A Dozen Pieces of Acceptance

Early last week, as I undressed, the homemade cocobolo wood pen that my childhood friend from Virginia had given me four years ago fell from my shirt pocket into a sewing basket sitting on the floor. A day later, when I looked for it, it was nowhere to be seen. Even my wife couldn’t find it; the black hole had already sucked it in. Over the years, whenever I went to meetings, I used that pen to write down memorable things, which I refer to as “AAisms.” Among my favorites is one I heard in March 2006 in Yucca Valley, California: “The difference between God and me is that God doesn’t want to be me.”