The reading last night was the first couple of paragraphs of what recovery people call "The Actor's Scenario," from How It Works, in the book Alcoholics Anonymous, It's Bill's way of explaining what the hell Step 3 means. "Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood God."
"The first requirement is that we be convinced that any life run on self-will can hardly be a success. On that basis we are almost always in collision with something or somebody, even though our motives are good. Most people try to live by self-propulsion. Each person is like an actor who wants to run the whole show; is forever trying to arrange the lights, the ballet, the scenery and the rest of the players in his own way. If his arrangements would only stay put, if only people would do as he wished, the show would be great. Everybody, including himself, would be pleased. Life would be wonderful. In trying to make these arrangements our actor may sometimes be quite virtuous. He may be kind, considerate, patient, generous; even modest and self-sacrificing. On the other hand, he may be mean, egotistical, selfish and dishonest. But, as with most humans, he is more likely to have varied traits.
What usually happens? The show doesn't come off very well. He begins to think life doesn't treat him right. He decides to exert himself more. He becomes, on the next occasion, still more demanding or gracious, as the case may be. Still the play does not suit him. Admitting he may be somewhat at fault, he is sure that other people are more to blame. He becomes angry, indignant, self-pitying. What is his basic trouble? Is he not really a self-seeker even when trying to be kind? Is he not a victim of the delusion that he can wrest satisfaction and happiness out of this world if he only manages well? Is it not evident to all the rest of the players that these are the things he wants? And do not his actions make each of them wish to retaliate, snatching all they can get out of the show? Is he not, even in his best moments, a producer of confusion rather than harmony?"
Thus Bill breaks down how things generally go for anyone basing their life on self-will. It's a difficult passage for almost everyone, since-- well-- what other will is there? One of my mentors in AA, long since passed from cancer, used to tell the story of why she refused to do step 3 for a long time and almost got drunk as a result. She was afraid that, if she "turned her will and her life over to the care of God as she understood God," her higher power would command her to move to Africa and rescue starving children, or stay in her lousy marriage she was on the way out of, or give away everything she owned and become a nun. The idea is that, if we loosen our grip on what we want, it's likely that the worst possible "divine will" is on its way. Then we will be put in a very distressing existential position-- not only no longer able to "fight" for what we want, but also having to accept, like castor oil, a fate that is odious to us.
I identify. I think many alcoholics and even human beings in general identify. Note that Bill is not even specifically talking about boozers and junkies in his passage above. He's simply outlining a key angle on the human condition: we try to live our lives on our own will, we end up in constant collision, we try to change our outward strategy without ever considering that the fundamental modus operandi is flawed. We suffer and figure if we just exert ourselves more we'll be okay. We think this or that outside thing-- a car, or a new job, or a new relationship-- will get us what we want. Then we get it, and it doesn't, and our desperation and despair probably grow. Or it does make us okay, for a short time, which is even worse-- since intermittent reinforcement is the most addictive kind.
For example, I was ambitious, arrogant, overly confident and outspoken when I was the first teacher hired at a private school I helped to start. I was 33 when hired, and within 5 years, I had worked my way up the administrative ladder until I was hired by the Board to be Head of School. No training, no support, no staff, no clue. Executive Director of a $3 million a year business. As you might imagine, the show did not come off very well. Within a little more than two years, I was fired. It was one of the most painful experiences of my life. The entire shit show was driven by my desperate attempts at getting, keeping and defending. These are the ordinary modes of self will. The fear that drives this scenario is that I will not get what I want, that I will lose what I have and that my look good will be scratched. THEY ARE ALL GOING TO LAUGH AT ME.
What a way to live, and yet, I think, very common.
Step 3 is only saying that there is a different way. When I forget about the "God as we understood God" nonsense, it works better for me just to focus on the psycho-spiritual movement of turning it over. It doesn't matter to what or whom or whatever one is turning it. The most important aspect of step 3 is just plain old stopping. Just fucking stop trying to get, keep and defend. Just give it up. Not only stop trying to be the director of the whole show, just close down the show. Show's over folks, move along, nothing to see here.
Of course this is a terrifying motion of the soul at first. It feels way, way, way too close to death. To loss of oneself. To loss, period.
And it requires slowly learning how to do this, which is probably the most difficult stage of development along the way:
Wanting what I have. That's it. Wanting what I have. No regret, no anxiety. No coulda woulda shoulda, no what if.
Here's is everything exactly as it is. I want all of this exactly as it is. I do not want anything else, nor do I want to offload any of it. This, in its ineluctable thisness, is what I want. And that is that.
No gain, no loss. No self, no problem. No self-improvement, no raise, no new job, no new relationship, no new this or that, no pushed away anything.
Like, when A ended our partnership. I definitely did not want that at the time, and it was profoundly challenging over a long time to get to a place where, okay, grudgingly, sure. I want it. But seriously-- what was I going to do? Rage and weep, don sackcloth and dump ashes on my head, roll in self-pity like a dog rolls in a dead possum, of course. No problem with any of those things. Ultimately though-- what could I do about a thing like that? Nothing. It is what it is. Every other state of mind, heart and soul is simply trying to get, keep and defend. If I can experience even a minute of "well, this happened, and it is exactly what is, and there is nothing I can do about it," I am finally free. (Pace Alec Baldwin's character post car crash in State and Main).
Okay so back to the wild and unnameable tidal wave of feeling while I was walking home. "What is it? What the hell is it?" It took a few minutes, but it dawned on me.
It was joy.
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