My sponsor, who is retired, says that time seems to move more slowly when her agenda is not crammed full. Maybe. I look forward to those days when I can finish a project to my satisfaction in one sitting, when I can put something off because tomorrow is another open day. Tinged with that looking forward is the gut-deep understanding that this also means I'm moving closer to the end of it all. I'd like to make it to 100, healthy and alert. Seems a reasonable goal. I've run 10 marathons and done a 100 mile bike ride, so why not? Yes, I know - not mine to say.

In the meantime I will continue to be amazed at the passage of time. Where did September go? Never mind September, where did the past decades go? I've been married over 6 years now. It's been nearly 5 since my mother passed. I'm nearing 30 years in my career. My little brother will be 60 next month. 60! I remember holding him on my lap when he came home from the hospital. I was only 3, but I certainly recall being annoyed because he cried in the night. 60.

Several friends and I are organizing a 50th 8th-grade reunion - half a century. I was a late comer to our grade school - moved into the neighborhood before 3rd grade - but it is so fun contacting people from those years, thinking, "I've known you since I was 9!"  Crazy. And brings me joy that 3 of us on the "committee" are in recovery, with at least another couple from our class also in the rooms. As tail-end baby-boomers, we were fortunate to sober up...

A sponsee and I talked a while back about our years in program and how we have meeting-nostalgia, remembering when we all went to this particular place for lunch week after week, or the kick-ass dances we used to organize, or those who were old-timers when we started coming around.

I realize that I am bordering on being an old woman, and nostalgia seems to come with the territory. I jog (not quite ready to call myself a walker, though for all intents and purposes, that's what I do) in and around the old neighborhoods, memories seeping up from sidewalks and whispering  from the trees in the park where we practically lived on weekends during high school. I often pass the house where my cousins lived, the house where I hit bottom, where I grew up, the streets I walked to and from school...  Driving in the city sometimes comes with a disconnect, when one more Rite-Aid is where that funky old jazz club used to be, but making my way through the neighborhoods on foot, whether that's NW down by the Alano Club, or NE up near the grade school, feels familiar.

I'm grateful that the program feels familiar to me now. Those early years when everything was new were exciting times, yet terrifying. What next? Uh oh - now what? There are benefits to being an old-timer, mainly that I've walked through so much that not a lot throws me anymore. Not that I enjoy calamity, but I've lost jobs and relationships and people I love. I've moved, grieved beloved pets, watched the next generation of family members grow up and start their own families. I've worked steps and been in therapy and had sponsors, and sponsored many. And as important, I've watched and walked along with others going through their own pains and joys.

Such a gift, this sober life. I've said that before, and likely will again. I used to roll my eyes at those who counseled me to keep an "attitude of gratitude," but it's true - even when I'm tired and cranky, or feeling like too much life is happening at once, pausing to think about what might have been and about my many blessings, can always jolt me at least momentarily from whatever funk I may be in.

Life moves forward. I'm grateful for all that has gone into getting me to where I am today. And I'll continue to appreciate those memory-triggers that connect me to who I am and where I come from.

What are the memories that reach out to you from the past?