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One of the things I think about a lot these days is, am I still growing? Am I getting more sober? Less sober? Staying the same? Less sober is certainly bad, but standing still isn’t great, either. I always say that recovery is like walking up a down escalator—even if you stand in place, you’ll be at the bottom pretty quickly.
I’ve been sober since 2008, and I know I am more sober than I was then. Same with 2009, 2010, probably even 2011. But I am more sober today than I was in 2018? 2020? Six months ago? That’s hard question to answer, because I think if I have grown, it’s incremental. Instead of a 50 percent improvement in Year One, I’m probably looking at yields of 1-5% per year these days, and that’s harder to notice.
Well, I had a day at the gym last week where I did notice quite a bit of growth. I was doing bench press beside a short, stocky guy when a friend—we’ll call him Fred—came over and said hello. We talked for a minute and then Fred drifted over and started working out about 25 feet away. In between sets, he kept up the conversation with me by yelling across the gym. The gym has music playing (usually AC/DC, Guns N Roses and that kind of heavier music). Fred’s voice was moderately loud, I will admit. I think I might have mostly just been listening, but there’s a chance I yelled something back at him.
At a certain point during this conversation, while I was doing a set of bench press, I heard the guy beside me get up and say, “Shush! I’m trying to lift over here.” And I heard Rob stop talking and say, “Sorry, my bad.”
I didn’t take offense to it, though my first thought was, “Hey, this is a public gym with music blaring. Are you studying for the SATs or working out?”
My friend, Fred, on the other hand, began to slowly lose his mind in anger over the next hour. It started as a simmer, with him exchanging a look with me that indicated he was not handling the shush well.
Then I went to the other side of the gym, away from the shusher, and Fred followed me. He was pissed. He said he felt like a wimp for saying sorry, and then he ran through a list of things he’d wished he had said. Then he just ranted about how dare that guy tell him to be quiet.
For a full hour, he got angrier and angrier until he couldn’t contain himself. He started jumping up and down like a boxer or UFC fighter might before stepping into the ring for a fight. He eventually told me, “I ought to go over there and shove a weight bench up that guy’s ass.” The look in his eyes told me he was serious, and I said, “Hey, it’s not worth going to jail over. If you need to shove a weight bench up someone’s ass, do it to me.” I quickly corrected myself and said, “Actually, maybe don’t shove anything up anybody’s anything. Let’s cool down.”
He eventually left that day without violating anybody with a weight bench. But it’s been a week, and he’s still boiling about this guy.
I bring all of that up because I was struck by how much the old me would have been really bothered by it, the same way Fred was. It would have pissed me off that I didn’t say anything to the guy, and then I would have been livid for days—or months or years—by not telling that guy to shove it.
I actually had a few moments where I looked at Fred and just appreciated that I don’t have to live like that any more—what a gift! And it answered for me that question of whether I’ve grown or not, because I honestly think even a few years ago, I might have still had a serious run-in with the shusher. I know not wanting to shove a weight bench where the sun doesn't shine isn’t exactly the greatest measure of serenity… but I’ll take it.
This newsletter is a place of joy and laughter about the deadly serious business of sobriety. So, as I will often do, let me close with a joke:
A drunk goes into a bar. The bartender says, “Boy, you look like you need a drink!” The man says, “Okay” and gets the drink, but he doesn’t have the money to pay for it, so the bartender kicks him out.
The man returns an hour later, even drunker, and the bartender explodes. “I kicked you out earlier. I don’t want to see your face in here again.” The drunk says, “Why, I’ve never been in here before!”
“Oh really?” says the bartender. “Then you must have a double.”
“Okay,” says the drunk, “and not too much ice.”
(Credit: AA Grapevine, March 2000, Steve P. from Sarasota, FL)
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