Let me paint you a picture.
14th hole. Fall evening. Golden light, crisp air, and a fairway that looks like it was painted by someone who cares. Fall golf might be my favorite.
I've just pured a 5-iron from 191 to a front pin, into the wind, over water, with a postage stamp of green to work with, and it ended up six feet from the hole. Without thinking I looked at my buddy and said, "Little three-quarter punch with a controlled fade, took the spin off the back slope, checked up perfectly."
He looked at me like I was speaking Klingon. Fair. Golf language sounds absolutely unhinged to anyone who isn't in it. "Hosel rocket." "Chili dipped." "Texas wedge." We say these things with complete sincerity and zero awareness that nobody knows what we're talking about.
Here's why I bring this up.
On that same walk, my buddy asked me a really beautiful question about the 12 steps. Genuine. Intentional. He wanted to understand this part of my life. So I started explaining one of the steps word for word from the Big Book, the way I've heard it a hundred times in meetings. The nuances. The weight behind each word. Why "admitted" is different from "acknowledged."
And somewhere around minute three, I saw it. The same look he gave me after the 5-iron explanation. The polite nod. The eyes that say "I want to be here for this, but I'm lost."
I'd spoken recovery like I speak golf. Like an insider who forgot not everyone has the decoder ring. The problem wasn't his lack of interest. It was my lack of translation.
So I went home, opened a sparkling water, and did what I love to do. I started writing. Chasing the right words is a rush for me. I wanted to rewrite the 12 steps in a way that when someone who loves me asks about them, I can invite them in instead of accidentally shutting them out. And what resulted was me feeling more deeply connected to them than I have in a long time.
So here's what I came up with. And I figured I'd share.
Step 1: Okay, I'm not okay. Admitting alcohol had won and life was out of control.
Step 2: Hope cracks the door. Starting to believe something bigger than us could make us well.
Step 3: Hand over the keys. Deciding to trust our whole lives to God's care, as we understand God.
Step 4: Reading my own receipts. Taking a brave, honest look at our moral life.
Step 5: Secrets lose their power. Telling God, ourselves, and one trusted person the full truth about what we did wrong.
Step 6: Done white-knuckling it. Becoming willing to let God reshape the parts of us that need it.
Step 7: Pride takes a seat. Humbly asking God to do the changing.
Step 8: The list nobody wants. Naming everyone we hurt and getting willing to make it right.
Step 9: Making it right, carefully. Going back to repair the damage, unless that would cause more harm.
Step 10: Don't let the receipts pile up. Checking ourselves daily and owning it fast when we blow it.
Step 11: Keep the line open. Praying and listening, seeking God's will and the strength to follow it.
Step 12: Now pass it on. Waking up spiritually, carrying hope to others still struggling, and living it everywhere.
That's the walk. That's the whole thing. Twelve steps that changed my life and are changing my life, written in a way that I hope lets you in.
Because here's the thing. Most of the people reading this aren't in recovery. But you love someone who is. Or you're curious about what this world looks like from the inside. Or maybe you're just trying to understand why your friend or your brother or your spouse keeps going to those meetings and comes home a little different every time. This is for you. This is me opening the door and saying, come on in. You don't need the decoder ring. You just need to know it matters. And it does.
And if you are in recovery, maybe this helps you talk about it too. Maybe the next time someone you love asks about the steps, you don't have to recite them from the Big Book. You can just say it in your own words. And watch them lean in instead of politely nod.
Not perfect, but good.
P.S. If you want to see the ‘official’ 12 steps from the Big Book, click right here. Don’t worry, it’s not as confusing as a hosel rocket. Almost.
