Moment of Clarity

“You have the emotional maturity of a thirteen year old, you don't have an ounce of humility in your whole body, and you brain is so cloudy from your drinking that you can’t hope to get any clarity on your life." After brutally taking my inventory, the therapist looked deep into my eyes. It felt like she was looking directly a my soul. After a few seconds she said, "you’re in trouble, aren't you Jeff?" I stalled
for a few seconds, my ego fought against admitting anything was wrong. "Maybe,
I whispered."

It turned out that this “maybe,” this slightadmission of powerlessness, opened a tiny door to my HP. I was graced with a dose of truth about myself. For the first time I saw that every negative event in my life was connected to alcohol: the drunk driving arrests and nights in jail, flunking out of college, painful divorce, insane financial decisions, failed relationships, poor business judgments. Taken separately over my thirty year drinking career, these were just isolated incidences of bad luck that probably happened to everybody so I thought. But when I saw them altogether in one snapshot, the evidence was overwhelming. I experienced that moment of clarity that I believe every one of us must have if we are to stick in our program. I had finally discovered what was wrong with me.

A few days later I sat in the first group meeting at an outpatient treatment center with five or six other newcomers. I had just spent the last of my Visa credit to enroll. The short, rotund woman who ran the program, an ex-heroin addict from New York, was giving us the run-down. This woman had no tolerance for BS. She had a sign on her desk that read, “I go from zero to bitch in two seconds.” “This is an AA-based program,” she said. “To graduate you must attend at least three AA meetings every week.” Then she looked at me and said, “Except for you Jeff. Since you are unemployed, you are required to go to a meeting every day.” I burned with resentment about being singled out, but I didn't dare speak up. The requirement to go to a meeting every day turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.

I made my way up the backstairs of the La Jolla Presbyterian Church to my first AA meeting. Secretary Will C. greeted me. He was 70-something with a graying beard and hair and gentle eyes. Slowly a few other members began to arrive. There were seven or eight in all. Big Al was there, Bobbi, Jay and Duncan and a couple of others. There as a doctor named Bill who was new too. Apparently he was losing his medical license for taking too much of his own medicine. Dave M. was there. Dave became a good friend and remains so today. Each person's eyes lit up when they heard it was my first meeting. They gave me some AA pamphlets and passed around a meeting directory. Each person wrote their name and phone number in the space provided in the back of the directory. I still have that meeting directory today, more than 16 years later.

When the sharing began big Al T started off. I don't remember what he said, but I do remember that almost as soon as he began to talk I had a strange feeling that I was right where I was supposed to be. It was as if I had found my way home after a long, painful journey. I was filled with hope that a new and better life was possible for me. It is through my desire to pass on what I was so freely given that the promises have come true for me. This, to me, is the magic of Alcoholics Anonymous.