Why can't all AA meetings be like this?

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This is my AA meeting in Hawaii. As you can see, it ain’t no church basement.

It calls itself 12 Coconuts, and it’s my “home group,” in AA-speak. The designated spot on Waikiki beach is a 10-minute bike ride for me every morning at 7:00 a.m. Going is not a chore or some onerous obligation, but something I look forward to the night before. That’s a first. Does anyone truly look forward to being in AA? It’s no surprise that this oceanside meeting is known around the world as one of the best, and it attracts its regulars, visitors, and even the odd celebrity on vacation.

With a setting like this, who wouldn’t want to be an alcoholic? A morning stillness invites in the flower-scented air. The ocean waves are just waking up, and little red-crested cardinals land inside the circle to say hello. At 7:00 in the morning, it’s a balmy 25° C.

But it’s not just the Hawaii-ness of it all that makes 12 Coconuts so fine. The fellowship is tight-knit and affirming. It’s also a reminder of how immense this whole alcohol thing is. In the first week of moving here, I heard people from Mexico City, San Fransisco, Barcelona, Hollywood, New York, Sydney, and New Orleans share their stories. The loyal regulars welcome visitors with a little aloha song, and in addition to the insight and support, there’s laughter. A lot of laughter. This is the happiest AA meeting I’ve ever been to.

Maybe this is how it should be.

12 Coconuts is anything but a bunch of sad sacks mumbling into styrofoam cups. It’s a celebration of hope and faith. Take legendary member, Norma Jean. When it’s time for her speak, she doesn’t talk timidly from her chair. Norma Jean gets up and lays it down. She struts and shimmies around the circle rhyming, rhapsodizing, and preaching. It’s like church with swear words and one-liners. (Norma Jean gave me permission to write about her and her stories. Turns out she’s a celebrated convention speaker who has spoken on all five continents. She’s kind of AA royalty).

Wearing a different carnival-like outfit every day, Norma Jean drops gems like:

“Fear is the darkroom where negatives get developed.'“

“If someone asks me why I believe in God—something I can’t see—I say, ‘you can’t see your brain either, but it don’t stop you from thinkin’. You can’t see your lungs but it don’t stop you from huffin’ and puffin’!

“I’m so happy there should be TWO of me!”

In the past I’ve struggled a bit with meetings. Not with the message, but with the energy. I don’t know how many times—especially in treatment—a message of hope and tone of spirituality spreads through a meeting, then as soon as it ends, a group of dudes revert back to talking about money, cage matches, fast cars, and I swear, drop the f-bomb every fucking third word.

And there’s the smoke pits. Every meeting, a dirty smoking area or suffocating parking lot. It’s difficult to explain, but sometimes it seems like the hour of new beginnings and recovery is erased as soon as the vape pens are drawn.

Maybe that’s why I’m so taken by my 12 Coconuts meeting. Not just because it’s so tropical and scenic. It’s bright. It inspires. And when it ends, the energy carries on.

It goes without saying that it’s not the place, it’s the program. Recovery is inside the person, not the setting. Hope, spirituality, and connection can occur in a rainy parking lot, windowless classroom, or shitty Tim Hortons. A meeting doesn’t need an ocean breeze and singing birds for the magic to happen.

Or does it?

This got me thinking about awe. That once in a while we need awe and amazement to shake us out of ourselves. To see something so grand and extraordinary that it’s undeniable there’s something bigger at work. In my morning meeting, looking at the infinite ocean—with its nine shades of blue—I am in a state of wonder. And we could all use wonder right now.

Awe is essential to resetting ourselves, slowing our brains, and removing us from preoccupations that are small, petty, and momentary.

In this lucky setting, my meeting is jam-packed with meaning and awe. And I’m running with it.

There’s a lot of research out there about the physiological benefits of awe. I like how wellness author Sharon Salzberg calls awe the “absence of self-preoccupation.” Well, guess what. That’s a lot of what AA is about.

I’m very fortunate to have this experience, living in Hawaii for a spell. I really needed some awe this year. Something to transcend me and make me feel present at the same time. It does feel surreal that my daily AA meeting is a cartoon version of a tropical island. But I’m writing this to celebrate it, not show it off.

My new daily routine is fundamental, and pretty darn cool. I wake at 6 a.m., make a smoothie (papayas are cheaper than bananas here, and nothing is cheap), then bike to the meeting and hang with people afterward. Later, I sit on the same bench every morning and watch the water. The surfing lessons. The people. Then I read a book, get sunburned, and play in the ocean until lunchtime, when I bike back to our apartment on campus to write in the afternoon.

Not bad. It’s bound to keep a guy awestruck. And sober.