Life on life's terms...

How many of us have been out and about with a non-program friend and been greeted by all sorts of people who wouldn’t normally mix - men in suits, tattooed women, gender-queer, straight arrows - you get the picture. Our non-program friend is likely to say, “How do you know him/her?!” to which we coyly reply, “through a mutual friend” (meaning of course, Bill Wilson). It is one of my life’s great joys to share recovery rooms with people I wouldn’t otherwise know - bikers and bankers, artists, doctors and nurses, coaches and clerks. We are a wide spectrum of humanity.

One of the advantages of being in long term recovery is that I know a lot of people. One of the disadvantages of being in long term recovery is that I know a lot of people. Knowing a lot of people means that I am privileged to share in the joys we experience as we move through this life - weddings and graduations, pregnancies and adoptions, trips abroad and across the state, getting that job, falling in love for real this time. Of course, this means that I also share in the pains we walk through as life on life’s terms comes calling - illnesses, deaths of loved ones, losing jobs, heart break, heart ache, longing... Again, you get the idea.

What I'm describing is the entirety of the human experience, which means, as the old R&B song says, "you've got to take the bitter with the sweet." Getting close to people will hurt at some point. Period. In writing about romantic relationships, David Richo said that one of you will either leave, or die, and the sooner you can make peace with that, the better.

I remember when I got to know Mark, one of the early long-term survivors of the HIV virus. He’d been associated with the treatment center I attended, though I knew him only in passing at that time. Then, there he was, sitting next to me at the acupuncture center, where I lay prone in early sobriety trying to calm my inner demons and he sat as an adjunct to the medical treatment he received for AIDS. We saw each other regularly, and once, went to see a silly comedy together in the middle of the day, nearly alone in the theater  (celluloid therapy, he called it). I remember at the time thinking: Don’t get close to this man. He’s dying and that will hurt. And it did, but my life was richer having learned who he was, and watching him walk his final months with grace and dignity. 

Sometimes, when life seems to be hitting those I care about full force, I'm momentarily confused - what emotions are current, and which spring from that deep well of loss, and does it really matter anyway? What I've learned over time is that showing up can be painful, and I wouldn't have it any other way. During one of our acupuncture clinic conversations, when I was unsure about a new romance, Mark said, "Go for it." He said that when I have the chance to love, I should take it, because you just never know how much time you have left. That applies to all sorts of love - friends and kittens, and life partners; music and nature and tall lattes. I want to give myself to my loves, instead of holding back out of fear, or saving some for later. Later is now. Today is all that we have. 

I have a bracelet of glass charms that says: dream deeply; love strongly, live boldly. That is my goal today and all days, whether the news in my world is good or not. I don't need to try to run from, or hide from big emotions anymore - mine or anyone else's. A number of my friends are going through it right now - challenging diagnoses, ill parents, a troubled marriage... By first and foremost taking care of myself - centered and grounded - I can be there for others, however that might look, in ways big or small. It's the 12th step, really. We are often asked to hold a moment of silence for the alcoholic who still suffers. Sometimes the person suffering is the one with the most years of recovery in the room.

We don't know how we'll be asked to show up in this life. How do you simply hold still and show up today, for yourself or someone else?