A Bigger Understanding (Wisdom of the 12-Steps)

Bottom line: the “12-Steps of Recovery” encompass the change/growth process.

I'm a "lumper."

Way back when, during my undergraduate studies, an anthropology professor told my class, "Some are lumpers and some are splitters," referring to anthropologists in general. I knew immediately I was a "lumper." I see parallels and look for similarities, overlap and common threads.

Over time I’ve come to appreciate the simplicity, integrity and non-judgemental nature of the 12-Steps of Recovery. I'm struck by their universality of application and scope in daily human struggle. In a sense, they are a western how-to version of Buddha’s tenet regarding suffering. That is, in short: 1) all suffering is derived from desire; and 2) let go of desire to attain inner peace (by utilizing appropriate tools). Both encompass spirituality, an underlying human need for connection to the “bigger picture.”

I’ve never practiced the 12-Steps officially as a recovering individual. I learned them as a licensed therapist working in the drug/alcohol recovery field over twenty-five years. I attended numerous 12-Step meetings working with those in recovery and observed the steps in action. I exchanged ideas and shared with colleagues in various drug treatment settings. And I lectured about the 12-Steps as applied to co-dependency.

I don’t claim to be an expert in recovery, but am an expert in my life, which includes what I’ve learned about myself in relationship to the 12-Steps. I've personally practiced the 12-Steps over time. I participated in staff self-assessment groups in two residential drug/alcohol treatment settings. I sought personal counseling, overcame suicidal thoughts and low self-esteem. I participated in Est, “human potentials” training seminars created by Werner Erhard, which reinforced my self-acceptance.

Thus, I’ve experienced the 12-Steps from “both sides,” and having participated in therapy sessions as a practitioner and client, I can say in hindsight that my healing has followed the 12-Step path.

Aristotle said, “Man is by nature a social animal. . . .” Beyond that, and I’m positive that I’m not alone, I define humans as “spiritual” animals. We have a need to understand our existence, including our place in the scheme of life and the world/universe.

Though the “identified problem” varies among individuals, the 12-Steps (utilized by 12-Step programs) foster a deeper understanding, increased emotional balance and enhances “spirituality,” which to me looks no different than the goals and outcome of therapy/counseling.

Photo Credit: Hubble Space Telescope

A Blistering Pace (PCT)

Bottom Line: Some boots aren’t made for walkin’, apparently . . . at least on my feet.

6.22.21

My feet taped to minimize blisters—hopefully, avoid them altogether—Mark and I enjoyed a cooked breakfast, then dropped my car at marker 266.1, junction with Hwy 18, in anticipation of our day’s hike.

Been here, Prim8 said.

Last time . . . I hope, Prim8.

In Mark’s car, we arrived at the PCT junction with Polique Canyon Road.

“What time is it?” I checked my iPhone. “8:30 AM, not bad,” I said.

Cool morning temperature and an overcast sky bode well.

I hoped to avoid the sweat-fest of our previous hikes. Though trail elevation exceeded 6,000 feet, direct sun this time of year would generate sweat like a squeezed orange dripping juice.

The southbound PCT headed “eastward” from our location, though shifted direction as we moved along.

We came to a trail junction, observed a lake in the distance directly ahead, though only slowed momentarily before we turned onto the right fork.

“Which lake is that? What direction?” I asked.

Within a few feet, Mark halted and referred to his map. “That could be Big Bear Lake,” he said.

“Can’t be,” I said. Could be. “Is there another lake north of the trail here?”

“No, that’s got to be Big Bear Lake,” Mark said. “I think we’re going the wrong way.”

How could that be? “We headed east from your car,” I said. “Logic dictates north lies to the left and south to the right. Though without opportunity to see shadows, it’s difficult to tell direction.”

Of course, we’d carried compasses.

Mark indicated with his hand. “Compass direction shows north that way.”

“How did we get turned around?” I said. “We haven’t deviated from the trail.”

“I don’t know, but let’s backtrack to my car,” Mark said.

With that, we retraced our steps over the 1.2 miles to Mark’s vehicle.

After a thorough examination of Mark’s maps and GPS device . . . and our compasses, we concluded we’d been heading the correct direction. But, still. . . .

Once again at the trail junction, 2.4 miles later, “There’s the problem,” I said. “We should’ve read the PCT sign over there,” I pointed left, “not the post-it note there,” I pointed right.

And so, this time, we made a hard left, the trail almost doubling back onto itself.

“Now we’re on the right track,” Mark said.

“Simple mistake, easy to make,” I said, though surprised we both had made it.

The temperature remained comfortable, the sun obscured by overcast and our hike proceeded without problem, though I noticed increasing complaints from my feet, particularly heels.

More blisters?

The aches, pains, complaints from my feet eased when we paused for a thirty-minute lunch break in the shade of several conifers. The sun at full strength now, we noted our thermometers read 83 degrees.

“Doesn’t feel that hot to me,” I told Mark, though I anticipated the heat of full sun and accompanying sweat. I removed my boots and socks. “Yep, blisters. I knew it.” Nothing to do but soldier on.

Mark said, “There a chance of a thunderstorm with lightening tomorrow.”

Ugh. “Maybe, we’ll get lucky and outrun it,” I said. I flashed on my summit of Gannett Peak in Wyoming with Dr. Bobo, when he and I had piled our gear some thirty feet away before we hunkered out of the wind, after Bob had warned, “Yeah, you don’t want any metal on you with lightening nearby.”

We continued onward, me counting down the distance, wiping sweat, feeling the burn of foot-blisters.

By the time we’d arrived at my car, we’d decided to pre-position it at mile marker 292.2, leaving it overnight in order to save time the next morning . . . though we were yet to know if the OHV route there was passable.

Turned out, it was . . . and we did.

At the hotel in Big Bear, I hit the shower, didn’t remove tape, preferred not to look at my feet. Knew I’d have to examine them afterwards, though.

Yep. A large blister on my right heel. What will I need to do to prevent this?

I discarded those pieces of tape beyond salvage, then applied additional layers everywhere.

6.23.21

6 AM, bright and early, with drive-through coffee and breakfast Mc-sandwich from the Big Bear McDonald’s consumed en-route, we returned to the Polique Canyon Road parking turnout at PCT junction, mile marker 278.6.

Overcast, occasional slight breezes and a cool temperature bode well. The overcast sky appeared subdued.

“That’s see if we can outrun that thunderstorm,” I said.

Mark requested a photo by a tree at the road junction.

Me, one, too, Prim8 demanded.

Okay, but we need to get moving.

Prim8 hugs a tree.

We marched off at a fast clip.

Foot check. Okay.

Clouds in the distance behind us appeared dark, so we kept a steady pace, hoping to escape a downpour, though each of us carried gear to avoid a soaking.

As we marched along my foot complaints mounted, demanded more of my focus.

Damn, blisters. What the hell do I have to do?

All in, however, I harbored no intention of turning back.

Brief stops for a photo, or a wee break, here and there, slowed our progress only slightly. And, as has been the case while we have hiked, we swapped personal tidbits. Mark joked about and divulged the nickname of “Wrong-way” that he’d gotten on a field survey job.

"Wrong-way" Mark poses as storm clouds roil above.

The wind increased, with short gusts to 80 mph, my best guess, and the clouds roiled and darkened as we progressed across a plateau strewn with boulders. Periodic checks suggested we could be enveloped by a storm any minute.

The sounds of scattered rain drops bolstered my resolve and though they soon stopped, I didn’t slacken my pace.

My foot-complaints increased in intensity, and as I limped along, I counted down the remaining distance to my car.

It’s out there somewhere, Prim8 . . . unless somebody stole it, cross your fingers.

Another hundred yards . . . around this bend . . . somewhere beyond those green trees . . . the stream is nearby.

I sighed with relief when I crossed a flowing stream. We’re close, Prim8.

And then I spotted “Wrong-way,” as well as my car, waiting at the PCT junction with Crab Flats Road, mile marker 292.2.

My feet gave thanks, even though I drove Mark to his car.

We discussed our respective drives back home and tentative plans for our next PCT trip.

“I’m taking 138 to Pearblossom,” I told Mark, “and I’m not missing that turn, again.” Come hell or high water.

Rain began to pour, when I found the Hwy 138 turn off.

Escaped the storm by the hair of our chinny-chin-chins, Prim8. But, I've got to figure how to prevent blisters.

(Prim8’s accumulated PCT progress: mile marker 292.2.)

Start From Where You Are (Wisdom of the 12-Steps)

Bottom line: you always start, or take your next step, from where you are at any given moment.

Having had experiences, both as a professional working with drug addicts and alcoholics in recovery, and healing from my own childhood and military experiences of PTSD, I plan to post blogs on the theme of "Wisdom of the 12-Steps." Moreover, I'll include how I think those steps are universal to human change, need and applicability to many every day problems.

I'd pondered what to write in restarting my blog (during a six-month design of my website), particularly whether to write about the theme of “Wisdom of the 12-Steps.” Inevitably, I asked myself a litany of questions, such as, how would I start this, where should I . . . and where need I?

In spite of my trepidation, I circled back to phrases such as Dragnet’s Joe Friday’s by-line, “Just the facts, Ma'am,” “Cut to the chase” (which I understand originated in the silent movie era), and the more recent Nike logo, “Just do it,”and accepted that my “pondering process” could continue ad infinitum and ad nauseam.

Lao Tzu, a Chinese philosopher, is attributed with saying, “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” Any journey, simple or complex, long or short, out of necessity or a whim, whether mental, emotional, physical, and/or spiritual began, or begins, with the first step . . . then proceeds from there. Corrections and adjustments can be made made along the way, and are, as necessary.

Don’t get me wrong. Planning is helpful, important and essential in some cases. But, thinking, especially when stuck in fear, isn’t the same as action, and all too often thinking and planning can be used as excuses, thus an avoidance of committing to the journey.

So, in the vein of the 12-Steps of Recovery, I needed to “Suit up and show up,” (a common encouragement in 12-Step meetings), take the next step, in spite of the risks, and thus arrived at this post, which I remind myself may not be “perfect,” though doesn’t need to be . . . because without this "first step" (or next step), I wasn't going anywhere, except in my head.

Photo Credit: drbigtoe - imgur.com