my fifth step

[honeydumplin]

In something read recently, I came across a passage that stated the following:
Step four is a spiritual exercise; not an immoral inventory.
This exercise has also reminded me of another interesting process in going through the steps.

That being the fact not expecting a sudden change, and accepting the gradual experience of allowing the steps to work in my life.
Progress, not perfection has been the key to unlocking obvious results, and not waving some sort of magic wand
in order to make it all go away. It is not an overnight matter, etc..., etc.

Another thing that has been pilfered can be recited from a book I’m reading, which essentially says
that a lot of my anger is generated by fear of not getting something that I want, which mostly revolves
around my inability to ultimately control practically everything—another illusion.

Nearly every resentment that is revealed stems from not accepting my powerlessness.

The act of putting in black and white, on paper, and on this screen, demonstrates and removes
a certain amount of control, and power that the resentment has over me. At least experience of
past fourth steps has proven this, and this has been the case with this one, because after about
48 hours there was this feeling of peace and tranquility that began to settle over me.

Serenity, in its form of trudging along the daily path in a tolerant view of society in general seems
to me a more conducive existence, than wasting all of this energy fighting the imagined extremes
occurring only in my own head.

More step 5
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A nearby country store sold beer to minors. Usually, out of the house required a
stop there. I had been driving for about a month when I got drunk for the first time.
It was a six pack. My head was light, the music was loud, and I got to see just how
fast my car would go. My driving skills stone sober were less than average, even
for a sixteen year old.

I didn't wreck that night, but before I turned 21, I totalled a pick-up while meeting
another vehicle head on in a blind curve, and later on ran another vehicle into an embankment,
while swatting at a fly. In the summer of '85, I collided into the back of a tractor and trailer
after falling asleep at the wheel on the freeway.

One of my first jobs was a busboy, where I discovered wine, and more liquor. I drank
what people left in their glasses, and made sure all of the wine buckets were stowed
properly. Every now and then, I'd take a full bottle from the walk-in cooler, and hide
it somewhere.

Although not seriously injured, in October of that same year, while trying to impress
one of my friends by showing him how I could climb into my second story apartment,
a steel hand rail broke and I fell about fourteen feet on my right arm, fracturing it in two places.

Writing with the other hand was another excuse used to avoid paying attention in class.
I didn't fail out of college. I gave up. This was a pattern. I was a hard worker, but if things
got the least bit out of sync, or confusing, I'd be off on another adventure.

College allowed the experience of drunken fraternity episodes, and a part-time job as a waiter,
and helping out my father in construction. My drinking increased significantly, and the drug use
began to take off. When I wasn't partying after my night job, I was partying after my day job with my old man.

We both drank rather heavily, and would get into these knock down, drag outs sometimes after working hours.
Of course we didn't need much to drink in order to fight, because we didn't care much about each other's
company anyway.