Staying Teachable

One of the stranger things about getting older is realizing how much I still don't know.

When I was younger, I was considerably more confident about knowing everything.

Funny how that works. 😂

Recovery introduced me to being a beginner very quickly.

When I came into AA, I didn't know how to stay sober.

I didn't know how to live sober.

I didn't know what the Steps were really about.

I didn't understand sponsorship.

I didn't understand why these old-timers kept suggesting things that occasionally sounded ridiculous to me.

Basically, I knew very little.

The problem was, I didn't necessarily KNOW that I knew very little. 😂

That may be one of the biggest things recovery taught me.

Be teachable.

Listen.

Ask questions.

Find somebody who knows how to do something you don't know how to do and pay attention.

That sounds incredibly simple.

It isn't always easy.

Especially as we get older.

Because after you've accumulated some years, some experience and maybe a little success in life, the ego starts whispering:

You should already know this.

You don't want to look stupid.

Don't ask that question.

Everybody else probably understands it.

Pretend you know what's going on.

I've discovered that pretending to know what I'm doing is usually a much slower way to learn than simply admitting:

“I have absolutely no idea what the hell I'm doing.” 😂

That sentence has become surprisingly useful.

And I don't think being teachable only applies to AA.

I still love learning new things.

Technology.

Business.

Making things.

New equipment.

New techniques.

New ideas.

Somebody shows me something interesting and immediately my brain starts wondering what I could do with it.

Sometimes that works out beautifully.

Sometimes three hours later I'm staring at something wondering why I ever started. 😂

But I'm learning.

And I think that's important.

There is something healthy about being a beginner.

Beginners ask questions.

Beginners experiment.

Beginners make mistakes.

Beginners aren't supposed to know everything.

That's incredibly freeing once you stop worrying about looking foolish.

I've walked into plenty of situations where other people knew far more than I did.

There was a time when that might have intimidated me.

Today I'm much more likely to think:

Good.

Maybe I'll learn something.

I think the same thing applies to recovery.

Thirty-eight years sober does not mean I have graduated from AA.

There is no diploma.

No cap and gown.

Nobody comes to your house and says:

“Congratulations. You've completed alcoholism.” 😂

I'm still an alcoholic.

I'm still capable of bad thinking.

I can still get resentful.

I can still be selfish.

I can still convince myself I'm right when I'm completely wrong.

I can still hear something in a meeting that I've heard a thousand times and suddenly understand it differently.

That's why I never want to reach the point where I think:

I've heard all this already.

Maybe I have.

But I'm not the same person who heard it ten years ago.

Sometimes the message hasn't changed.

I have.

That's one of the reasons staying teachable matters to me.

The newcomer can teach me something.

The guy with five years can teach me something.

The guy with fifty years can teach me something.

Somebody I don't particularly like can definitely teach me something, although I'm considerably less enthusiastic about that particular educational opportunity. 😂

Life works the same way.

I'm 59 years old and I'm still trying new things.

Still learning.

Still screwing things up.

Still occasionally hitting buttons I probably shouldn't hit.

Still asking questions.

Still discovering that something I thought would be simple is apparently a twelve-hour project involving three YouTube videos and profanity.

And I love it.

Because the alternative is deciding I already know enough.

That sounds incredibly boring.

I don't want my recovery to become that way either.

I don't want decades sober to turn into decades comfortable.

I want to remain curious.

I want to hear new ideas.

I want to question some of my old ones.

I want to be willing to admit when I don't know.

And when somebody knows something I don't, I want to be smart enough to shut up occasionally and listen.

Recovery started by teaching me that I didn't have all the answers.

Thirty-eight years later, apparently that lesson is still going.

Good.

I hope it never stops.

Because I think the day I decide I have nothing left to learn is probably the day I desperately need somebody to teach me something.