Since characterizing myself in WPFW as a novelty addict, I’ve been reading a lot of recovery and recovery-related literature.
Most of the literature follows the 12 step process that I described in my earlier post, but last week I came on a different approach that made more sense to me, and lined up with a lot of other things that I have read.
So I’ll tell you the story of how I came to this latest great realization. I’ll start the story a few weeks ago when I came across a book by Steven Pressfield, called Do the Work. I knew Pressfield from having read his book The War of Art. I liked it, and tried to apply his ideas, but was not able to. Do the Work follows the same philosophy but is more action-oriented.
Here’s a summary of Do The Work from Pressfield’s blog.
Do The Work ... is an action guide that gets down and dirty in the trenches. Say you've got a book, a screenplay or a startup in your head but you're stuck or scared or just don't know how to begin, how to break through or how to finish. Do The Work takes you step-by-step from the project's inception to its ship date, hitting each predictable 'Resistance point' along the way and giving techniques and drills for overcoming each obstacle. There's even a section called 'Belly of the Beast' that goes into detail about dealing with the inevitable moment in any artistic or entrepreneurial venture when you hit the wall and just want to cry 'HELP!'
The kindle edition is free right now. I downloaded it from Amazon and read it in a night. It was inspiring, but still did not lead to the desired action. But it was a piece in the puzzle.
Pressfield’s idea is that when we embark on something positive, something he calls Resistance arises to stop us from doing our work. Pressfield describes resistance as: invisible, internal insidious, implacable, impersonal, universal—and part of ourselves.
Then last week I came across a book called Rational Recovery, by Jack Trimpey that seemed to supply a missing piece in the puzzle. Trimpey takes issue with the 12-step community (which he calls the “recovery industry”) and says, by contrast: recovery is easy. You just have to really want to do it, and know what’s going to try to stop you. He describes something very much like Pressfield’s Resistance that Trimpey calls “The Beast.”
Unlike Pressfield, who works principally (and maybe exclusively) from his own experience and mainly addresses artistic creation, Trimpey, a licensed social worker in California writes from a broader perspective that includes his own experience as a recovered alcoholic and from people suffering from drug addiction, alcoholism, and other similar problems, and mainly addresses addiction, not art.
Nontheless, they talk about the same thing. What Pressfield calls Resistance, Trimpey calls “The Beast.” Trimpey’s model is better developed, and more actionable than Pressfield’s, and is not just a metaphor but mapped to brain structure, as well. Pressfield provides inspiration; Trimpey provides depth
According to Trimpey, our better nature arises in our prefrontal cortex (PFC), the part of the brain that makes us uniquely human. The Beast arises in an older part of the brain, the midbrain, which concerns itself with pleasure and pain. The PFC is human; the midbrain is the brain of a beast.
The PFC can do the things that only humans can do: envision the pain and pleasure of the future; the midbrain knows only “now.” In alcoholism the PFC of a person seeking recovery may be able to assess the plusses and minuses of alcoholism and decide to quit, but the midbrain thinks only of the pleasures of alcohol and has no interest in or desire for quitting. The midbrain will do what is necessary, and at whatever cost, to drink the next drink.
It is as though there are two people there. One sincerely wants to stop drinking, and the other secretly plans to drink again. To recover addicts must recognize the “Addictive Voice” of the midbrain, recognize that they are in agreement with these secret plans. The one-day-at-a-time approach of a 12-step is then seen as a way to stop drinking today, but ensure that drinking tomorrow is possible. Only by deciding: “I will never drink again and I will never change my mind.” can the addict recover normalcy.
The 12-step process starts with an admission of defeat: “we recognized that we had no power over our addiction; that our lives had become unmanageable.” It is stronger than you, and you need your Higher Power, and the group to survive. Trimpey’s Rational Recovery starts with a recognition of Power. Hold out your hands and wiggle your fingers, Trimpey says. Now tell the part of you that wants booze to wiggle them. It can’t. Only you control what happens. You don’t need anyone else.
I don’t think my own problem is exactly mid-brain versus cerebral cortex, but after reading Trimpey’s book I realize that I am always ambivalent about my decisions to reform any of the habits that stand in the way of my meeting my goals. I want to write, every day, but I surf the web or watch TV instead of writing—or even do something somewhat worthwhile instead of writing. Why is that?
According to Trimpey, it’s because I have not make the necessary commitment: “I will never indulge in distractions while I have things to do that I have decided to do,” is hard to contemplate.
Hard, but not impossible. Reading these books has given me a much clearer understanding of what goes on in my own mind, and probably in others.
Tying this to The Time Paradox, which we studied in our last term at Acadia Senior College, Philip Zimbardo says that some people are “Present Hedonists” which means that they focus on the pleasures of the present rather than the past or the future. My own problem (or the one I am focused on right now) is a conflict between the hedonistic part of my brain that variety, and shiny new things and the part that wants me wants to follow certain self-chosen rules—like writing every day; like blogging all the S*&# that I learn each day—and doing it the day that I learn it; like playing guitar (not touched in 3 months) and so on.
So there’s a part of me (I’d like to call it me) that loves writing, guitar, keyboards, drawing, programming, and other creative acts. And there’s another part (the Hedonist, Resistance, or The Beast) that cares nothing about such higher objectives, and only about pleasure: watching TV shows that I don’t really care about; eating too much food; surfing the web for random shit (as opposed to researching with a purpose.)
When I was working it was worse there was a part of me that wanted to Do My Work (after all, I was getting paid a goodly sum to do it) and the Hedonist, Resistance and Beast that found that work to be—at best—not pleasureful, and at worst downright painful. (OK, pain is too strong, but you get the idea).
Trimpey also makes a nice distinction between someone who is addicted and someone who is “chemically dependent.” A chemically dependent person is one who uses alcohol, drugs, or some other substance to cope with life. An addict is one who uses the substance “against his better judgment.”
Trimpey points out that most people who fail to stop using their substance of choice do so because they don’t want to. Their problem may be bad judgment, but it’s not addiction.
So: I am a novelty addict because sometimes (not always) I chase the new “against my better judgment.” And the decision I think I need to make, for my personal recovery might be: “I will never succumb to hedonistic distractions against my better judgment again and I will never change my mind.”
Trimpey says that making such a commitment is part of a Big Plan: an event that ends addiction once and for all. If it’s going to be effective it’s not to be undertaken lightly. You have to be determined to face The Beast, or Resistance or The Hedonist and never negotiate. That’s really the key. It’s making the decision an absolute.
Inside, I can feel my own Beast rumbling as I move toward making my own Big Plan. Stay tuned.
