1976. A twenty-three-year-old snot walks into a room full of old men in double-knit polyester and hideous toupees. Scott J. didn't want what they had; he had a "big fat ego" and a spiritual experience from a priest that he thought was enough. But the obsession returned, moving from criticism to the planning stage of the next drunk. He describes the "bitter morass of self-pity" and the "quicksand" of a life in shambles.
The turning point was a "blue book" and a directive: do what it says, write what it says. He recounts the lineage of sobriety in the Iron Range of Minnesota, where one man with a book could start a movement. For Scott J., the Big Book is an instruction manual, not a philosophy. He warns against sponsoring oneself—calling himself the worst sponsor he ever had—and emphasizes the "physical allergy" and the "great lie." He finds salvation in the agnostic's lifeline: the freedom to choose one's own conception of a Higher Power.
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