AA Goes Bankrupt?!

True Stories of Alcoholics and Addicts.  Struggles, insights, physical, emotional and spiritual recovery.

Transcript

Daryl 0:01

Welcome to the show, miles of Recovery. My name is Daryl, and I'm a recovering alcoholic. Our goal with this podcast is to help the listener with some insights into the mind of the alcoholic and addict, as well as the processes involved in the individual's recovery. We hope that in addition to the underlying difficulty involved in recovery, you will gain some entertainment in the form of stories directly from the recovering alcoholics and addicts. There's humor in unexpected places when ego melts away. It's important to note that this podcast is not affiliated with Alcoholics Anonymous or any other 12 step recovery program. We are not experts on the subjects of recovery, though I have been in recovery from alcoholism for more than 18 years. I definitely do not consider myself an authority. I continue to learn with every interaction I have with other alcoholics and addicts. The views expressed are personal experiences. The insights drawn from these experiences may be the result of the source or storyteller, the interviewer. Or artificial intelligence review of the material. Our program outline and expectations initially are to solicit and share personal experiences. As a recovery podcast, we'll be sharing honest, lived experiences of people in recovery from alcoholism and drug addiction, and the details that are provided growth in the storytellers life. We hope to provide a new story and deep dive into the inner workings of the story. Each week, our goal is to maintain this podcast specifically to help addicts of any ilk. Sourced from various locations and to keep the podcast free. With that is the understanding. We will ask for donations with no obligation whatsoever as maintaining a podcast is not free to the producer. That's me. Donations can be made to buy me a coffee.com/miles of recovery. Thanks for joining us. Enjoy this week's show. This is a story about AA bankrupt. It was 2011. I was just into my fourth year of sobriety and really feeling grateful for the changes that I was experiencing. I was calmer, kinder, more supportive of others, and really beginning to understand what Alcoholics Anonymous could do for me and all those future members. Those that today drank like I used to. I was on a work trip to Anchorage, Alaska and staying in a hotel where the USA today paper was laid at the door of my room each morning. I generally didn't pay much attention to the news, but it was nice to have it available. I had been to Anchorage several times since I originally got sober, and I had a couple of meetings that I enjoyed attending. One in the morning and one in the evening, both of which I was comfortable with. Had made some acquaintances. They were very welcoming and provided an hour of solution-based recovery discussion. I called the morning meeting the Do It sober group, my Anchorage Home Group, and attended at six 30 each morning when I was in town. My first morning on this trip in 2011, I prepared for my workday. I got all my literature together, dressed for the day, laptop, and my new iPhone charged up and left in time to get to my meeting in plenty of time. As I stepped out the door, the USA Today paper was there just outside the doorway, and wouldn't you know it, the headline, read AA files for bankruptcy. Oh my God, how can this possibly be? I was horrified, mortified, and many other aides. Then I thought of the seventh tradition and how it states that every group is self-supporting declining outside contributions. I'd never really paid much attention to the traditions. I heard the seventh tradition read during most meetings, and I put my obligatory dollar in in the basket as it went around the meeting space. But now I started to have a different view of how important that seventh tradition was. I'll interject here that the page preceding the short form of the 12th tradition states the critical nature of the traditions it reads, quote. To those now in its fold. Alcoholics Anonymous has made the difference between misery and sobriety and often the difference between life and death. AA can of course, mean just as much to uncounted alcoholics not yet reached. Therefore, no society of men and women ever had a more urgent need for continuous effectiveness and permanent unity. We alcoholics see that we must work together and hang together else. Most of us will finally die alone. Again, oh my God, if AA is bankrupt, we're sure to go out of business. And how am I going to continue to stay sober? And what about those uncounted alcoholics not yet reached? How could this happen? My thought then turned to my unthinking routine of placing a dollar in the hat as my donation. How? I'd never really considered it any big deal. I was taught early in my AA time that that was what we did. As is often the case, my mind got way ahead of me. I grabbed the paper, walked down the lobby for a cup of coffee, and sat for a moment to consider all the potential pitfalls to me and others of no longer having Alcoholics Anonymous available. As I read beyond the headline, I found that a a, in this instance was American Airlines. I can remember tears actually welling up in my eyes. I was so relieved to know that Alcoholics Anonymous was in no immediate danger of going outta business anytime soon. I naturally shared this experience at the meeting that morning, and the response was to say the very least, hilarious. Everyone got quite a kick outta my ability to jump to so many apocalyptic consequences from a single misinterpreted headline. The General Service Office of Alcoholics Anonymous, I believe shortly thereafter, put out a recommendation that they suggest a $2 donation. I don't think that my experience had anything to do with this new suggestion. However, today when the seventh tradition basket is passed around the room, I have such appreciation for the why of the donations that we collect. I never want anyone to not have the same resource for recovery from alcoholism that was afforded me. We alcoholics see that we must work together and hang together else. Most of us will finally die alone. The impact on society of losing the fellowship and experiences of the 90 plus years of recovering alcoholics would be unfathomable. Alcoholics anonymous, God and the people in the fellowship of aa not only saved my life, but gave me a life I did not know was available to me. Well, that's the story and I'm now gonna turn it over to my close AI friends, Jack and Diane, for some analysis and insights into this week's story. Diane, I. Imagine for a second that you rely on something to, well, to stay alive. And I don't mean food or water or nothing like that. I mean a specific infrastructure, right? A social framework that keeps you functioning, keeps you sane, keeps you. Now imagine waking up one morning, you're kind of groggy. You step outta your hotel room and you look down at the floor. Mm. And there's a headline that basically says that exact lifeline has just gone bankrupt. It's over, the lights are off. Oh, wow. I mean, that's gotta be the definition of a rude awakening. That triggers a very, uh, primal kind of fear. It's a total nightmare scenario, and that is exactly where we are starting today. We are diving into a really fascinated and honestly kind of funny but deeply profound personal account from 2011. It is, it's a story about a recovering alcoholic. A business trip to Alaska and a misunderstanding that sparked a, a full blown existential crisis. I'm really excited about this one because on the surface, it reads like a sitcom plot. It's this comedy of errors. But our mission for this deep dive is to look at what's happening underneath that panic, because this isn't just a story about a guy reading a headline wrong. It's a case study on institutions on gratitude and specifically on something called the Seventh Tradition of Alcoholics Anonymous. Which for people who aren't inside that world probably sounds a bit like secret code. It does a bit. Mm. But it's actually this, uh, this radical economic concept. It's about the difference between being a consumer. Of help just taking what you need and realizing that you are actually part of the machinery that keeps the institution alive. Oh, that's interesting. So it's that shift from this place serves me to, I have to save this place. Exactly. It forces a mental transition. The narrator in our source material goes from a moment of sheer terror to a lifetime of change perspective, all because of three words on a page. So let's set the scene. We need to transport ourselves back to 2011. The narrator is in Anchorage, Alaska. What's the headspace here? Because context is everything. Well, the context is stability. That is really crucial to understand. The narrator is just into their fourth year of sobriety. Okay. And if you look at the account, they describe being in a really good place. They mentioned feeling calmer, kinder, more supportive of the people around them. Is four years a significant milestone? I feel like I've heard people talk about the pink cloud early on, but four years feels sturdy. It is sturdy, but it's also, you know, a danger zone for complacency. You're far enough away from the last drink that the pain has faded a bit. You aren't white knuckling it anymore. Right. And the narrator explicitly says they were finally really grasping what the program could do for them. They were living it, not just surviving it. And part of that living, it seems to be this, um. This really regimented routine. They mentioned they are on a work trip miles away from home. Mm-hmm. But they are not treating this like some kind of vacation. They are locked in. No, not at all. And this is a key insight, I think, for anyone in recovery routine is just, yeah. It's the anchor. The narrator has been to Anchorage before. Yeah. And they have their spots. They have a home group away from home, which I thought was such a cool detail. It's called a do it sober group and get this, they meet at six 30 in the morning, 6:30 AM in Alaska. That is serious commitment, especially given how dark it can be in the mornings up there, depending on the season. Seriously, when I'm on a work trip, I'm lucky if I make it to the hotel breakfast buffet by 9 0 0. I'm hitting snooze. But this narrator is up dressed ready? Yep. They mention having their literature together, their laptop and their new iPhone charged up. That specific detail about the new iPhone really anchors us in 2011, doesn't it? It was probably an iPhone four or four s. Oh, for sure. But more importantly, it paints a picture of preparedness. Mm-hmm. This is a person who has their life together, the chaos of active addiction, the missed alarms, the lost phones, the disorganization that is all in the rear view mirror. They are organized, they're ready. It sounds so peaceful. They describe the meetings as welcoming, providing solution-based recovery discussion. Can I just pause on that phrase for a second? Solution based, yeah, let's unpack that. What does that actually mean? Aren't all meetings supposed to be solution based or are some just venting sessions? Not necessarily in the culture of recovery. There's a real distinction. Some meetings can turn into what they call drunk logs, you know, where everyone just swaps war stories about how bad it was, right? Solution based implies they're talking about how to live now, how to handle life on life's terms without picking up a drink. It's a very safe, constructive harbor. Which makes the disruption that's about to happen so much more jarring. You have this backdrop of serenity, routine and solution-based thinking. Yeah, the narrator steps outta the hotel room. Ready to head to that 6:30 AM meeting and there it is. The USA today laid right at the door. Remember when hotels used to do that? Every morning THR right outside your door. You didn't even have to ask for it. Oh, absolutely. It was the morning ritual for the business traveler. You step out, you look down to see what's happening in the world. The narrator looks down and they see the headline, three words that stop their heart. AA files for bankruptcy. Ugh. Yeah. Just put yourself in that space for a second. Truly visualize it. You are four years sober. This organization is the reason you are standing there dressed, employed, and sane. Yeah. And you read that it's over. The narrator's reaction is just visceral. They write, oh my God, how can this possibly be? They describe being horrified, mortified, and I love this phrase, many other, uh. It's panic, it's absolute fight or flight panic. But notice where the narrator's mind goes immediately. It doesn't go to the stock market, it doesn't go to, oh, that's sad for them. It goes straight to the internal mechanics of Alcoholics Anonymous, specifically the seventh tradition. Okay. Here's where it gets really interesting. We need to unpack this because this is the core of the deep dive. Mm-hmm. For those of us who just know AA for movies, we know about the anonymous part, maybe the 12 steps, but what is the seventh tradition? So the seventh tradition is the financial bedrock of the whole thing. The text states, every group is self-supporting, declining outside contributions, declining outside contributions. That's counterintuitive, right? Most nonprofits are constantly chasing grants. They want the big corporate donors, the government funding. Why would AA explicitly say no to outside money? It comes down to independence. Yeah, if you take money from the government, you have to follow government rules. You take money from a corporation, you're beholden to their image or their board. Ah, the founders of AA realized early on back in the thirties and forties that. He who pays the piper calls the tune to stay totally focused on helping alcoholics. They had to be Well poor corporate poverty. Exactly. They rely entirely on the people in the room putting money in the basket. It's a closed loop economy. So in that moment of panic in the hotel hallway, the narrator isn't thinking, oh, the government cut our funding. They're thinking we didn't put enough money in the basket. It becomes a moment of intense personal responsibility. Mm-hmm. And guilt. The narrator admits that up until this point, they hadn't paid much attention to the traditions. They put in their obligatory $1 as the basket went around. Just a routine. Just a routine, like checking a box, a dollar. I mean, even in 2011, a dollar doesn't buy you much. You can't even get a decent coffee for a dollar in 2011. But that was the custom, wasn't it? It was the custom. For decades, people were putting a dollar in the basket in 1980 and they were still putting a dollar in 2011. Inflation happened to everything except the AA basket, right? And face of the headline AA files for bankruptcy, that dollar suddenly seems woefully insufficient. The narrator starts spiraling. They're thinking, I just put in a dollar. I cheaped out, and now we're bankrupt. It's amazing how fast the brain works. It goes from headline to, it's my fault. Yeah, in milliseconds. That's the burden of the seventh tradition. If there's no outside safety net, you are the safety net and it gets deeper than just the money. The narrator recalls a specific text. It's from the page preceding the 12 Traditions in the AA literature. And this, this isn't just a rule book. This sounds like the philosophical bedrock of the whole program. This is a crucial passage, and for the narrator in that moment of crisis, these words are just ringing in their ears. It says. Alcoholics Anonymous has made the difference between misery and sobriety and often the difference between life and death. Life and death. Those are the stakes. We aren't talking about a knitting circle closing down because they couldn't pay the rent. No. And it continues. AA can of course mean just as much to uncounted alcoholics not yet reached, and then the kicker, the line that really haunts the narrator. We alcoholics see that we must work together and hang together else. Most of us will finally die alone. Wow. Else most of us will finally die alone. That is heavy. It is incredibly heavy. And that is what is running through the narrator's mind while standing in a hotel hallway looking at a newspaper. Yeah. They aren't worried about a social club closing. They're worried about a mass die off. Oh my gosh. They're worried about the uncounted alcoholics who haven't found help yet. Where do they go if AA is gone? It's amazing how quickly the brain connects those dots. The narrator asks, if AA is bankrupt, we're sure to go outta business. And how am I going to continue to stay sober? It's a selfish fear. How do I survive? Mixed with a selfless fear. What about everyone else? That's the nature of the program though. The individual recovery is tied to the collective survival. If the ship sinks, everyone goes down. No lifeboats. There are no lifeboats for individuals Here, the narrator realizes that their unthinking routine of dropping a dollar in the hat was essentially taking the ship for granted. It's that realization of fragility. You think the institution is a monolith, something that will always be there, like a mountain, but really it's just people. It's just rent money and coffee money, and if the people don't support it. It disappears precisely and in that moment, the narrator is mourning the loss of that safety net. They describe sitting in the lobby, grabbing a coffee and just contemplating the potential pitfalls to me and others of no longer having Alcoholics Anonymous available. They're grieving a world without aa. I can see them sitting there. The tension is so high, they're sitting there, coffee in hand, probably shaking a little bit paper in hand, convinced the world has ended, and then. They actually read the article. They finally looked past the big, bold letters. They stop skimming and start reading. And what does AA stand for in this particular issue of USA today? American Airlines. American Airlines, not Alcoholics Anonymous. The irony. Aa, the airline files for bankruptcy protection, which by the way was huge news in 2011. American Airlines parent Company filed for chapter 11 in November, 2011. It was everywhere. But to someone whose entire life revolves around the other aa, that acronym means only one thing. It's a classic cognitive bias. We see what we are primed to see. If you're a frequent flyer, maybe you think airline. If you're in recovery, AA is your lifeblood. The relief must have been explosive, like letting the air out of a balloon. It's physical. The narrator says, I can remember tears actually welling up in my eyes, actual tears over an airline bankruptcy story. Tears of pure relief. It wasn't just, oh, silly me. Yeah, it was a profound emotional release. The narrator realized that the support system, the thing that saved their life, was in no immediate danger. It wasn't going outta business. I can just picture them sitting in that hotel lobby, wiping tears away, probably laughing a little bit maniacally while everyone else is just reading about airline stocks. It's a beautiful moment of human vulnerability. Mm-hmm. It shows just how much this mattered to them. If they didn't care, they wouldn't have cried. If it was just a hobby, they would've shrugged and said, guess I'll find a new hobby. This was life or death. So the crisis is averted. The world is safe. Now what do you do with that energy? You go to your meeting, right? You don't go back to bed. They head to the do it sober group. It's 6:30 AM and they share the story and naturally the room explosive Laughter. Oh, I bet it's the perfect AA story. It's dramatic, it's self-deprecating, and it lands on a message of gratitude. The narrator says everyone got quite a kick outta their ability to jump to apocalyptic consequences from a single misunderstanding. And honestly, that is a very relatable trait for people in recovery. And frankly, for many of us, it's called catastrophizing. Going from zero to we're all gonna die alone in 10 seconds. Flat. Exactly. The brain is wired for threat detection. And when you've been through addiction, that system is often dialed up to 11. But here's the thing, the laughter is important, but the realization was real. The fear they felt in the lobby was real fear, even if the cause was fake. There's a funny little coda to this story, right? The narrator mentioned something about the donation guidelines changing around that time. Yes. So for years, the unofficial standard was the $1 bill. But the general service office, the actual GSO of Alcoholics Anonymous, apparently put out a recommendation shortly after this incident suggesting a $2 donation instead of $1 inflation finally came for the basket. The narrator clarifies very humbly that they don't think their panic attack in Alaska caused the global policy change. Of course not. But it's a funny coincidence. It highlights that the financial reality was actually tight, even if they weren't going bankrupt that morning. But let's look at the lasting impact here, because this wasn't just a funny anecdote. They told once and forgot this changed how they viewed that basket forever completely. The panic was temporary, but the lesson was permanent. The narrator says today, when the seventh tradition basket is passed around the room, I have such appreciation for the WHY. Of the donations. It's not an obligation anymore. It's not a tax you pay to be in the room. No, it's an investment. It's an investment in their own life and the lives of others. They realize that the 90 plus years of fellowship experience isn't free. It requires active support. The narrator says, I never want anyone to not have the same resource for recovery. That was afforded me. It reminds me of that idea of sweat equity, but here it's literally equity. It's funding the thing that saves you. And that brings us back to that heavy quote from the beginning, work together and hang together. It sounds dramatic, but this story really proves it. The narrator moved from being a consumer of recovery to a supporter of recovery, and that is a huge developmental step. You know, we often talk about institutions like they are these faceless self-sustaining machines. The government, the church, the library, the support group, right? We assume they just exist. They were here before us. They'll be here after us. We treat them like we treat the weather. But the lesson here is that the safety net is woven by the members themselves. If you stop weaving the net breaks, if everyone assumes. Someone else will put the money in the basket or someone else will make the coffee. Eventually, there is no door, and that's the difference between a service and a community. A service is something you pay for and consume. A community is something you build and sustain. The narrator ends with such a powerful sentiment. They credit aa, God, and the people in the fellowship with not only saving their life, but giving them a life they didn't know was available. That's the difference between misery and sobriety mentioned in the text. It's not just about not drinking, it's about having a life worth living. A life where you can wake up an Anchorage, Alaska with a job, a charged iPhone, and a group of friends waiting for you at 6:30 AM and that morning the narrator got a glimpse of what it would look like to lose all that. Sometimes you need the scare. You need to feel the loss, even hypothetically, to understand the value of what you hold. It's amazing how a misunderstanding can sometimes lead to the clearest understanding you've ever had. It really is it turned a routine dollar into a conscious act of gratitude. So as we wrap up this deep dive, I wanna leave the listener with a thought. We all have structures in our lives that support us. Maybe it's not aa, maybe it's a community group, a local library, a religious organization, or even just a specific routine. With friends, we tend to treat these things as permanent fixtures, like they're guaranteed. But the lesson from the Do It sober group in Anchorage is that nothing is guaranteed. So here is the question for you. What is a safety net in your own life that you treat as a guarantee, but actually requires your active participation to survive? Are you putting in your obligatory dollar or do you understand the why? Because if we don't hang together, yeah. Well, we know the alternative. Thanks for listening to the deep dive. We'll catch you next time. I hope you enjoyed today's story reflection and maybe got an insider two out of it. Feedback and story submissions are always welcome at Daryl r@milesofrecovery.com. That's DARY l_r@milesofrecovery.com. If something you heard today resonated, take a moment to sit with it. Does it trigger any experiences, struggles, or unnecessary catastrophizing in your life? I'd appreciate hearing about it. This podcast exists to share experience, strength, and hope, not advice or instructions. It is not a replacement for meetings or professional help. Support is always available through the national help line at 1-800-662-FOUR 3 5 7. Again, that's 1-800-662-FOUR 3 5 7. If you feel inclined to donate to miles of Recovery, it's super easy at buy me a coffee.com/miles of recovery and truly appreciated in deferring the expense of producing the podcast. Thank you and we hope to hear from you. Join us next week for a story titled If I Got What I Deserved and Remember the Wise Words of Fred Rogers. There's no normal life that is free of pain. It's the very wrestling with our problems that can be the impetus for our growth. Thanks again.