Wow, this morning’s sunrise Zoom meeting was nothing short of profound. Sometimes I sit there and honestly feel like I’m living in the Truman Show. Since beginning to live life the AA way, it’s as if my existence is being broadcast live — not in a way that feels intrusive, but in a way where everything that’s shared, everything I hear, seems almost divinely scripted. The words people speak feel like they’ve been sent straight to me, perfectly timed to activate my thoughts, stir my emotions, and get my inner world moving. It’s uncanny how aligned the shares can be, as if they’re echoing my own inner monologue, often just moments before I’ve had the chance to voice it myself.
This morning, the phrase practice makes perfect jumped out at me — honestly, it practically slapped me in the face. That word, practice, has been showing up everywhere lately. It’s been a theme — a thread weaving through my conversations, reflections, and interactions. Just this morning, it came up in a WhatsApp chat where I was talking with someone about the 12 steps. I found myself saying something I hadn’t consciously put into words before — that taking someone through the steps isn’t a one-and-done kind of thing. It’s a continuous, unfolding practice. Even the act of doing the steps is a rehearsal for a new way of being: practising honesty, practising openness, practising vulnerability. It’s not about mastery; it’s about commitment. It’s about showing up every day and trying again — especially on the days when I feel like I’ve got it wrong.
Another time practice surfaced recently was during a chat with a colleague — someone outside of AA. Since I started meditating more openly at work, a few people have taken an interest. One asked me how I manage to stay so calm all the time. If only they knew what goes on beneath the surface! They shared that they’d tried meditating but felt like they were doing it wrong — that their mind was too loud, too busy, too stubborn. I explained to them what I’ve come to understand through my own journey: meditation is not a performance; it’s a practice. It’s not about achieving a perfect state of peace — it’s about sitting with whatever is present. Just showing up, breathing, and being in the moment, exactly as it is. In fact, it’s because the mind is busy that the practice is valuable. And over time, that simple act of awareness — of coming back to the now — starts to change everything. Someone in the meeting said something beautiful this morning too: “ABC – Awareness Brings Change.” That really hit home.
And there it is again: practice. Every time I sit down to meditate, I’m practising. I’m not achieving. I’m not arriving. I’m rehearsing. I’m training my mind to be still, to notice, to release — even if just for a few seconds. Like a magician mastering sleight of hand, I’m learning the subtle art of stepping back from my thoughts. As it says on page 86 of the Big Book — “God gave us brains to use” — so of course our minds are going to think. That’s what they’re built for. But with gentle, consistent practice, I can learn to observe those thoughts without getting swept away by them. And in doing so, I give myself the space to breathe.
The third time practice came up was after someone said something I’ve heard quite a lot in the rooms: “I’ve been doing this AA stuff a while now, and I’ve not had a spiritual awakening.” When I hear that, my brain instantly conjures the scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail — the clouds parting, and God, wearing a huge crown, booming down from the heavens. If only it were that dramatic! But for me, spirituality isn’t loud or cinematic. It’s quiet. It’s subtle. It’s in the nudges, the little signs, the feelings that settle into my gut. If I wake up each day with gratitude, thank my Higher Power for the life I’ve been given, and walk through the day with open eyes and a soft heart — then without fail, I receive what I now call my “daily spiritual awakenings.” Sometimes they’re small, sometimes profound, but always real. And they only happen because I practice conscious contact. I practice seeking. I practice staying connected to something greater than me.
And here’s the thing I’ve come to feel so deeply — I am incredibly grateful for AA, because it has taught me how to practice life. Not how to perfect it, but how to show up for it. Without AA, I would’ve kept giving up — again and again — simply because I wasn’t doing life perfectly. I thought I had to have all the answers, get everything right, never slip. But now I understand that life is not about flawless execution. It’s about being willing to keep trying. To stay teachable. To begin again, as many times as it takes. That’s what AA gave me. A daily invitation to practice — to live, to grow, to love, to forgive, and to be fully, imperfectly human.
ABC – Awareness Brings Change
The screen flickered,
dawn breaking in pixels,
voices a shared sunrise.
A feeling,
the world a stage,
each word a cue,
precisely timed,
stirring echoes within.
"Practice makes perfect,"
a hammer blow of truth,
reverberating through the day.
Not mastery,
but the daily showing up,
honesty a muscle,
vulnerability a breath held, then released.
Meditation, not performance,
but sitting with the clamour,
awareness the quiet turning,
"ABC," a whispered wisdom,
change born of gentle noticing.
The mind, a busy field,
thoughts like wind through tall grass,
practice the art of stepping back,
observing without drowning.
Spiritual awakening,
not thunder and lightning,
but the subtle shift,
gratitude at dawn,
an open heart the daily altar.
Not perfection sought,
but the willingness to begin again,
to stumble and rise,
teachability the constant companion.
AA, the gift of practice,
to live imperfectly,
to love with open hands,
to forgive the self, and the other,
a daily invitation
to the messy, beautiful truth of being.
