top of page

June 20 • Calling All Callers

Day 712

When I read in this morning's meditation about how much the writer had come to depend on phone calls in his recovery program — outgoing calls as well as incoming — I immediately went to my secret places of rebellion and shame. That probably sounds more dramatic than it was, but I don't like making or getting calls, except I do. So that conflict always triggers me just a bit whenever I am reminded that I'm cherry-picking my program when I resist something that has become such a vital tool for so many people in recovery. Even if it doesn't make my day to make a call, part of giving-back is to take the call from a fellow and listen with a caring heart and program mentality. And truth be known, I've had several days that were made, or saved, by making a call that I dreaded.

So, I made a call. I interrupted a guy's lunch and offered to call back, but he insisted that he wanted to talk right now. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes later, we thanked each other and went back to what we were doing before. Of all the resources at my disposal, this one is most likely the least invasive to my schedule of all those I'm regularly using, so I know it isn't that I don't have time to talk, even though that's what I tell myself.

There's that undefended honesty, again (he said sarcastically).

I have told these guys things in the last two years that I've never told anyone about myself and my addictive behaviors. That makes me think that I'm not afraid of letting people in, but my gut tells me that that's exactly what I'm so scared of. It's one thing to share your story in a safe place like a meeting (with no cross-talk) or with a sponsor (who is sworn to secrecy), but it's another thing when people are allowed to ask questions and want to have an actual conversation about that part of my life I'm trying to forget.

The Promises tell me that I will learn not to regret the past. That is not one of The Promises that I have experienced. They also tell me that The Promises,

"...are being fulfilled among us — sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. They will always materialize if we work for them."

I don't do slow very well, but I am learning.

This journal is an exercise in slowness for me. I want it to be finished, whatever that means. I've completed all the daily entries for my first year in recovery, and now am nearly halfway through another year. For some reason, I have it in my head that this is a two-year project, but maybe that's just because that's about as far out as my brain can see. I've never been great at sticking to the chase of long-term goals. So I take it one day at a time, trying to be faithful to my commitment.

With apologies to Lao Tzu for this paraphrase,

"A book (or blog) of a thousand pages begins with a single letter. A life of recovery begins with a single expression of gratitude, or a single phone call, or even a single step."




bottom of page