“Upon a foundation of complete willingness I might build what I saw in my friend.” (Chapter 1, Big Book)
For me, willingness means a meek and uncomplicated readiness to take certain actions. That’s not all, though. It is not merely a matter of doing extra things. All 168 hours in the week were already occupied. The very fact of taking new actions means certain existing actions must be stopped. I cannot have my cake and eat it. Worse: the new, required actions will often involve pain, boredom, or other discomfort or inconvenience; they will involve challenge; they will involve change. This must be withstood. Stopping certain actions also entails negative emotion and difficulty. There are thus four elements to willingness:
- Taking new action
- Stopping old action
- Accepting new difficulties
- Foregoing old comforts
When considering willingness, I consider all four aspects.
In a sense, however, the question of willingness kicks in only if there is no willingness, in that only the resistant have to summon the feeling of willingness.
For example, when I surrendered in July 1993, people suggested I go to a meeting every day, get service at all the meetings I went to, call lots of people, listen to lots of AA tapes (they were actual tapes then), and I just did. No one had to tell me twice, prompt me, nudge me, remind me, convince me, persuade me: it just happened automatically, because I had made a decision. A decision is a commitment to action that resists later changes in feeling, circumstance, or thought.
When I look at my action and it’s inconsistent, it’s only ever because I haven’t made a final decision; I’ve made a conditional decision or I’ve made no decision at all: I’m still surrendered to self. A shaky decision is no decision at all, hence the reference in the Doctor’s Opinion (Big Book) between the man who makes many resolutions but never a decision.