Gurus - The Journey Magazine

What I Really Think
About My Guru
By Tim McAuley
n the winter of
2005 I discovered
something powerful.
As I sat on
my surfboard and
contemplated the Iinterconnectedness of my existence, I came to a realization
that all the words to describe anyone/thing in my
awareness field could be used to describe me. The world
around me does in fact reflect parts of me. I have played
with that concept quite a bit since the summer of 2005.
For years I have carried a note card in my pocket so
I can jot down key phrases about the people and events
in my life. I make time weekly to review what I’ve written
to look for those qualities in myself. I can’t recall a time
when the traits I’ve used to describe other people were
not traits I possess.
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When I’ve adored and admired
a certain person, I’ve searched
myself to see if I embody those
same qualities. I have, over the
years, written down the same
words over and over.
When I’ve adored and admired a certain person, I’ve
searched myself to see if I embody those same qualities.
I have, over the years, written down the same words
over and over. The qualities I admire are on a list that I
contemplate daily, and use as part of my vision-board
experience. I have gone as far as typing in the 38 qualities
of “her” into thesaurus.com so I could make sure I
knew exactly what each word contained.
But the real magic of this exercise has been found
in the negative traits and experiences. When I become
annoyed with people, I do the same. I contemplate each
word and ask myself, “Am I that?” I have grown much as
a man in doing so, and I know better what “good” qualities
I can cultivate further as a result.
My first glimpse of finding my own annoying traits
through the observation of others happened while I was
tending bar in Laguna Beach, California. On any given
night, “regulars” made up about 90 percent of the cli-
Ja n u a r y • Fe b r u a r y 2012
entele. Rarely did I have to ask “What can I get you?” I
knew all of their drinks, their drinking habits and most
of their dirty little secrets.
He said for months now he
would chuckle as the guy came
in and got in line to get a drink.
He really enjoyed watching
the two of us angrily exchange
words.
Most of us live our lives in a manner to which you
can set a clock. It seems that we are most comfortable
with routine. The patrons at Woody’s at the Beach were
no different. Happy Hour was often filled with familiar
faces, each day hosted different cliques. Most of the patrons
were there to have a good time and relax, but some
seemed to be there just piss on my Cheerios.
As I began to play with this newly discovered concept
that all people represent something about me, apparently
my interactions with people began to change.
One evening during Happy Hour a friend of mine/
regular sat at the window service area smoking cigarettes
and enjoying the evening air on the patio. The pace of the
evening was steady as usual, and the clients were familiar.
At one point in the evening the man in the window yelled
out through the smoke “What the hell was that?”
Startled, I engaged his question. He said part of the
fun at Happy Hour on Thursday nights was watching the
exchange between me and the Cheerios guy. He said for
months now he would chuckle as the guy came in and
got in line to get a drink. He really enjoyed watching the
two of us angrily exchange words.
Every time this cereal bandit came into the bar, my
skin crawled. He knew the buttons to push with me and
did so without fail. Each time I served him we almost
came to blows (I wasn’t a pacifist back then). I may
have hit him if I hadn’t felt so indebted to the owners of
the restaurant for helping me out through my first days
of sobriety.
That particular night however, I was merely observing
and trying to see what about him was in me. I saw his
pain. I saw how uncomfortable he really was with himself,
t h e Jo u r n e y