Bozos on the Bus

Why life is a matter of perspective

Most AA meetings start at 8 PM. So it was, in May 2022 that my friend Ron and I found ourselves driving through the backwoods on Princeton, running late and arguing.

Ron has more time than I do - back then he’d celebrated his 5th anniversary while I had a mere 90 days. The car belonged to me and most nights, I’d pick him up at his house, whereupon a funny ritual would unfold. At his insistence, I’d get out of the car and into the passenger seat and Ron would take the wheel. Usually, we enjoyed each others’ company as we drove. This day I must have struck him as over-confident and he delivered an array of criticisms as he piloted the old Prius towards the meeting house.

“You think you’re in control,” he said repeatedly.

Control is a big deal for Alcoholics - the most famous page of the Big Book (our founding text) describes the alcoholic as “someone trying to run the whole show, arranging the lights, the ballet, the scenery and the rest of the players in his own way".

This control-freak metaphor has always puzzled me. Why would people who are considered out-of-control, once sober, struggle with letting go? Having been sober some time now, it’s obvious that substances are just a symptom. The need for control is what makes using so alluring for us - dealing with “life on life’s terms” requires letting go and being zen-like despite our feelings, which does not come naturally.

Back on the road, he was now trying to explain with metaphors. “We’re all just Bozos on the Bus”, he explained. Nobody has the wheel and God is the driver. In all likelihood, I was irritated by the scrutiny and kept switching the focus to avoid saying what he wanted me to.

I vaguely remember asking him to explain it again, but now in terms of cars. Did he mean a gas car, electric or hybrid? What about self-driving cars? “Explain God in terms of self-driving cars”, I said. Luckily, we were wearing out seatbelts.

As Ron began to answer, a squirrel appeared, stage-left and without pause ran into our path. You’re not supposed to brake when this happens and Rob didn’t. He didn’t even flinch, driving full-speed ahead without reacting to the sound of the tire crushing the squirrel’s head.

Finally, something to shut me up. I thought of the squirrel. That morning he woke up, spent the day searching for nuts for his family and exploring the forest. Where did he go wrong? Did he make a mistake?

All I could think was that he was dead before he woke up.

It’s chilling to see life like this. No control, all fate. Ron and I survived because he didn’t react. The squirrel died because, who knows? Bad luck? Or just because his time was up?

We arrived at the meeting and sat in the dark car, still arguing about metaphorical drivers. Finally, we went inside, to the comfort of a room full of people who’d surrendered to fate a long time ago.

The other bozos on the bus.