Swifty phiphty niner

1. Less Anger, More Understanding When we can understand why the other person acts the way they do—whether they are three years old or thirty—the need to yell automatically starts to diminish. 2. Less Complaining, More Gratitude When we look at all the wonderful things in life, the things that don’t go well start to seem trivial. 3. Less Blame, More Guidance When we get hurt, it is instinctive to want to make the other person “pay,” but if we can guide the person to fix the situation, things are more likely to get better sooner. 4. Less Judgment, More Wonder We are all unique, different, and a wee bit crazy in our own way. The best way to counter the urge to  be judgmental  is to cultivate a sense of wonder at each person’s uniqueness. 5. Less Resistance, More Acceptance The more we resist something, the more it persists. The more we accept it, the less it bothers us. 6. Less Shame, More Vulnerability Shame is a deep-seated fear that we are not enough. Y...

I had an interesting moment this week.   It involved a former lover from days long gone in this old brain.   We met in high school in Germany and somehow reconnected locally.   She lived outside of San Francisco so off I went to visit her.   Being a succulent I wanted more than just a visit.   I wanted her.   It was always “her.”   I spent the night, acted submissively coy the next morning and we got it on.   As in HELLO HOW ARE YOU?   I’M DOING GREAT, THANK YOU.   AND YOU?   ARE YOU DOING GREAT NOW TOO?   Now bound by the act of romantic swepticism* I planned on seeing her frequently.   And I did.   I was removed from my marriage barely 5 months and here I am, engaged in a serious, committed, I’m yours relationship.   Like writing for publication I threw everything I had in her direction.   I said all the right things, I did all the right things.   I talked, I listened, I kissed, I laughed, I held he...

Without the whispers, without the guidance of a peer, a father, a godfather or any male relative I didn’t take the reins of manhood at all.   I usurped the natural progress of growing into a man.   Listen, it is important, critical for a boy to develop these skills the right way.   Bypassing the normal growth progress and you end up with a mess.   A tragedy, unaware of the damage out the gate and for miles down the track.   You grab anything, anybody and hold on with a death grip thinking you’ve found the piece to complete the puzzle.   Relationships are choked into submission, dreams are just mini-dramas that bleed out to fatal incomplete deaths.   They stay alive in a zombie state to keep chomping on your incomplete sense of ideals for your so called life.   It doesn’t stop.   “I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.   I don’t know what major to take.   I don’t know if she’s the right one”, etc., etc., etc. Four things...

The topic is supposed to be innocence, wonder, impression, joy, doubtlessness, whatever adjective, adverb that is the opposite of confusion, fear, impotence, irritation, frustration, etc.   You get the picture.   My teenage years in Germany set the pattern for many years to come.   The availability of drugs and alcohol was so easy to acquire and the dramatic effects so beautiful to long for, it was no wonder I wanted to be Peter Pan for life.   And I did.   And I was.   I don’t know how addled the minds were of the friends I hung out with, I just assumed they were just as mushed as mine.   It’s a condition called fishbowl living.   If you’re in the fishbowl everything looks the same on the outside from the inside.   I did not have the ability to form an independent sense of self.   It was frankly too frightening.    I wasn’t allowed to be much of anybody at home with all the trouble I found myself in.   My parents were t...

In a blackout, induced by Seagram’s 7, early morning barhopping and being 18 years old I confronted my mother about her recent lack of cooking interest.   The story is that I had her on the floor in the kitchen mashing hamburger in her face screaming, “Hamburger Helper is not dinner for a family!    No more Hamburger Helper!”   Cruel and heartless I know.   Being that I was in a blackout and my mom, a notorious patron of storytelling, the anecdote is suspect.   What I do know is that my mom refused to utter a word to me for the following six months.   As you may surmise this was not necessarily a punishment that I would suffer so much with.   But I did suffer.   My mom didn’t/wouldn’t talk to me.   I attacked my mom physically.   Whether it is true or not, what was I doing?   What was I doing drinking like a gutter drunk at 18?   I sure as fuck wasn’t making dinner for anybody so what was I complaining about anyway?...

So it’s 2015 and maybe it’s time for a bit of reflection.   So here are some thoughts on 2014. What stands out? – Staying clean and sober for the entire year.   It’s a first in many years that I didn’t give in to the addiction. What excites you? – That I stayed clean and sober.   That I found a great sponsor who inspired me to apply the suggestions and think, think, think.   That I found a great therapist who has inspired me also. What surprised me? – That I would call my sponsor when I felt I was in a bind or in trouble emotionally, not specifically for AA stuff.     That I would believe in an inner child.   What are you proud of? – That I made amends for actions I was impulsive about.   I squared my actions the best that I could without copping out and hoping it would blow over. What disappointed you? – The distance between action and reaction when I felt a personal affront.   I know I’m learning this but sometimes ther...

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