A New World

When I arrived in AA in 1983, I was trembling, defeated, mistrustful, confused, and most of all, desperate. At 25, I was still clinging to the illusion of the drinking life as flashy and glamorous, with loud rock clubs, foxy young women and sporty muscle cars. My first image of sobriety, in contrast, looked like a swamp of depressing gray: Friday and Saturday nights in a musty church basement, sitting on a folding metal chair and sipping coffee from styrofoam, while some ancient guys in plaid shirts talk about their Higher Powers. Ugh.