Why Higher Powers Are Needed in 12 Step Programs

I've always been curious why 12 step programs include #2: "recognizing a greater power that can give strength."

Today I read a blog on slate titled "Buy Local, Act Evil" by Rebecca Tuhus-Dubrow that got me thinking.

A study showed that those who felt they had acted virtuously were less generous and more likely to cheat.

So if you have achieved 30 days of something you're trying to achieve - fitness, sobriety, whatever, the automatic human response is a desire to celebrate that, to cut yourself some slack. In the case of sobriety, if you're still around the people you used with before, you'll most likely use again.

If instead a higher power such as God is able to get you through, but it's out of your hands (steps 2 & 1) then you've no longer accomplished anything, so there's no moral or spiritual currency to spend, so to speak. If I didn't earn the sobriety then I haven't earned any slack.

Perhaps step 2 is included because it makes success more likely due to human psychology. Of course, theists have an additional reason.

Cars

Once we got our licenses we drove everywhere. Paul had a Japanese car and my family let me use a Dodge Dart on occasion. We had a 1964 with front bucket seats and a push-button automatic transmission and a slightly newer Dart with a slant six engine, both white. The newer Dart had front and rear bench seats and sat 6 pretty comfortably.

Paul would drive his Datsun, shifting manually and zipping through the traffic. He could be an aggressive driver, but he never got into any real trouble driving when I was with him, and he drove me around quite a bit. Paul would play the radio, or often a tape, as we drove around. Paul was a motor mouth sort, so we'd be talking and arguing and laughing as we drove around.

I drove the white Dodge Dart with an automatic tranny, or sometimes an old green truck with a manual. Either way they were not terribly nimble vehicles, more like boats. I got pretty good with the Dart, you get a feel for the car after driving it a few years. I also miss how accessible the engine was - the slant six didn't take up that much space, open the hood and everything is accessible - oil pump, filter, water pump, hoses, fans - nothing was packed inside of and around everything else the way modern cars are. Working on and diagnosing a slant six was easy, you could get at everything without a lot of hassle.

I drove that car all over town and a few times even further. We drove around to the North end of Whidbey Island one weekend, probably a bit over 100 miles each way:

Trip2whidbey

One Friday night as we worked our regular gig at the Neptune Chuck checked in. We had tickets to the Grateful Dead show the next night in Eugene - my first Saturday off in months - and his Datsun had broken down. It was in the shop down the street on 45th at the gas station where Greg worked and Chuck's friend was pulling it apart to see if he could replace the water pump. After work we went down to the gas station and started drinking Southern Comfort with Coke. I ended up passing out in the front seat of the disassembled car and puking all over. That car never did smell right after that

We ended up using the Dart as the backup since we couldn't get Chucks car fixed. I checked in with mom around 9AM and we went out and picked up the car. I'm sure I was a little green around the gills, but I'd had a little coffee and water and pain killers and was recovering. The four of us - Chuck, Dan, Richard and me - piled in and headed South on I-5 for Eugene, OR and the Grateful Dead/Santana show. Predictably Santana kicked the Dead's butts, even though the Dead were the headliners. Sugar Magnolia kicked some ass, and Touch of Grey was quite good. The Dead were quite self indulgent, pausing for 10 or 15 minutes between songs, fiddling with their equipment. When they got going they did some killer stuff, but the overall show was a bit lazy and overly self indulgent, not the tight and thrilling show they would have been capable of with some discipline.

Chuck had a green Shelby that he drove like a maniac. I suppose that was the whole point, but it took a pounding with all of the hard acceleration and was in the shop quite a bit. Paul introduced me to Chuck, they were neighbors. I remember being wedged kind of sideways in the back seat of the Shelby with Chuck accelerating hard, slamming it into gear and squealing the tires a bit as he punched the gas and sent us accelerating around corners in downtown Seattle, driving home from GaryCo in the middle of the night Paul's nasal laugh, the white knuckled thrill as you try to hang on under more Gs than you've ever experienced before, the intensity of the moment, and then you're back on I-5 and Chuck is more careful, he already has a couple of tickets and can't afford any more.

Frank had Alpha Romeos. The red one in particular was cool, but rough. He'd pick Dave and I up, and for some reason I'd end up in the back there too. I think Frank claimed that the balance was better that way, since he was much closer in weight to Dave. I was heavier than either, so moving me to the back was best. I always figured beggars can't be choosers, so I sat in the back. There was no seat, an I had to sit sideways to fit.

Frank could corner in that red Alpha Romeo like nobody's business. He'd come down I-5 to the U District speeding but not too bad, then get into the 50th/45th exit lanes. He'd speed up, and hit the off-ramp going up hill fast, and swing out up to where he could see the upcoming intersection. On a good night the lights would be turning green with an open outside lane, and Frank would go through impossibly fast. I'd be sitting up sideways with my arms wrapped around Franks seat, holding on for dear life. The cars that were pulling forward looked like they were sitting still as we flew up, around, and past them. Frank had the course worked out just so, cornering incredibly hard, pulling every bit out of that Italian suspension. As we swing out onto 45th going East Frank is downshifting hard, braking, slowing down quickly to stop for the light. It gets much easier to hold on, as the G-forces are now pushing me forward so my chest is pinned to the back of Franks seat and my legs are held to Dave's seat. In what feels like an intense fraction of a second our speed goes from 3 digits to 1, and we loiter up to the line of cars and pull forward as the green light allows the backup to clear out and start flowing into the U District. Quite the intense little adrenalin rush, I'd show up for work wide awake on the nights Frank drove us in.

The two longest road trips I ever took were with Chuck. He had a Lancia Beta later on, I remember driving in it down to the West Coast Computer Show in San Francisco. I also drove to the Rose Bowl in LA with Chuck years later.

We pulled an all-nighter to LA, taking turns driving down I-5 and sleeping in the passenger's seat. The trip down went fine, but on the trip back we got snowed in within 50 miles of the California-Oregon border.

The next day they finally opened I-5 and we headed back North. Things were snowy and slick, and Chuck was driving. He ended up following a truck closer than he should have, considering the conditions, and when the truck had to slow for backed up traffic we slid right into its read end. The lights took a pounding, but the radiator was OK. After pulling over and checking in with the State Patrol (Chuck had a bad history with cops of any sort and hated having them around) we got going again, filing an accident report in Albany when we passed through. From there I took over the driving and was at the wheel as we drove through Portland while the sun set and into Washington in the increasing darkness. I turned on the lights, and shortly after that I got pulled over. As I sat and waited for the State Patroller to come up to the window Chuck was all bent out of shape, he feels that cops are out to get us.

I opened up the window and leaned out to speak to the cop.

"Good evening, officer." I said, being pleasant.

"Good evening, I'm sure you wondered why I pulled you over. Your driving was just fine, but your rear running lights are out." the officer replied.

"Oh, we hadn't realized that. We just switched them on when it got dark. I wonder if they went out in the wreck?" I responded. The officer enquired about the wreck and we showed him our copy of the accident report. We promised to take care of it and the officer bid us good bye.

As I drove North on I-5 Chuck was in an odd mood - "I've been pulled over 20 or 30 times, and the cops never told me my driving was fine." He repeated that a few times, but I don't think he quite ever got around to any self-insight: that the cops, and especially their attitude and behavior towards Chuck (or any white suburban adolescent), might be largely under his control. I'd already learned that, but I'm not sure that Chuck ever has.

Recurring Dreams

From time to time life gets stressful. Personally, having kids increased my sensitivity to stress quite a bit. When I was single, it wasn't that big deal if I messed up or lost my job.I paid the price for my mistakes, which was only fair. Did I mention I was raised Catholic?

Then I got married and had kids. Now if I mess up, my wife and kids pay the price. To some degree my wife was a willing participant - she chose to marry me - but the kids were innocent. Having kids made me a better man in many ways - I've held a 9-5 job for most of the 22 years since we got pregnant, I'm much more responsible, reliable, and careful. Mostly.

Part of becoming a better man for me has been an increase in the stress levels of my life. Nothing unusual there, it's basic human nature to feel more stress when more people are relying on you, and with the unconditional love you feel for your kids makes you want to give them a perfect life, something you can never succeed in doing. The result to a greater or lesser degree is on-going stress.

Sometimes when things are tough - I'm unemployed, or my kids are having problems and I don't know what to do about them - the stress can become nearly overwhelming. I've noticed that when the stress really peaks I frequently have a recurring dream where I go back to the Neptune and get my old job back.

The first time that dream occurred it was a little funny - the thought of being back at the Neptune was amusing - but it's also totally unrealistic. Movie theaters pay minimum wage to most employees, with the projectionist making more (if you're in the union quite a bit more; I have no idea how pervasive union jobs are now in the movie theater business, but I suspect there are way fewer now than there used to be) and the managers making more. By the standards of the software industry I now work in, none of them pays much at all, certainly nowhere near enough to keep my family afloat.

After the dream re-occurred a few more times during peak stress I realized that it was a fantasy about going back to when life as simpler, when there was less to worry about, when my job and my life was easy. I think I needed the mental relief valve of that dream - believing, at least for a few minutes while I was asleep, that life could be simple again.

Oddly enough, I now volunteer at the Vera project selling tickets at the front door around once a month, so now I am working at my old job again. Of course I don't get paid, but it is fun in a low key sort of way. I've had a series of bosses half my age (or less) and I think it's cool that they get an opportunity to run a venue and explore the music business. I also get to go in and record a song or two from each of the acts on video and take a few pictures. It's more for entertainment and to support the Vera's mission than anything else.

I wouldn't trade my current life for my teen years; they were simpler but they weren't better. The lesson I've tried to learn from the experience with stress and recurring dreams is that I need to deal with my stress, avoid the physical and mental toll, or at least minimize it, and try to avoid being unemployed. Being around people and the music scene makes me happy. An important element in dealing with stress is making sure I take the time to do the things that I enjoy. I still work at achieving "peak" experiences, those transcendent moments of truth, beauty, love, faith and meaning that make all of the drudgery worthwhile.

I'm still working at handling the stress and enjoying my life, and I suppose I will be until I retire, which will probably be at a somewhat later age than I had originally hoped, but that's OK. I enjoy the heck out of my life, my wife means so much to me, and my love and concern for her and my family keep me getting back up each morning, gladly dealing with too little sleep and too much to do because it comes as part of the family package. I still manage to pack in some shows, an occasional movie, Bumbershoot, and at least a few practice sessions with guitars and singing a week, and I've been toying with writing. I'd rather be stressed and overloaded with a family the alone and unstressed, so I'm truly blessed and working to keep it that way.

Lead Front Door at the Vera

I'm writing this from the front door position at the Vera. Saturday night in April, several local rappers (Dyme Def, Logics, others) and Red Cafe from Brooklynn are performing tonight. I heard them warming up during sound check, they sound talented. I'm a little familiar with Dyme Def but not the rest, should be a good show with plenty of performers I've never had the chance to checkout before.

Working here reminds me a little of working at the Neptune Theater when I was a teenager. With music, rather than a movie, but a similar vibe: people trickle in looking forward to a show, the buzz of expectation, the thrill of a good show with the crowd getting into it.

I've probably seen more transcendent live music shows than movies but you can find powerful art in almost every creative endeavor on occasion, if you look for it. I keep looking and even if I rarely get the full effect - hair raising beauty that strikes to your heart and soul - I get enough positive feedback and good times to keep me coming back for more. And every now and then those choirs of angels show up - figuratively, anyways.

Steering at the Vera Project

I'm steering Sunday night for the Javelin show with Weekend and Big Spider's Back. I get to show up early, assign volunteers to jobs and review what they are supposed to do, and make sure they take care of their responsibilities. At the end of the night I fill out the paperwork showing who volunteered for which jobs for how long and sign it.

If we're lucky and there are plenty of volunteers I mostly get to watch and point others at tasks. On weekday nights with less popular acts volunteers are harder to come by and you can end up sweeping the whole place up by yourself after midnight, so you really do appreciate the good volunteer help when you get it.

I'm not all that fond of paperwork and supervision, but I don't mind much either. I want to help the Vera in it's mission to get local kids into the business of putting on shows, so I'm happy to step forward and do the work for a show now and then. I've been doing more like a show a week recently, on top of various committee meetings pretty much weekly, so the overhead is getting a bit high.

The show must go on, though, so maybe the best bet is working the next steering committee to make sure everyone is taking turns, and signing either Chris (Steering committee chair) or myself up to actively recruit for it in the next members meeting.

Sex and head trauma

Dave A. lived up by Aurora Village and met a cute girl in the record store there named Cindy. He invited her to the Neptune and the after party one night. Pam Sprowl had earned her degree at the UW and was resigning as the manager and this was our farewell party for her.

I picked Dave up in my Dad's old green truck, then drove over and picked Cindy up and headed down to the Neptune on I-5. Cindy was gorgeous, pretty with an attractive body and a good if slightly acidic sense of humor. We went to work while Cindy watched the movies and visited with Dave at the concessions counter. One of our clean cut recently hired coworkers was excited about attending his first actual party and we all tried to act sophisticated on the subject.

After the RHPS ended we drove over to the house that 3 or 4 female UW students shared near 45th in Wallingford and the serious drinking began. Most of the Neptune crew was there and Frank B. was there, hitting on Dave's date mercilessly. We laughed and talked and pounded a few drinks. I visited with them a bit then wandered off to visit elsewhere. It had been a long day and I was drinking heavily so I got sloshed pretty quickly. I could still talk and move, but I was prone to poor balance and the occasional stagger as the alcohol kicked in.

After a while Pete walked over and said "Dave, you better go deal with Dave. He's outside." Huh. I walked to the front door and out, and there was Dave with a large tree limb in his hands. He was bouncing the end of it off the cement of the sidewalk and he looked very upset.

"Time to pack it in already?" I asked, acting like the tree limb was no big deal.
"Just keep Frank away from me!" Dave snarled.

OK. I turned around and staggered back to the stairs and up to the door and back into the party. Said goodbye to Pam as I staggered past, but I don't think she heard me over the music. I found Cindy back in the dining room hanging out and visiting with the coworkers.

"Hey Cindy, it's about time to go" I said.
She frowned and said "it's so early, is something wrong?"
Uhh, how do I put this, "Yeah Dave's upset and I figured we should get rolling."
Now she looked really upset, and she was so gorgeous and it made me feel so sad that I wanted to hold her and make it OK. I'd normally be way too repressed to act on an impulse like that, but I had been drinking fairly heavily. Cindy felt wonderful as I hugged her tight and her hair smelled good.
"It's OK, don't be upset, Dave'll be all right." Eventually, after a few days.

The door to the bathroom opened and someone wandered out.
"Hang on a minute, gotta take care of this" I said as I staggered over to the bathroom and relieved myself. As I opened the door and came out Cindy was hovering so I stepped up and took her in my arms again. I rotated to the side of the bathroom door to get out of the way a little and leaned back. Against a door, which opened as I put my weight on it.

I remember things slowing down as I fell back through the door. I moved my left arm over to the door as it slid past me, trying to grab something to hold onto. No dice as I fell to a full horizontal extension and looked up past my feet at Cindy, staring down at me as I fall away from her. I remember being surprised that it seemed like I kept falling, like there wasn't even a floor there. That's the last I remember for a bit.

The next things I recall, I'm back up in the living room, swaying a bit and feeling odd, with Pam freaking out and Pete calming her.
"Oh my God, we need to take him to the hospital! He's going to die!" Pam shrieked.
"Ah, relax, it's nothing much" Pete said in an attempt to calm Pam.
I hoped Pete was right and wondered who might need to go to the hospital. The back of my head felt very odd, and there was a strange warmth below it around my neck and the top of my shirt. I reached back and touched the gaping wound, about as large as my hand, wide open and very wet. My hand came back bright red with blood and I realized who might need to go the hospital.

"Guys, I'm going to have to side with Pam on this one. I need to go the hospital" I said calmly.

The clean cut coworker at his first party didn't drink or smoke (that's why he wasn't invited to parties much, I suppose) so he was nominated to drive me to the hospital.

"Look away, this may hurt a bit" Patty, one of the coworkers who lived there, told me. She was holding a towel.

I turned away and took a breath as she firmly pushed the towel against the wound. The feeling is hard to describe: the flaps being pushed back, the throb and spiraling dizziness, through the overwhelming sensations the relief of being cared for as she puts her other hand on my forehead for better purchase and clamps the towel fairly firmly against the wound. I take a gasping breath and the dizziness ebbs a little.

The wetness on my back had now soaked down several inches into the shirt down into my shoulder blades. Patty walks me carefully to the door - "slowly now" - she guides me down the steps and out to the car.

"Oh my God he's going to die in my mom's car and there will be bloodstains all over and my mom is going to kill me" the clean cut co-worker babbles as he starts the car and looks over as Patty puts me into the front passenger seat. She transitions to the back seat and keeps the pressure on my wound with her other hand on my forehead, clamping my head in place as we pull away from the curb and head to the hospital. I close my eyes and things kind of fade out a bit as my universe gets very small. I'm still experiencing the pain as a weird sort of intense feeling that doesn't hurt normally and I'm feeling quite shocky, sweaty and dizzy as the car moves.

Eventually they get my attention and we've stopped moving and we're at the hospital. It's hazy as we cross the emergency room and speak to the lady at the counter about insurance. "778-3964" I say. She picks up the phone and calls the number. After ringing for a while (it's 3 or 3:30 AM by now and mom worked this evening) my mom answers the phone. I zone out as the voices talk to each other - "your son is here with a head wound, can I get some information" and after a bit someone gets me up and takes me into a room.

They have me lie down and they poke needles into the open wound, injecting anesthetics. It makes me squirm some, and sweat more. They start stitching the inner portion of the wound, and I can still feel it a little as the needles loop through and the flesh is pulled together. I can feel the tightening of my scalp all the way to my face and it's very odd. Finishing the inner part they stitch together the outer part and my scalp and face tighten a little more. Tingling odd sensation. They finish and when I try to get up I find my arms are completely numb, so asleep that they won't function to lift me. They help me sit up.

I feel wide awake now, unlike when I came into the hospital. I wonder what they gave me in those last shots? They finish explaining how I care for the wound and what to watch for and tell me I can't wash my hair for 48 hours. I'm a big sweaty dude so I'm going to be pretty ripe by then.

I get up and head back to the waiting room. Patty and the clean cut co-worker look relieved to see me and we head back out to the car. Looks like we avoided any major blood stains in the car and things are much calmer as we drive back to the house.

We walk up into the house and the 5 or 6 remaining folk are all glad to see us. No sign of Dave, Cindy or Frank. Huh, maybe Frank drove them home? If so that would've been one frosty car ride, I guess.

Everyone insists that I need to lie down, I shouldn't go anywhere. I tell them I'd prefer to drive home while the drugs they shot me up with are still in effect since they are keeping me awake anyway but they insist so I go and lie down in the bedroom by the front door.

No chance I'll sleep so I lie on the bed, wondering what happened to everyone and staring at the ceiling.

I found out later what happened. Cindy was able to grab onto the door frame and catch herself so she watched me fall down the stairs behind the door to the far side of the landing 4' below the floor. I caught the back of my head on a ledge there, knocking myself out, and ended up lying in a spreading pool of blood around my head. Cindy ran from the house screaming "Oh my God I've killed him!"

Pete thought the thump/smash was Dave outside with his tree limb coming after Frank, so he was surprised to find me lying in a pool of blood on the stairs. He was able to wake me up and get me back up the stairs, which is where my memory kicks in and they took me to the hospital.

After I left Dave and Frank figured out some of what happened and went out to look for Cindy, Dave's earlier anger put aside. After that the party wound down a bit. That's pretty much what happened while I was at the hospital.

So I lay there wondering and I heard the front door opening and some voices. After a bit the bedroom door came open and Cindy came in looking very relieved to see me. She sat down on the bed beside me and smiled at me and she was so attractive! I realized my injured status gave me a free pass and I used it - sitting up and kissing her, still a little drunk, buzzing on something that keeps me awake, and intoxicated with the feel of Cindy, her smell, her lips on mine.

By the time Dave and Frank got back and Dave walked in Cindy and I had progressed to lying beside each other and fondling. Oops. I hate when that happens.

Dave's rage of earlier in the evening was nothing compared to this. Yet I had the messed up head and therefore had a free pass. He controlled himself, left the bedroom, and then screamed at everyone else. Cindy started to get up, but I held out my hand and stopped her. I told her about the free pass, and that Dave would just have to leave, which he did after a bit more yelling. Frank took Dave home, the door slammed closed, and it got much quieter in the living room. There were still a few voices, but they were much quieter.

Once the coast was clear Cindy and I got up, walked out of the bedroom, waved goodnight to our coworkers, and headed out to the truck for the drive home. I managed to get Cindy's phone number before I dropped her off. Oh well, maybe I'd get lucky on the second date...

A week without TV, video games, or computers (well...)

My son brought home a form from school that talked about having an "unplugged" week - a week with no TV, no video games, no computers. My son loves to play video and computer games, but he wanted to try taking a week off and being more active. Sounds like a nice idea, I thought, so we signed him up, my wife and I signed, and we sent him off to school with the form.

Imagine my surprise when he told me on Monday "remember dad, you can't watch any TV, play video games, or play on the computer this week!"

"I thought you took the pledge, not me" was my response. He shook his head, pulled out the signed form, and showed me what it said. The whole family had pledged to be unplugged for the week. Man, I have got to read forms more carefully!

So we spent a week unplugged. Mostly. I was surprised to find that my son handled it better than I and my wife did. I'd find myself hopping on my laptop and checking my personal e-mails or starting to get to a web site I follow, then remember and stop myself. Sometimes I'd go ahead and continue, pretending I was working. My wife would wait until the kids were in bed, then watch a little TV, and I found myself watching too - even shows I don't normally watch. My son made it through the whole week without any problem, spent much more time outside, hung out with his friends more, and was much more active. I guess I'm much more habituated to being "plugged in" or at least just passivelyt watching...

That sure messed up my theory that my son was much more into being plugged in than I was. I found it surprisingly hard to stay off-line, so I'd cheat quite a bit. By the end of the week I was doing pretty well, but my son handled it with no problems and no cheating.

So I learned something about myself and my son, spent less time watching TV and playing games, and more time messing around with my son. All in all it was a good experience and I'll definitely repeat it next year if the school promotes the unplugged week again. We also have a semi-unplugged week over the summer when we go to our cabin - no computer, no video games. It does get some Canadian channels, so we usually watch a little TV or rent some videos, but we are quite unplugged from our normal life styles.