. I think I’ve only recently come into TRUE acceptance of that. I’ve gotten a lot more comfortable with the concept of uncertainty. I had to because I realized IT WAS NEVER GOING AWAY. They say this disease is cunning, baffling and powerful. What I have found challenging is how cunning, baffling and powerful it can be… and it has NOTHING to do with drinking. Now it’s just about living. 

    How has your career evolved since you committed to recovery?

    I wouldn’t have a career if I didn’t have recovery. Recovery has to come before everything else. There are times in my sobriety and my career where I didn’t put it first and WOW did that always come back to bite me in the ass. Recovery first, everything else second. Always. 

    I also think accepting that things don’t happen on MY timetable has been a huge blessing in making my way through career stuff. It’s show business. There are so many ups and downs. There is also so much waiting. You also need to self-motivate. All things that can totally activate an alcoholic. 

    Today I am grateful for a fantastic career. Is it exactly where I want it to be in this moment? NOPE! But I don’t think it ever will be. I think that has less to do with alcoholism and more about being any type of creative! Even for the most successful people in the world, there’s always going to be SOMETHING unfinished or unrealized. Some script you can’t quite crack, some project you can’t find financing for, some scheduling that doesn’t work out. Who’s a big successful person? Steven Spielberg? He’s big, right? I bet even Mr. Steven Spielberg himself has at least ONE thing he just can’t get made. Maybe it’s a sequel to E.T. where E.T. comes back to teach Elliott about SPACE JAZZ! I just made that up, if Steven likes the idea, he can call WME. But bringing it back to recovery (sorry I brought it to SPACE JAZZ), I truly believe that everything happens when it is supposed to. Some days do I get a LITTLE impatient with that stuff? FUCK YES. But that’s when I turn it over… or call a friend and complain. 

    No compare and despair shit though. Someone else’s success is NOT my failure. Others might be able to do that. For me, it’s bad for my brain and recovery. 

    I’m just incredibly grateful that nothing has come to me a SECOND before I was truly ready to handle it. If it were up to me and things were operating entirely on my timeline, I bet “my best thinking” would lead me straight into a brick wall. Having a spiritual connection and knowing that more will be revealed is essential to me. But yeah, at the same time, I really should have an overall deal somewhere. I mean, fucking come on. (It’s good to have a HEALTHY bit of ego.)

    In the Big Book of AA, the 9th step promises say: “If we are painstaking about this phase of our recovery, we will be amazed before we are halfway through.” Are you amazed?

    I love the promises so much. It’s probably my favorite thing in the big book. 

    Am I amazed? CONSTANTLY. Where my life was before sobriety and where it is today? They say “beyond your wildest dreams” and they aren’t kidding. I could sit here and rattle off all the ways the promises have come true in my life. I could even throw in some stuff about the “cash and prizes.” But I don’t want to speak from a place of ego. I think it’s more valuable to share about the promises and how important they are to show to newcomers! 

    Whenever I find myself talking with people early in their sobriety, I point them straight to the 9th step promises. I think it’s a BIG thing to make a promise. Think about how cruel it would be to promise all that stuff to someone and not deliver on it? Notice they don’t call it the “9th Step Maybes.” It’s not the “9th Step Possibilities.” It’s the “9TH STEP PROMISES.” It’s made very clear: we must be painstaking and take the suggestions. But if we DO… some amazing stuff will happen before we know it. 

    Here’s another way I’m amazed — and this one isn’t so cheery. Even though I have felt the promises first hand and I’ve seen them come true for others, as I continue to deepen my recovery— I still battle with willingness! I have a lot of fear of fear that holds me back. Not so much with career stuff anymore, but in other areas of my life. That being said, it feels really GOOD to talk about this knowing that I am back at being painstaking as I continue to look at this new stuff. For example (and this is a lame small one), after 12 years of sobriety, today is one month and 24 days without smoking a cigarette. It feels great. I hate it.

    How did you handle your first 30 days in relation to your comedy / writing career?

    For my first 30 days I didn’t worry about my comedy/writing career. I worried about getting sober. It’s not like anyone was knocking down my door at that time, but even if they were — I still had to put recovery first. There is no career if I’m sick. 

    I did what I had to do to make a living and that’s about it. I was VERY lucky that my employers at the time were actually directly responsible for getting me to a place of acceptance that I needed recovery. The “wildest dreams” took a backseat. I think there’s this misconception people have in early sobriety that they’re going to “miss out” on something, particularly “momentum in show business.” Guess what? Show business keeps moving without you. If you’re talented and you work your program, show business will be waiting for you when you’re healthy and ready. Whatever big opportunity you think you’re missing out on is NOTHING compared to what could come your way in sobriety. 

    What do you think it is about comedy and the entertainment industry in general that attracts so many addicts? Or the addicts that are attracted to comedy?

    Addicts are sensitive people. So are creatives. It makes sense that sensitive creatives would seek to self-medicate. That’s all creatives, not just comedians! But let’s talk about people who do comedy for a second. The job of a comic is to be hyper aware of the world and reflect it back to people in a funny way. That can be a painful process filled with sensory overload. You’re gonna want to numb out. Shut your brain off. In fact, it’s essential that you do so, otherwise you’re gonna go insane. There’s just a healthy way to do that and an unhealthy way to do it. Ugh, I remember sitting in a meeting early in sobriety listening to some asshole saying something like, “Just breathe” and I wanted to punch his fucking lights out. 

    The guy was right by the way. Breathing is good. Sorry.

    What advice would you give a comedian who struggles with chronic relapse?

    Relapse is part of recovery. I’ve relapsed. I’m very grateful to have 12 years now, but it took a few rounds to get there. The biggest piece of advice I could give? That SHAME you have around relapsing? Yeah, that’s fucking useless. I’m not saying don’t take it seriously. I’m not saying there’s not consequences to your actions. I just find addicts and alcoholics put this tremendous extra layer of ULTRA-SHAME and SUPER-GUILT on top of everything that really serves us NO purpose. It’s bullshit self-loathing. Believe me, I’ve been sober a long time and I’m a fucking expert at doing it. I could teach a masterclass on that website. 

    Here’s the thing though: FUCK THAT SHAME. Just come back. No one gives a shit. No one is judging you harder than you are judging yourself. I guarantee, you’re your own worst critic when it comes to relapsing. Just fucking come back. 

    Anything I missed?

    No one’s life has ever gotten worse because they decided to stop drinking. No one. Ever.  

    Jake’s story shows that it’s possible to stay fully grounded despite achievements, never forgetting what recovery has always been about: one addict helping another.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Enabling, Self-Seeking, and Recovery

    Enabling, Self-Seeking, and Recovery

    Every moment there’s the possibility of falling back into self-seeking after having recovered much of our spiritual, financial, and physical health.

    Recently, I was accused on a community website of being an enabler. The article and discussions that followed were regarding a proposed affordable housing project in our community and how some members of the local city council were concerned that if fed and housed, the persons in poverty would become dependent. After I participated in a recent homelessness count that provided the government and other organizations with information on the population of homeless people, I felt I was informed enough about the topic to comment on my recent experiences. I wondered about the label someone attached to me and how valid it was. The question I ask myself is, “how do I know if I’m an enabler?”

    As an addict, I am going through a set of steps with a sponsor, which is a big part of the success of the 12-step program. Currently I’m on step 6, which states: “We were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.” It seemed an appropriate time to look at this behavior—and to find out if in fact it is a “defect of character.” What is an enabler?

    en·a·bler (From Wikipedia)

    noun

    1. a person or thing that makes something possible.

    “the people who run these workshops are crime enablers”

    1. a person who encourages or enables negative or self-destructive behavior in another.

    “he criticized her role as an enabler in her husband’s pathological womanizing”

    I liked “A person that makes something possible,” but then the definition erodes into some negative rhetoric. Could I be attaching my own definitions to justify my behaviors? I also wondered about alternatives to enabling.

    What is the opposite of enabler? From Word Hippo:

    Noun antonyms include: deterrent, hindrance, impediment, inhibitor, preventer, and prohibitor.

    I don’t particularly like those words either. It almost seems like a lose/lose scenario. I can attempt to clarify both sides of an argument and chose to either “make something possible” or be a “preventer” of a possible catastrophe. These implied absolutes can place people on opposite sides of the fence of their own making and create polarity and strife. 

    Before I started down the path of recovery, choices were a lot easier. I was just concerned with myself—because at its core, addiction is about being self-obsessed. If something benefited me, made me feel better or allowed me to avoid uncomfortable feelings or just looked fun, I could justify the choices and my actions.

    Today, through the recovery process, I choose a new way of living:

    I invite a higher power into my life and my decisions. It is a manner of living that involves more than my own self-seeking ways. I know some people do not agree with terms like “God” or “Higher Power” or even the concept of a spiritual existence. I struggled with the concept too when I first started in recovery. At some point, those who live a life based on the principles learned in 12-step recovery must decide what concept is working for them today. The idea is that a higher power, whether it is “God” or my support group, it is a greater power than myself. As the saying goes, “it was my best thinking that got me here.”

    I try not to complicate things too much these days, but difficult choices are inevitable. The fact that I have difficult choices to make is a choice…but that train of thought gives me a headache and might be overthinking things – another seemingly common trait among addicts. I often wonder if life would be easier if I was less concerned about those around me and more concerned about myself- as that is also a common trait among those in active addiction. After all, addicts without recovery really only think about themselves and how to satisfy their compulsion to use.

    It makes sense that the early successes of living free from active addiction re-opens the door to self-seeking behaviors. Every moment there’s the possibility of falling back into self-seeking after having recovered much of our spiritual, financial, and physical health. In fact, all those healthy options are affected by the choices we make and are part of what molds us into who we are and what the fellowship of recovering addicts around us looks like. The literature in Narcotics Anonymous even warns about the dangers of self-seeking, but some people fall back into that habit:

    “…However, many will become the role models for the newcomers. The self‐seekers soon find that they are on the outside, causing dissension and eventually disaster for themselves. Many of them change; they learn that we can only be governed by a loving God as expressed in our group conscience.” 

    In Alcoholics Anonymous, they have The Promises: “Self-seeking will slip away.” 

    If you are no longer self-seeking, then the choice of what, if anything, to seek becomes apparent. I remember very clearly in early recovery when my wife suffered a life-threatening incident. After an invasive surgery to correct a serious defect in her foot and ankle bone structures, she developed a blood clot. A piece broke off and went through her heart and damaged her left lung. She was in the hospital for quite some time as they dissolved the clot with drugs and dealt with the damage to her body.

    I tried to balance work, looking after our two small daughters, recovery meetings, and support for my wife. I thought often of praying to this new “God” I was developing a relationship with. I questioned what I should pray for. Save my wife’s life? There are many people who deserve to live but their lives end. A prayer came to mind: “Please don’t leave me a single father who is barely capable of looking after himself.” This seemed to be a desire for my own selfish needs. In the end I prayed for knowledge that I should be at the right places, doing the right things, and to find the strength for myself and others, including for my wife, regardless of what happens. Also, “Please don’t leave me alone” – and I wasn’t. Friends stepped up and many offered support. 

    In time, my wife recovered. The point to this story and how it relates to enabling is that at no time did anyone criticize the choices I made. People did what they could to support me and let me live with the consequences of my choices. 

    Mother Theresa dedicated her life to easing the suffering of the poor and destitute in India. Did she spend her entire life simply enabling people, with little or nothing to show for her work? Possibly she could have become a motivational speaker and had a far greater effect by inspiring those same people to change their lives. Not that my actions are comparable to Mother Theresa, but the choice I make today is that rather than accomplishing 100 tasks to benefit myself, I would rather accomplish 100 tasks to benefit others, even if a few lives are changed as a result. Even if only a single life is affected, or no lives at all, I would still rather spend the time for the benefit of others. In early recovery it was explained to me that I needed to separate my “needies from my greedies.” What I do after my needs are met is the basis of my recovery. Recovery from addiction and the 12 steps are based on a single premise- which is explained in the 12th step:

    “Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to addicts, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.”

    I don’t always have answers to life’s questions. I might not be doing the right things at the right moment. I always try to be grateful for the life I lead. Gratitude isn’t a feeling, it’s a virtue. Gratitude is a manner of living that expresses our love for what we have by sharing and not hoarding. Sharing is best when it’s unconditional, as is love, and if that looks like enabling, well, I guess I’m okay with that.

    In the end what I share is freely given and my needs are met. I’m not looking for platitudes, but an appreciative “thank you” is always welcome since that can be your gratitude. What you receive and what effect that has is all on you. You choose how to apply the help someone gives you. I can be free of the burden of expectation or false hope. In the end did I enable you? That’s not for me to judge, is it?

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Do AA's Promises Come True?

    Do AA's Promises Come True?

    After completing the 12 steps, a long-time member of AA shares his experience of the 9th step promises.

    Russell Brand recently released his own creative interpretation of AA’s Twelve Steps. As a recovering alcoholic myself (since 12/30/1983), I admire how he captures the essence of the program, while still more or less respecting its tradition of anonymity. I’ve decided to respond to Brand’s piece by writing a bit about the Twelve Promises—which are less known outside of AA than the Twelve Steps or Twelve Traditions. We call these the Ninth Step Promises, because they’re linked with the Ninth Step on page 83 of the Big Book. They’re the pot of gold awaiting us—trite as that might seem—and we read them aloud at the ends of meetings. On the eve of 34 years of continuous sobriety, I’m in a good position to comment on these Promises . . . Do they actually come true?

    1. If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are halfway through.

    I sobered up in my home town of Columbia, Missouri. I followed suggestions, and spent much of my first year on working with a sponsor. I was poorer then than I’d ever been, living in a halfway house, but it was a happy time. Working on the Eighth and Ninth Steps, I acknowledged the harm I’d done to others, and prepared to make amends. The first one I owed was to Jerry, my former employer, co-owner of a traditional pool hall that still serves the finest cheeseburgers I’ve ever eaten. I’d worked there for two years, during my heaviest drinking. Because of my increasingly disheveled behavior, Jerry had let me go, and we hadn’t spoken since. I still owed him a considerable debt, mostly for booze and food. After writing down all of this, to the best of my recollection, I called Jerry for an appointment. One afternoon, in early 1984, we sat down together over coffee in the back of Booche’s. I took a deep breath, then began to lay my cards on the table. I explained what I thought I owed, apologized for my dishonesty, and asked how I could make restitution. There was a long silence. Something within him—caution or suspicion—visibly melted at my offer. Then he shook his head.

    “I don’t want your money,” he said.

    “I know,” I said. “But I’d like to pay my debt.”

    Jerry left for a moment, and went and spoke quietly with a co-owner in the front. After a minute, he returned and said firmly: “Just your business. We just want your business, Mike.”

    I nodded. Jerry had made his decision. We looked each other straight in the eye and shook on it. And I still eat at Booche’s when I’m back in Missouri, and have through all these years. Jerry and I are still friends to this day. And each amend since then has only brought relief and freedom.

    1. We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness.

    Early recovery is a little like those movies in which an angel or alien falls to earth, then falls in love with it. Sensations are intense, especially the strange, new feeling of belonging in the rooms. As a result of “our common bond,” AA is like Switzerland: it’s the one place where the differences between people don’t pertain. Some use the word “God”; some don’t. Meetings veer from tears to sidesplitting laughter. There’s a characteristic zaniness (not unlike Russell Brand’s), along with immediate connection. AA is virtually everywhere, and I usually take in a meeting whenever I’m away. As soon as I am settled in my seat, the self’s deceptions drift away like dandelion floaties—along with whatever weight I carried with me into the room.

    1. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.

    Many of us call ourselves “grateful alcoholics”—which might not be an easy concept to grasp unless you are one. We’re grateful for life itself, for sobriety’s staggering, unexpected gifts, and for every step of the path that has led us here. Shutting the door on the past is not what we’re about. For one thing, it’s our experience, strength, and hope—rather than wisdom or knowledge—that makes us valuable to newcomers.

    1. We will comprehend the word serenity, and we will know peace.

    AA is a plan for creating integration out of disintegration. Serenity is simply a by-product. I didn’t know this when I came in, and frankly, I couldn’t have cared less. I just wanted the pain to stop. But once I was actually sober—and trying to face the character issues I’d chronically masked with alcohol—I craved it. I said the Serenity Prayer to myself 50 times a day. Sometimes I still do. The Fourth Promise doesn’t claim we will have peace; only that we will know it.

    1. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others.

    Straight out of treatment in Missouri, I lucked into finding a solid, hard-core sponsor. I did most of my step work sitting in Gene’s Chevy pickup, and everything went as well as could be hoped. But when I got to my Fourth Step inventories, I couldn’t figure out why he seemed so unimpressed with my writing. I was a creative writing major, after all!

    But an AA sponsor is not a writing professor, and a sponsor is also nothing like the judges and shrinks and counselors I’d been bullshitting for years. Gene scanned my first inventory with a leathery grimace, then abruptly turned and spat a long stream of tobacco juice through the open window.

    At first, it cut me to the quick how easily he saw through me. That night I thought: fine. I’ll show you, and I’ll show AA! I wrote out my darkest secrets (except for one, which I’d carry for 30 years), in rough list form. A couple of days later, at our regular meeting, I showed him my list. By then, my anger had given way to anxiety, and I expected the worst. I sat in silence and tried not to watch as he was reading.

    Gene showed no emotion. Not one flicker. After a minute, he rolled down the window, spat, and then drawled: “that it?” Then he just smiled through his ravaged face. Suddenly, I saw that neither of us was better nor worse than the other. In all the years since then, whenever I serve as a sponsor, Gene is my template.

    1. That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear.
    2. We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows.
    3. Self-seeking will slip away.

    Here are some suggestions: 90 meetings in 90 days; find a sponsor; join a home group; get a service position; read and meditate and pray; work the steps; and help others. Here are some results: we stay sober; character defects lose their hold; self-centeredness no longer defines us; we don’t feel useless anymore, because we aren’t; and the Promises come true.

    1. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change.
    2. Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us.

    One of Gene’s favorite sayings was: “sober up a horse thief, and what have you got? A sober horse thief!” Then he’d guffaw. I loved him for that, even though I didn’t really get his humor at the time . . . But it does seem impossible at first for an alcoholic to change enough, through such simple and wholesome means, to make much of a difference in our lives. What practicing alcoholics need—not only to survive but to flourish—is a complete and profound psychic transformation. Lucky for us, that’s exactly what the Twelve Steps are designed to do for us, and not only once but every day, as long as we live in the solution.

    1. We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us.
    2. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.

    We typically finish upbeat, but I’m ending with two tragic losses. The first was that of Tom McAfee, my undergraduate poetry professor at the University of Missouri. Tom was a brilliant, charismatic writer—and late-stage alcoholic—who died in 1982, at the age of 54. I’d been Tom’s bartender and best friend at the old downtown hotel where he lived much of his life, and also later at Booche’s. Tom was always shaky and frail, but overnight, his health tanked. It took weeks before a couple of us were able to move him to the hospital, and then it was revealed that he had lung cancer. I looked after Tom as best I could through this whole period. But his terror and delirium at the end—as he lay dying of cancer while going through alcoholic seizures—was more than I could bear. One afternoon on a three-day bender, I stumbled into the hotel bar. Someone remarked to me that Tom had died. When had I last seen him? I couldn’t quite remember. That’s when my drinking began in earnest. I’d failed my friend when he needed me most. I couldn’t forgive myself.

    The second loss was that of Jackie, my first wife. (Although we didn’t formally marry for many years.) In 1988, Jackie and I were both midway through our PhD’s at the University of Utah, when she discovered the lump. We both took leave, and went back to Missouri for surgeries, reconstruction, and many rounds of chemotherapy and radiotherapy. We kept our hopes up, and after a year the cancer seemed to be in remission. I went back to resume my studies at Utah. Jackie, slightly ahead of me, was back at it, and managed to land a great job at the University of Texas. She was happily teaching there the following year when the cancer came back. I took leave again, and moved to Austin. Shortly afterward, I proposed—and a few days later, we got married at the courthouse. It was exquisite. And through the next year and a half, I never left her side. Jackie endured treatments first in Austin, and then back home in Missouri, where our strategy shifted from cure to comfort. Paradoxically, in the weeks leading to her final struggle in 1991, there were many hours of intense joy. Spontaneous, childish, connected-at-the-hip gleefulness . . . Often, the exact same thought appeared simultaneously in both minds. It was the deepest intimacy I’ve ever known.

    Jackie’s last words were: “I love you.”

    As devastating as it was to see such a beautiful soul taken before she’d hit her stride, her death was triumphant, too. Even through her worst days, death never got the best of her.

    I went back to Utah, finished my PhD in 1993, and started my professional life—steady then, resolved.

    Just after the founding of AA in 1939, many sober alcoholics were sent into battle in WW2. As related in the Big Book, this was AA’s “first major test.” Would they stay sober far from their meetings? Against all expectations, they did. They had fewer lapses “than A.A.’s safe at home did . . . Whether in Alaska or on the Salerno beachhead, their dependence upon a Higher Power worked.” I had a related revelation after Jackie died. I realized that I could go through anything sober. That now I was spiritually fit enough to show up for “life on life’s terms.”

    Along with the Promises, there’s a playful call-and-response that we include. It seems to be a rhetorical question: “Are these extravagant promises?”

    And the entire group answers: “We think not!”

    And on that note, the reading concludes: “They are being fulfilled among us—sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them.”

    There’s usually then a closing prayer. And after that, we fold our chairs, and return to the lives that AA has given us.

    View the original article at thefix.com