Let It Begin With Me

by

A.J. Daulerio

Where were you the day someone changed your life?

*****

I want to tell you about my friend Cameron, who just happens to be the man who’s been my sponsor in Al-Anon/ACA because, unexpectedly and without warning, he changed my life. He’s not dead, but he is moving across the country, and I will miss him dearly. So let me lay out for you what this man has helped me do: Take personal responsibility. Be compassionate. Lead with love. Not lie. Work less! Forgive my parents. And–incredibly–he helped me forgive myself. 

I don’t like to sell anyone on 12-step because there are other options–some better and much saner. Yes, The Program works if you work it, but mostly it’s an intimate social contract with a stranger whose job is to help gently guide you into wellness. The “work” is humiliating and harrowing and often feels like a conversion ceremony. But if God wants to take credit for me not being a total wasteoid of a human, so be it. 

Now, I didn’t set out to become part of Al-Anon, but I accidentally walked into a men’s meeting at a spooky-looking Theosophy church in Beachwood Canyon one day almost five years ago. About 50 men were in the room, all handsome and seemingly successful and well-adjusted, but it didn’t take very long to realize that most of these dudes were busted up. If there was such a thing as radical vulnerability, it was happening here at 8 a.m. Yet, it didn’t make me uncomfortable. In fact, I found it quite thrilling: whatever place these men wanted to push themselves toward, I wanted to go there, too. 

But the first couple of months were agonizing because I quickly realized that I was terrified of being in a roomful of men: How to stand, how to sit, how to say hello, how to make small talk. I was stunned.

At the end of each meeting, we’d all ceremonially stand in a circle, arms slung over each other, keep-coming-backing, then it was time to…fellowship. Everyone would break-off into conversations, hugging and expressing genuine affection for gratitude for one another. I always hoped some gentle soul would take pity on me, ask me how I was, and make me feel less timid. Once or twice an angel appeared, but if it didn’t, I’d be so humiliated I’d quickly look at my phone and act like I had a very important call to get to, sorry, maybe next time, fellas, but I have to take this. Then I’d walk up the block, away from the church, trying to sell it as much as possible. Why was it someone else’s responsibility to draw me out? Why was I–something I heard in this particular room–outsourcing my self-esteem? I was in my 40’s but it felt like I was 8. 

Then one day, I heard Cameron speak. He was powerful but not evangelizing. I listened to the commitment to his own humility in his voice. Plus, he had this cool look about him, like it was this kind of LA Seeker vibe. He had this wild head of graying hair that seemed like it was from a different era. I guess I’d describe him as dashing, but he also looked like he’d just jumped off a dune buggy. He seemed familiar-looking, but I couldn’t place his face. Later, I realized he was an actor who did a few popular 80s movies. After the meeting, I got his number from the phone list and texted him, explaining that I was new to the group, and asked him if he’d like to chat sometime. He agreed–we’d have breakfast after the next meeting at the Beachwood Cafe. 

*****

When we met, he asked for my story and what brought me to the program. I had explained to him that I was an alcoholic and in AA for two years, but recently was in some deep spiritual trouble. The most pressing thing was this: there was an unauthorized movie in development about my life and I was furious about it. I don’t think he asked for the dumb, tawdry details, but I told him anyway. 

I don’t know how long it took me to lay out, but I remember Cameron’s bewildered expression, one he held for the entirety of our conversation, and, for a moment, I thought that this was the last time he’d ever speak to me. “I don’t know if I could help you with all that–I mean, someone is making a movie about you because why? Who are you? And this is a bad thing?” 

The only reason I told him about the trial and all the upheaval it had brought to my life was that I thought that if he’d heard about Gawker and the sex tape case, he’d be more interested in helping me. Instead, I probably just sounded like a self-aggrandizing fool. 

He said he’d think about sponsoring me, but to start off, he’d like me to email him a gratitude list each morning to start the day. If I can do that consistently for a little while, we could begin our step work.

A month later, we started working through the steps in a book called “Paths to Recovery.” There were 23 bluntly introspective questions at the end of Chapter 1. After I answered them, he observed that I was writing lots of words but saying very little. “Just answer and don’t think so much.” With that approach, I immediately changed my answer from “Yes” to “NO” on this question: “Do I trust my own feelings? Do I know what they are? “

*****

Cameron told me a little bit about what drew him to the program along the way. He said it was grief. Some specific parts of his life were undoubtedly very sad, but he explained that even the smallest problems or mini-dramas can cause heavy grief. “It’s all grief,” he said. 

What was I grieving? Even though I’ve had no catastrophic losses there was grief. It was lodged in my throat, under my fingernails, shrouding my heart. 

The problem with this mind-bending insight is that it would require a total reprogramming of my entire existence to get rid of it. It was like he’d said, “Hey, I’ve noticed you’re right-handed. I bet if you started doing everything with your LEFT hand, you’d finally get some peace.”

But he didn’t diagnose me. He didn’t try to sell me anything. He just listened–and he’s such a soulful listener. I’d ask him to help me with a some self-doubts or anger and after I finished yammering, he’d chime in. “What I’m hearing…” That’s how he’d let me know he was right there with me in my grief.

More often than not, his suggestion to feel better about personal melodrama or resentments–always resentments–was to “let it begin with me.” In his experience, silence and quiet reflection were crucial before responding to anything. Give it 24 hours, and it usually goes away.

The couple of times that I’d done EMDR sessions, I’d always feel physically exhausted afterward, a little nauseated, and that’s how I’d feel after some of my Beachwood Cafe step work sessions with Cameron. But I could feel the change, the grief melting. Sometimes it would resurface, and I’d be hard on myself–I’m a terrible father, husband, friend, and human. But he’d counter. “Well, I think you’re doing great. You’re definitely helping me, so I want to thank you for that.” 

Many men in that room have told me my progress has been remarkable in the past year. And it’s good to hear. I do the work and believe in a Higher Power, but in reality, none of the change is possible without a human named Cameron. 

I fellowship after every meeting now, and I talk with many guys on the phone afterward, many of whom I was deeply envious of or intimidated by. And I listen to them–I listen to them with a fuller, more courageous heart, one I never believed could ever exist.