Becoming Normal. Mark Edick

for example, some members of the clergy. They are considered examples of what is just and right. Yet many of them are alleged to have abused children, stolen, or committed other crimes. It is true that no one is perfect.

      In my fellowship I get a small snapshot of the outside world, and I am able to test new behaviors in an environment conducive to my personal growth. Then, the real test of my new behavior comes when I venture into the world outside the protected walls of my fellowship.

      Once I heard a story about a man who was running late for church. Upon arriving at the church, he noticed everyone leaving. He got the attention of an elderly woman and asked if he had missed the sermon, to which she replied, “Sir, the sermon is just beginning.” So the man ran inside to hear what the pastor was saying, only to find the church entirely empty. The man came back outside, disgruntled, to find the little woman sitting at the bus stop. As he approached the woman, he stated, “I thought you said the sermon had just begun.” “Oh, but it has,” she replied. “The preacher said his piece and he is done with that. Now it is up to each of us to see how we can apply what we learned to our everyday lives. That is where the sermon really takes place.”

      My program is a lot like the sermon. I go to meetings to learn. Then I apply what I have learned to my everyday life. That is where my program really lives—in my everyday life. What my program really does is allow me to see who and what I really am. This allows me to change the things I find objectionable. I make these changes with continued practice, with the help of people I have come to trust in the program, and most of all, with the help of God as I have come to understand Him. However, to make any changes, I must take action.

      While I was active in my disease, I was not living life. I was, at best, existing. I took no action to make things better—for myself or for others. Since I have entered recovery, I have learned it is up to me to change me. I receive a great deal of help from those I meet in my program, but they are unable to fix my life. Only I can change me, through taking action. Even God is not able to change me if all I do is stay where I am, especially if my inertia is the result of being an addict. I have to take the necessary steps if I am to get anywhere.

      I must participate in my recovery and in life. I must take action to apply the things I have learned in meetings, through reading and discussing the basic text of my fellowship, through talking with my sponsor, and by getting in touch with my conscience. For the most part I believe I know right from wrong, but some issues require more knowledge than I possess, or more wisdom than I am able to muster or exhibit. The program is there to help me with these things, yet it is up to me to take the necessary steps to better myself. The reward is nearly always worth more than the work involved. I can become involved in life; I can participate in the activities of living instead of plowing through the misery of dying the death of an addict.

      Life is really one big, long process. It is made up of many smaller processes, but life is still a process. Once I begin to live my recovery, it becomes my mission to determine how much I want to participate in the process. I can be part of the action, or I can sit in the stands and watch. Neither is more important in and of itself, but I need to determine which makes me happy—or happier. If I simply “don’t use, and go to meetings,” that is what I will get out of the program: I’ll simply be abstinent at a meeting. However, if I want to experience all the opportunity life has to offer, I need to take more action.

      When I met my first sponsor I was just four days out of rehab, but I knew I wanted something he had. He was happy. That was all I noticed at first, although I came to learn that he had much more than just happiness. I decided I wanted all that he had to offer. He was “happy, joyous, and free,” as is said in the fellowship. He had serenity, courage, and wisdom. I jokingly told him I was going to steal everything he had so I could use it myself. He told me that I could not steal that which was freely given. He wanted to share what he had with others if they were willing to do their part. If I was willing to participate in my own growth, he was willing to give me everything he had. What he had was all the knowledge he had gained in his ninety-plus years of life, most of which had been spent in recovery. He told me that all I had to do to get what he had was to do what he did to get it. A good friend of mine likes to say, “This is not Triple-A; nobody’s going to tow you through it.” I have found this to be true. The more I participate, the more I grow. The more I grow, the more I want to participate. Recovery is the opposite of the downward spiral I used to live in, and it is very exciting.

      The most important thing I have discovered about taking part in my recovery is that I can be as normal as anybody. Whether someone is in the program, drinks socially, or simply chooses not to drink, they are no more normal than I am, and I am no less normal than they are. That is the gift of my recovery, and it can be your gift as well, but only if you work for what you want.

      My plan to become normal, insofar as I had a plan, was inspired by my first sponsor. He taught me so much, and I know I can never repay him directly. Instead, as the program teaches, I choose to “pay it forward,” to help others in the same way he helped me. It is what he would have wanted me to do.

      “Take what you can use, and leave the rest behind”; that’s what members of my fellowship say. However, I suspect that there is very little that I will ever want to leave behind. My first sponsor taught me so much, as have others in my recovery. I’ve come to refer to this process as “improvement.” We can all choose to improve our lives, and you can choose to improve yours.