Sometime in the mid-2000s, I packed all I owned and left the snowy northeast. It was a monumental move for me as I didn’t know a soul south of the Mason-Dixon Line, but I was willing to go to any length to get as far away from the cold as possible.

Once settled in my new home, I was off to find a new AA home. Was I in for a surprise? There was a clubhouse ten blocks away, so I gave it a go. It was called 2250. I spent several hours figuring out what AA slogan or something in the Big Book had something to do with that number. It turns out that the club name was the number on the building. That was taking “Keep It Simple” to a new level.

The next challenge came later in the meeting when an old-timer got up while someone was speaking and yelled, “It’s an inside job,” and sat down. I was shocked, intimidated, and wanted to leave after hearing that outburst. I was surprised that no one in the room seemed bothered by that besides me. Once again, two speakers later, he got up and yelled the same thing, “It’s an inside job,” and sat down. Already, I knew that meetings in New England were better than in Florida. I spent my first year taking inventory of every group, finding things they were doing wrong.

During the second year in the South, I slacked off on the inventory taking and started to adapt to the new way of doing AA. That first meeting with the old guy yelling rattled inside my mind. “What did he mean, and why did he yell?” Then, the answer came at another meeting. A person explained how, when she leaves her house in the morning, she looks for ways to upset her, and there were many if she looked. She talked about the sun in her eyes, the crazy people on the road, and how bad their driving was. Then there was trying to find a parking spot at the meeting. After listening to her, I realized how I do the same thing. “It’s an inside job,” kept running through my mind. It was me who was creating my misery, and only I could change it. The message from the old guy had finally resonated. I could change the way I looked at things. And when I did, the things I looked at changed. What a simple concept, except its more challenging than I thought it might be.

During my drive now, I bless all those on their way to work in the morning so I can continue to draw Social Security and not have to work. Some mornings, I can’t help myself and use the middle finger, but now I do it below the dashboard and not out the window. For some reason, the gesture doesn’t have the same effect as it once did.

Twenty eight years ago, I moved to the country where it’s much easier to look inside me in the morning to see just where I stand. AA calls it “a spot check inventory.” Then, when I find something I don’t like, I realize it is an inside job after all. Instead of fearing that old guy who yells at meetings, I am grateful he is still at 2250 trying to carry his essential message if only I’m willing to listen. God bless that old guy.