Welcome to The Open Path Project

I consider myself extremely fortunate to have maintained my sobriety since the first time I walked into a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel off-putting at first. I half-expected to be told I didn’t belong there, that I wasn’t really an alcoholic. Instead, I walked into something that, at the time, felt almost cult-like.

There were group recitations, slogans hanging from every wall—what I called “fortune cookie logic”—and constant references to God. Sometimes it came with the qualifier “as we understood Him,” sometimes not. There was a reading from The Little Black Book that leaned heavily into Christian doctrine.

I don’t have an aversion to religious ideas. But I was there because I knew I had a problem and I wanted to get sober—not because I thought I was joining something doctrinal. Then something I can only describe as miraculous happened: when I said it was my first meeting, people started sharing their stories. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel alone. I felt seen. I felt like I was among people who understood the struggle I was going through. They spoke about accepting powerlessness in Step One—not as failure, but as freedom. And in that moment, a mountain of shame lifted off me.

So I stayed, even though the meetings ended with the Lord’s Prayer. Even though some shares were hard to listen to. Even though the daily readings and The Little Black Book often returned to overt Christian language.

I was open about my questions. Some folks didn’t like that. I didn’t attack anyone’s beliefs—I respect faith—but I couldn’t accept being asked to adopt a belief system I didn’t choose. I struggled. I got subtle and not-so-subtle jabs. I thought about leaving more than once.

But I couldn’t forget that first meeting. The raw strength and hope I heard in those stories. I loved the concept of the Twelve Steps—even if I bristled at parts of them. So I started forging my own interpretations, working out what I believed the point of each step was.

I’d see newcomers shift uncomfortably when the meetings veered into religious territory. I wanted to speak up, but that kind of discourse isn’t usually welcome in a typical A.A. room. I’d watch them disappear after one meeting, and wonder if they ever made it back—or if they went back to drinking and struggling alone.

Eventually I realized: I can’t explain my relationship to A.A. doctrine in a three-minute share. When I tried, I’d go too long or say too much and get labeled “the one who overthinks things.” But I also had people pull me aside and say they found my shares inspiring. I’ll never forget one rough-around-the-edges member—plainspoken, a total opposite of me—who said, “You bring great sobriety to the group, Guy, and I’ll f***ing fight anyone who says otherwise.”

That stuck with me.

So I started writing. Reflecting. Exploring. As someone who thinks like a philosopher and finds inspiration in many world religions, I started asking: what would a more open version of the Twelve Steps look like? I didn’t want to replace them or attack A.A. traditions. I just wanted to offer an alternate lens. Something for the rest of us. Something that says: “You belong here, too.”

That’s how The Open Path Project began.

I’m glad you’re here. Whatever your background—faithful, skeptical, burned out, just curious—I hope you’ll walk with me. Let’s build something new together. Not bound by A.A. doctrine, and not bitter about it either. Just honest. Open. Searching.

What’s Ahead

In the coming weeks, I’ll be sharing reflections on each of the Twelve Steps through the lens of virtue ethics and timeless philosophy. You’ll also find essays, resources, and conversations that explore sobriety not as a belief system, but as a way of living in alignment with wisdom, courage, and inner clarity.

Eventually, I hope to create a space for thoughtful dialogue—perhaps through a newsletter, open meetings, or a community channel. For now, I invite you to subscribe (it's free!), read along, and consider what your own path might look like.

If that sounds like a path worth walking, I invite you to join me.

—Guy F.