In the wake of the new focus on book study meetings a few years ago, I wanted to start such a meeting Thursday night, a night when there were no meetings in my metropolitan area. Admittedly, I wanted it near where I lived as well, but other SA members did live in the vicinity. I approached the church that I attended and was given permission to use a classroom for the meeting.

I announced the meeting, provided maps and eagerly awaited the attendees. A total of six attended the first meeting, at which we affirmed my vision for it to be a book study meeting. The meeting never had that many attendees again.

At least one out of every four Thursdays, I was alone with my literature, the treasury, and the key to the room. Had I been in an area where there were no other meetings available, I would have seen the need to stick it out. But there was obviously nothing attractive about this meeting aside from the book-study format. After nine months, the meeting folded.

Only recently has it struck me why this meeting did not succeed — I made this my meeting, my legacy. While I have known meetings that others started primarily out of geographic convenience, I also started it because I wanted it to be great. I promoted it. I did not trust anyone else to help me because I wanted the praise for the meeting to be mine. I was the secretary, treasurer and literature person. I almost envisioned myself receiving the “SA Meeting of the Year” award, as if there were one! I placed my personality way before principles. Since I kept the responsibility for the meeting to myself, ultimately I was left with myself.

I haven’t started any meetings since, but others have done so in my area. They sought out others who wished to commit to a meeting that filled a geographic or time-of-day need, and began them together. The “founder” then sought to give away his position and share the load. These have begun evolving into solid SA meetings as a result.

I thank my Higher Power for humbling me and allowing me to share with you this lesson in humility I had to learn in order to become, as a fellow member puts it, “just another bozo on the bus.”