7.26.25
Today I went to get my sleeve worked on. My tattoo artist is in recovery too—I call him an OG. His story is moving, and I’ve got a ton of respect for him. I walked in expecting some pain and some beautiful art, but I walked out with more than I paid for. He served up some humble pie. Not cruelly, not unsolicited—I asked for his opinion, and he gave it to me straight.
Yesterday I journaled about not feeling ready to be a sponsor. I told him that, and he reminded me that some alcoholics out there are still suffering and desperate. They don’t have time to wait for me to be selfish. That one stung. But it needed to.
When I got home, I pulled out Daily Reflections since I ran out of time this morning before meeting with my sponsor. And of course, there it was—right there, what I needed to read. That kind of timing isn’t coincidence.
As a newcomer I was told “we have to give it away in order to keep it.” That keeps ringing in my ears. If I’m really willing to go to any lengths, I better raise my fucking hand.
So tonight I’m going to chew on that humble pie, pray, and stay open. If the right situation comes up, I’ll be willing to sponsor. Even if I don’t feel “ready.”
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