Estimated read time: 8 min
I have a lot of useful tools in my life, the unfortunate thing is, that I don’t always use them. Care to join me as I share an embarrassing story? As much as I hate to admit it, I am one of those people who will play along like they understand something when I have no idea what is going on. I don’t think I am alone in this, but I might be. I will listen intently, have no clue what someone is talking about, hear the you-know-what-I-mean statement, and say, “Yes,” as a reflex.
It comes in handy at times. Sometimes in conversation, a person will delve into the minutia of a situation that is full of technical terms I don’t understand, and I will nod along until they get back to the main part of the story which is comprehensible. The speaker is none the wiser of how stupid I am, and the story makes sense without the technical jargon.
Other times, I end up with my foot shoved so far in my mouth that I have athlete’s esophagus. For example, I was wearing a White Snake concert t-shirt, and a friend of mine asked, “How was Coverdale?”
My response? “Didn’t he and Jimmy Page make an album, I don’t really listen to them.” Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Yeah. Exactly. I didn’t know that the lead singer of White Snake (a band I have listened to since the 1980s) is David Coverdale, who is also a part of the duo Coverdale-Page.
I give my friend credit. He must have felt so sorry for me that he didn’t want to point out my ignorance. On the other hand, he may just have decided that I needed to share this ignorance with the world. In either case he kept a straight face and switched the conversation to another topic.
I can only offer a very weak excuse for the lack of knowledge or blatant stupidity about White Snake. I never owned a single album. Weak, but true. Besides, outing myself as not a true fan of all that is Coverdale and White Snake was not the point. The fact that both are incredible in concert is not either, but that needed to be said.
The point is that you, dear reader, now understand how my pride and lack of knowledge with a hint of names-don’t-really-matter can lead me down a road to forehead slapping stupidity, and at times, to swearing I will never speak on a subject again.
However, certain topics cannot be avoided when you are an alcoholic like me. In fact, paths to sobriety and ways to stay sober are almost always at the top of my topics that I have to stay engaged with daily as a means to ensure I don’t become a relapsing alcoholic. But I have that glitch in my system that won’t let me ask a question about something I think I should understand. That brings us to the “spiritual tool kit” I heard so much about in early sobriety.
These “spooky tools” eluded me. It was like I could almost reach out and touch them, but they would slide right through my grasp. And, these tools seemed pretty dang important, because the people that found them were FOREVER mentioning how they were so useful in recovery.
“Faced with this problem, I knew what I had to do. I had to open up my kit of spiritual tools because that always works,” said one old-timer.
“When I get in a situation like this, I know I have to pick up the spiritual tool kit laid at my feet, like the Big Book says,” I heard from another member with a couple of more years than my few months.
It seemed like every other meeting I attended had someone chiming in about the magical, amazing, STUPID, “spooky tool kit” that worked magic for everyone who had it.
It was like I had been walled off from some level of Alcoholics Anonymous that I had yet to attain. I was doing morning meditations, reading the Big Book, working the steps, attending meetings as often as I could, consistently snitching on myself to my three sponsors, and attempting to share my experience, strength and hope with others. (Yes, I had three sponsors, and I needed every one of them).
BUT, if someone would just award me this glow-in-the-dark pouch of what I could only assume included a hammer, saw and a few screwdrivers, I could drop all that other stuff and live happily ever after knowing I could just pick it up and be free from all my problems. I mean according to what I read, someone was supposed to lay the spiritual tool kit in front of me and allow me to inspect it. When was Casper showing up, because I was ready!
If you are currently laughing at me, NOT nice. But, you are obviously in recovery. If you are not laughing at me, you will know why you should be shortly.
See, I am a legit alcoholic, and my brain, despite my best effort at times, looks for short cuts and easier, softer ways that always end up taking longer and are more difficult. A joke my wife often shares is that if there were a pill you could take to cure alcoholism; she would take two just to be sure it would work. I am that kind of drunk, too. There is a simple process that works for people like me, but I have to overcomplicate it and confuse myself at least five times before I can follow the simple direction.
Here I was trudging the road of happy destiny and picking up hot coals in my hands to hurl at the next chuckle-head that brought up the spooky tools that were saving everyone but me. I mean, I was staying sober, but my life was pretty bumpy still, and I was sure a glowing hammer could flatten out some of the bumps, and if I was lucky, there would also be a spooky plane to use to smooth out some edges.
Finally, when I had exhausted every other avenue I could think of, was up to my chin in being fed up with this “kit of spiritual tools” that seemed to unlock every door except the ones locked in front of me, and thought I might literally scream and hurl myself through the window of the next meeting where some well-meaning alcoholic mentioned his or her tools in public, I asked my sponsor.
And he gave me the worst possible answer: “What does the Big Book say about it?” (HAH, he didn’t know either!!)
I flipped to one of the two dog-eared pages that mentioned the spooky tool kit because (for once) I was ready, and read off the passage on pg. 25. I paused. Slowly, the words read aloud to my sponsor made sense.
“Almost none of us like the leveling of our pride, the confession of shortcomings which the process requires for its successful consummation.” The phrase that had been word salad only moments ago now sounded eerily like the step work I had been guided through by the man sitting across from me with an attentive smirk.
“What does that sound like to you?” my sponsor asked.
“It sounds like the steps,” I mumbled like a little kid who just realized that summer vacation would end in a week.
“There is no magic spell you have to cast. There is no secret code to solve. This program is simple. And, it has to be, ‘cause people like you will overthink the most basic directions. You know how I know? I’m people like you.”
I have to admit, I was disappointed. The kind of disappointed I felt when I realized some fat guy didn’t squeeze down a chimney to leave me presents so I could never be an elf.
As we talked, I realized I had several tools that had been keeping me sober, and in turn, making my life more manageable than it might have been otherwise. Along with working the steps, especially 10 and 11, I had daily readings that helped me stay right-minded, I had others in recovery to rely on when I felt off, and I made daily lists of things I was grateful for to remind me of times when I didn’t have the life I have now. I also had a sponsor that seemed to enjoy the chance to point out the obvious but reminded me that he, too, was a lot like me.
Although I still occasionally long for someone to bring me a “spooky tool kit” that will make living a little easier, I began to understand that life, especially my life, can be some-what messy, and that is okay. As my sponsor often reminded me, I spent 28 years trying to figure out ways to destroy me and harmed people around me in the process. There was no way, absolutely no way, I could expect a smooth road just because I had stopped intentionally creating potholes and burning bridges.
Still, I find myself at times slipping back into old patterns or letting my character defects lead me in the wrong direction. When that happens, I use the things I was taught in early sobriety to get me back on track, but I try to avoid the phrase “spiritual toolkit.” After all, there may be one of me around when I am sharing in a meeting. That person who is sitting there silently wishing he or she could unlock the doors blocking his or her path if only someone would explain what the toolkit is.
And perhaps that’s where my friend, who knows who David Coverdale is, and I differ. I’d rather be more like my sponsor, smirk or laugh, but then remind a fellow alcoholic that it will be okay because we are all in this together.
To that end, I think I’ll try to trip up my friend the next time I see him, I bet he can’t guess the name of the lead singer of Deep Purple, you know the band that sings, “Smoke on the Water.” I love that song, and a quick google search will give me the answer I need to smirk when he is wrong.
Why do I feel like some of you are already laughing? At least we can google this answer together.
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