Personal Move

Personal Move

By Douglas (webservant@aascv.org)

“Yes, there is a substitute and it is vastly more than that. It is a fellowship in Alcoholics Anonymous. There you will find release from care, boredom and worry… Thus we find the fellowship, and so will you.” (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 152)

I’m writing something a little different this month. Most months, I’m in “Trusted Servant mode”—reporting, informing, clarifying, and trying to help the Fellowship stay connected and effective. This time, I want to share my personal story from March 30th to today—one that surprised me with how much it had to do with AA.

My Move That Happened a Little Early

I had planned to move in late September, then it became end of June. But the right opportunity came starting on the 1st of April. I moved on March 30th from Santa Clarita to Chino Valley, Arizona—a little ahead of schedule. On paper it was simple: load up, tow the trailer, drive east, arrive.

In real life, it was a full-body lesson in letting go. Everything I own—at least everything that mattered enough to keep—ended up in the trailer. Thanks to Cynthia and Miriam with help in packing the trailer.

The trailer had a sticker that says “55 MPH.” I read that the way I used to read speed limits in my drinking: as a suggestion. So there I was doing 65 on I‑40… where the speed limit is 75… and still getting passed by everybody and everything— cars, pickups, motor-homes; and yes—semis with “Wide Load” signs, lights flashing, flags waving like they were in a parade… passing me like I was parked.

I could feel that old familiar AA tension in my chest:

• I’m behind.
• I’m in the way.
• I’m doing it wrong.
• I need to get control of this.

It was funny, and it was humbling. And it was also a tiny spiritual test.

Control is Heavy (And it’s Expensive)

There’s a passage in the story Acceptance Was the Answer that I come back to often:

“And acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing, or situation—some fact of my life—unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing, or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment.” (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 417)

I’ve read that line a hundred times, but on I‑40, it had a different meaning. Because towing a trailer isn’t just about horsepower. It’s about acceptance.

Acceptance that:

• I can’t drive like I’m unburdened
• I can’t stop like I’m unburdened
• I can’t change lanes like I’m unburdened
• I’m not the fastest thing on the road, and I don’t have to be

AA keeps teaching me that the “easy does it” slogans aren’t there to make life smaller. They’re there to make life possible.

And the Big Book tells me why I keep wrestling for control:

“Selfishness—self-centeredness! That, we think, is the root of our troubles.” (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 62)

That line isn’t meant to shame me. It’s meant to diagnose me. Because when I’m scared, I get self-centered. When I’m tired, I get self-centered. When I’m in transition, I get self-centered. And moving—especially moving away from familiar people and places—has a way of turning up the volume on my fear.

I Arrived Safely… And I Arrived “New”

By the grace of God (and apparently the laws of physics), I arrived safely. And then came the real moment: I wasn’t just in a new house. I was in a new recovery neighborhood. It’s one thing to move a body. It’s another thing to move a life.

Because alcoholism taught me a very specific kind of isolation:

• The isolation of “I’m fine.”
• The isolation of “I don’t want to bother anyone.”
• The isolation of “I’ll figure it out.”

But AA taught me the opposite:

“You are going to meet these new friends in your own community… Among them you will make lifelong friends.” (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 152)

And it goes even further:

“Some day we hope that every alcoholic who journeys will find a Fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous at his destination.” (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 162)

When I read that now, it feels personal.

How to Transition to a New Location (And Find the AA That Works for You)

I’ve been to a few meetings in this area before, back when I was a visitor. Now I’m here as a resident—and that’s a different thing. So instead of writing a “report card” on meetings, I want to share a simple set of principles I’m using to transition.

1) Start With Willingness, Not Perfection

“Practicing Step Three is like the opening of a door which to all appearances is still closed and locked. All we need is a key, and the decision to swing the door open. There is only one key, and it is called willingness. Once unlocked by willingness, the door opens almost of itself, and looking through it, we shall see a pathway beside which is an inscription. It reads: “This is the way to a faith that works.” (Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, p. 34)

The path starts with willingness. In a new town, I don’t need the perfect meeting. I need a place to sit, listen, and be reminded that I’m not unique. My first goal isn’t to find “my people.” My first goal is to stay connected.

2) Try Enough Meetings to Learn the Landscape

When I’m new somewhere, I try to sample meetings the way I sample restaurants:

• Different days
• Different formats
• Different neighborhoods

Not to judge—but to learn. I’ve learned that the “best” meeting is often the one I keep going back to. So far, I found a meeting (Group) four miles from the house. It has 18 meetings a week.

My friend Kate texted Ruth, whom she met at her garage sale. Ruth introduced herself to me and to others. With Kate’s help, I felt seen and accepted at my first meeting as a resident.

3) Look for the Spiritual Temperature, Not the Performance

I can be impressed by charisma and still be starving spiritually. What I’m watching for is simpler:

• Are people honest?
• Do they laugh at themselves?
• Is there room for newcomers?
• Is there service happening?
• Do they talk about principles, not personalities?

There’s a reason AA works best when it stays simple.

4) Find a Home Group (And Become Part of Something)

If I’m honest, one of the easiest ways to stay “at the edge” of AA is to stay a perpetual visitor.

Show up, share occasionally, leave, repeat. But the program keeps nudging me toward commitment—because commitment is where I grow. And the promise in “A Vision for You” isn’t just that I’ll attend meetings. It’s that I’ll join a fellowship:

“It is a fellowship in Alcoholics Anonymous… Life will mean something at last.” (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 152)

For me, that means finding a new group where I can be known, be useful, and be accountable.

5) Make Service Your Fast Track to Belonging

When I don’t know anyone, I can either wait to feel comfortable… or I can get useful. Service has introduced me to more people than my personality ever could— coffee, chairs, greeting, literature, and cleanup to mention a few. Service says, “You belong here because you’re contributing.” And it keeps my head from turning inward.

At the meeting place on their whiteboard was a list of the group’s trusted servants. I saw an opening for Alt-GSR, and my first impulse was to apply. Then I remembered something: I do not need to do this this month. I will attend the business meeting next month, after I am unpacked, and see if it works for them and for me.

6) Keep Your Spiritual Practices Portable

Moving exposes what’s solid and what was just routine. If my recovery only works in the old zip code, I don’t have recovery—I have a comfort zone. I felt convicted, that I am doing routines and not spiritual practices at my past meetings. I will make a change.

So I’m keeping my routines and embracing a new spiritual practice close to home:

• Prayer in the morning
• A quick review at night
• Calling another alcoholic
• Showing up, even when I don’t feel like it

The book says:

“Ask Him in your morning meditation what you can do each day for the man who is still sick.” (Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 164)

That’s portable.

7) Let “Passing Lanes” Be A Spiritual Exercise

This is where the trailer comes back into the story. On I‑40, getting passed wasn’t dangerous—my ego made it feel dangerous. In a new town, I can get “passed” in a different way:

• People have decades with each other
• Traditions and routines are established
• I’m the outsider for a while

And that’s fine. AA has room for me to arrive slowly. Because the goal isn’t to be the fastest person on the road. The goal is to arrive sober.

The meetings are different, which is good. I ask myself one simple question: Are they staying sober? If the answer is yes, then they are doing it right. I need to adjust. For example, they do not clap after shares. I mentioned the difference in a share, and guess what? They clapped. We all laughed.

The Quiet Gift of Being New

There’s something tender about being new. I don’t get to hide behind familiarity. I don’t get to coast on reputation. I get to start again—one meeting, one conversation, one commitment at a time.

And if I can do that with a trailer behind me, getting passed by wide loads with flashing lights, I can probably do it in AA too.

If you’re transitioning—new city, new job, new season of life—my experience is this:

• Don’t wait to feel settled
• Get connected
• Find a home group
• Take a commitment
• Let God handle the pace

Because the fellowship is there. And if I stay willing, I’ll find it.