Glimmers

 This past week, someone reminded me of the concept of "glimmers" - those sweet moments that often go unnoticed. I'm certainly aware of triggers, or annoyances, but how often do the small beauties pass by? Leaves changing colors, a child's shy smile, a kitten's cuddle, a tasty bowl of oatmeal, a text from a friend - all can be occasions to exhale into the joys of life. Note to self - pay attention.

We just spent a few days with my spouse's family - always good, this time even more meaningful with his step-dad's 95th birthday celebration. I piggybacked my own 70th birthday the day before, with a family meal and my free birthday Starbucks (!), and a very sweet and meaningful meeting and coffee after (complete with a Happy Birthday to You song and candles) with our home-away-from-home group friends. I do truly love and appreciate my husband's people, and feel the same about the AA family that we've been pals with from in-person visits over the past 10+ years, and now weekly via a zoom group we all attend. Family of chance and family of choice - I'm fortunate in both departments. And funny enough, at another in-person meeting last week, I (of course) mentioned my 70th birthday. Afterwards, a beautiful woman came up and told me that she is 78, laughing that in recovery we don't necessarily look our age, or act our age - whatever that means. It certainly isn't what I'd expected.

A good friend reads Tarot cards as her alter-ego, Tarot Card Lady, and I was gifted a reading for my birthday. The Tarot is spiritual in nature, not fortune-telling, and my cards were overall positive for this stage of life, whether we're talking this year of turning 70, or the coming decade (the cards don't operate on clock time like we mere mortals). I sometimes use the Runes, too, as a means to help me remember what it is I need to know, i.e. that I am ok and can drop the now small rock of self-criticism, that I can handle whatever comes my way, that love really is the answer.

I recently came up close and personal with the disease in action. Of course I interact with newcomers at meetings, but this was someone I know personally, who's in that contemplation stage of "Maybe I do have a problem," where it feels like 1,000 miles across the chasm of denial and bargaining ("I at least want to cut down"). Oh man. Here in the bubble of long-term sobriety, I can almost forget the shame and disbelief, the fear that I'd never have fun again, and what will people think??  I can be supportive while doing my best to stay one step behind the person rather than trying to drag them forward to where they haven't yet been, remembering how weird the notion of not drinking or using seemed at first. Even "one day at a time" sounded daunting, like a trick of some sort. I'll never forget the old-timer at one of my early meetings, surveying the room, saying, "Don't let this one day at a time crap fool you - we're talking about the rest of your god damned lives." Well then.

And so, what will I do with the rest of my g.d. life, today? My seasonal elections work is about to ignite, there are house and yard chores to do before the weather turns, and a desk overflowing with bits of paper and things to be filed. And in the meantime, I walk in the mornings, secretary a couple of online groups, connect with friends. This week I'll mail off some Alanon literature to the spouse of the person newly acknowledging their alcoholism, hoping, hoping, hoping that something in the world of recovery clicks for both of them.

What "glimmers" do you notice?  How does the family of choice/family of chance play out in your life today? Do the people you care about know that you do? How do you carry the message of recovery, and is that different with a stranger or a loved one?

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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

"I don't know"

 One of my daily readers says, "It is a sign of strength, not of weakness, to admit that you don't know all the answers," going on to describe how pride, and the desire to be admired got in the way of humility. I agree - in fact a friend has said that "I don't know" is the most spiritual thing they can say. I don't think that pride was my driver as much as shame, simply not knowing it was OK to not know. My dad was the stoic type who wouldn't stop the car to ask directions, and held himself to a high standard (this is my guess - we never talked about it). So, probably like many in my generation, I didn't have many examples of adults asking for help, though my math teacher, the one who beaned me over the head with a textbook, once said, "The only stupid question is the one you don't ask." 

I was embarrassed to not know stuff before I got sober - I thought I was supposed to know, even when something I'd have no way of knowing. That surrender of admitting to my innermost self that I'm alcoholic was the first stage of being able to acknowledge that there is so much I don't know, so much I'm not in control of. A relief, though scary at first. And, always good to remember when I find myself in "figure it out" mode, as if thinking harder about something will change or fix it.

As I was walking on one of the first rainy days here in Portland, reveling in the change of seasons, the thought popped up of "So how do you want to spend this autumn?" not wanting to wake up on December 21 at the Equinox saying, "Wow - that went fast!" That will probably happen, but in the meantime, how do I want to inhabit this season? What do I want to do? How do I want to be of service? How do I want to be?

I feel a longing for spiritual connection, for time with myself, not simply grabbing a 30-minute nap between tasks or appointments or dates with friends - all important, and part of what brings richness to my life, and... it's harder to hear the still, small voice when I'm constantly on the move. Again and always, I don't want to pathologize my basic nature, and as the clock ticks, I'm more and more aware that I have a limited amount of time remaining. As an African proverb states, "When death finds you, may it find you alive." Or as Mary Oliver so beautifully puts it in her poem, When Death Comes, "When it's over, I want to say all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.., I don't want to end up simply having visited this world." I don't read this as a directive to DO MORE, but as a reminder to be present, to notice my life rather than glide on through. 

A friend was just diagnosed with the "big C", or should I say, "another friend" was just diagnosed. I'm telling you, this business of diagnoses, procedures, etc etc seems almost like the rites of passage I wrote about last week. The good news is that cancer isn't automatically the death sentence that it might've once been, with earlier detection and advances in treatment. And still, it isn't a word anyone wants associated with themselves or a loved one, or even a mere acquaintance. Again and again, we get, I get the opportunity to practice the principles in all my affairs. How do I show up, for myself and for others? How do I trust that all will be well, even when it seems otherwise at first glance. 

It's now been one year since my sister-in-law went into a memory care foster home. That flew by, though maybe not for my brother, who sees her 3-4 times a week. Sometimes she asks if he's married, and he'll say, "Yes, honey - to you." He tells me that some families are upset because their person doesn't recognize them, but those folks only visit once a month or less, so not surprising. I imagine there will be a time when his wife doesn't recognize him at all too, but in the meantime, he'll keep showing up for a visit or to take her out for a drive. I admire his loyalty.

I have a small handful of friends who are concerned about their cognition - a scary place to be. By my thinking, when you're gone, you're gone, but can only imagine the terror when you know you're losing your abilities. Aging is not for wimps and there seems no rhyme or reason for dementia. At first, my sister-in-law wondered if she'd done something "wrong." No. She was a doctor's office manager in her professional life, well read and a jazz aficionado. Intelligence seems to have nothing to do with it. The luck of the draw, as my brother told her.

And I just learned of another friend's relapse, yet again. Is continuous sobriety the luck of the draw as well? Do some people simply not hurt enough to stay? That can't be it, but I do think that the more times one slips, the harder it can be to get back and that using and drinking over time damages the brain. This damned disease - cunning, baffling and powerful. I certainly can't fix anyone else, but I can be there for support, and can utilize their example of the precious nature of sobriety and the daily reprieve.

How do you envision this autumn season (spring in the southern hemisphere) unfolding, and how will you be present for each day? How do you practice the principles, even when the world turns topsy turvy or you get news you'd rather not? As a person in long-term recovery, is sobriety still your priority (though granted, maybe in different ways than when new)? What is your relationship to saying "I don't know?"

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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

Rites of Passage

 Our daughter and her boyfriend moved out of state this past week - excited for them and this career move, and sad that we'll no longer be able to have spur-of-the-moment meals and conversations. We helped with the packing - me loading kitchen ware into boxes and Dad doing the heavy lifting to fill the rental truck. I never moved out of state, but as I wrapped glasses, nestling them safely in a box, I thought of my mother helping me pack for a move across town, sharing memories and laughter as the crates filled, hopeful that whoever actually moved the boxes paid attention to "FRAGILE" written on all four sides.

Kids moving out, moving away, leaving town, and creating their own life is a rite of passage, in this culture anyway.  Knowing that doesn't take away the longing to stop time, the worry about the road trip with trailer, the hopes that all will go their way. Many in my cohort have grandkids the age of my step-daughter, so my rite of passage may be a bit late, but we get what we get when we get it.

Growing up, my rites of passage weren't articulated as such, but related to what I may have thought as the privilege of maturity - smoking cigarettes, drinking, using drugs, making out with my boyfriend, not cognizant of the fact that the acts themselves meant nothing, no matter how grown I thought I was. I do remember, at my first wedding shower, and at baby showers for friends, being aware of the ritual nature of women coming together to provide passage from one stage of life to the next. It wasn't spoken, but the teasing, the gifts, the "this is what it was like for me" served as lessons, or at the very least, acknowledgment of life changing.

I often think of the ritualistic nature of our 12-Step meetings - the readings and format that is essentially the same wherever I go. I recall a holiday season, years ago, at our local Alano Club, back when every room was filled at noon and 5:30. There was no room in any of the meetings, but I sat in the outer hall, comforted by the cadence of sharing even though I couldn't quite hear what was said. Ritual and repetition are important for this alcoholic, and I've since incorporated routines into my sober life around holidays and change of seasons - the beauty of "take what you like and leave the rest," picking up ideas along the way.

I'm part of several traditions that have taken hold in the last few years - our monthly "old codger" lunch date with friends from grade school, a bi-monthly cousins brunch with those we were on the verge of losing touch with after our mothers passed, a white elephant holiday gathering and a big Creole Christmas feast at my besties, a lifesaver after mom died and I felt so unmoored at the holidays. Another friend and I pick peaches every summer; we visit my husband's family in the spring and fall, all things I look forward to, along with my yearly candlelight women's meeting at the winter solstice. 

Is there a difference between a tradition and a habit, those things we do because we've always done it that way (a kiss of death in the workplace)? Ideally, a tradition has room to evolve and change with circumstance, sometimes needing something new to fill a gap when the old way is no longer feasible. I'm thinking of when someone dies, or like in the pandemic lock-down, when so much was curtailed. For me, it comes back to the have-to vs want-to. If I grit my teeth with the thought of spending one more holiday with Aunt Sally (I don't have an Aunt Sally!), it's a have-to worth questioning. Sometimes I do things out of service to another - if Aunt Sally looks forward to the event all year and has few visitors, well of course I'll carry on. Checking my gut and my motives (is it me, me, me or what I can pack into the stream of life?) as well as how I might be of service, along with the ever present, "How important it is?" Will I truly regret the hour or two spent in a particular meeting or a meal, or can I get over myself and be in the moment?

Contrary to some of my peers, I'm actually a little excited about turning 70. I've read a couple of pieces recently by those in their 70's or 80's who say this is the best time of life. Sure, my physical abilities aren't what they used to be (ha ha or never were for me) but being comfortable in my own skin seems to expand exponentially as the calendar turns (and yes, I'm well aware that being in good health, physically, emotionally and financially makes all the difference). May I continue to dwell on positive possibilities, and seek out those who are examples of meeting life as it comes, sometimes gracefully and sometimes trudging uphill. 

To that end, I'm walking a half-marathon on Sunday - 13.1 miles - with a friend, on what promises to be a lovely day. As a past marathoner, I think of my mom, who said on more than one occasion, "How long is that marathon you're doing, honey?" to which I'd reply, "Mother, by definition, a marathon is 26.2 miles." She once asked when I was going to "stop all that" running here and there. My question back was "Why?" Sort of like the "Do you still go to meetings?" question - why do you ask? I will keep doing what I do until I either don't want to, or can't, and then I'll do something else.

What might you consider rites of passage, current or past? Did you recognize them as such at the time? As we near the holiday season (sometimes called the emotional Bermuda Triangle by those of us in recovery), what traditions do you look forward to, and what might you want to release? How will you strive for balance in what can be a busy time of year?

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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

Learning...

 As I mentioned last week, my husband and I drove to Seattle to hear an artist I've listened to since the mid 1980's. It was a great show, though I must admit to some bittersweet memories of a time that was both light and very dark in my history (the couple of years right before getting in to recovery). Today I can be grateful for the whole of it. As a meeting I used to attend had on the wall - I had to go where I went and do what I did to get to where I am today. Indeed.

Our visit with my old classmate was delightful - nice people that we hope to stay connected to when they move back to Portland. Something struck me, though, in our conversation. She and I were in the same "home room" in 7th and 8th grade, with a teacher that I found strict and borderline mean. My friend had a very different experience, telling me she went back to the school after college to thank this instructor for teaching her to write, which brought her success in university classes. Wow, I thought to myself. That was not my experience. Or maybe it was.

I've since been thinking about my school years. What exactly did I learn? When I think about 7th or 8th grade, I remember getting in trouble for eating candy in class, and talking about the previous night's TV show we all would've watched (Laugh-In, the Monkees). I remember the math teacher whapping me in the head with a textbook for acting out. I remember the talking-to about my "potential" and my choice of companions. I remember wishing I had nicer clothes.

I do remember our 5th grade teacher reading us Charlotte's Web, and the excitement of getting new books when the school-age book club orders came in. I remember my first male teacher in 6th grade, teaching from the newspaper, with Viet Nam and unrest in Indonesia as topics. I must've picked up basic sentence structure along the way, though I still don't know an adverb from a preposition. I do remember some practicalities, like in Home Ec being taught "Never measure spices over the dish you'll be adding them to" in case you spill.  I must've absorbed more than I recall, coming away from my school experience with a rudimentary knowledge of civics, a few words in Spanish, and a memorized quote from A Midsummer's Night Dream. I do not recall any bond with specific teachers, or memory of "this is where I learned that." My school years, in retrospect, were spent in the twisted, self-absorbed socialization process of "Will they like me?" "Am I OK?" "I feel so very awkward!" or "Who's selling joints?"

Does it matter at this point, where I learned what? Probably not, though an interesting illustration (again and again) of how my experience is colored by my focus. And in stark contrast, I remember very well where I heard recovery lessons, though the learning of said lessons has often taken years. Maybe it's the simplicity (Stick with the winners!) or the repetition (Keep coming back!) along with finally knowing it is ok to not know something and ask for help.

I'd had a brunch date at the coast planned with a friend this week, with a last-minute cancellation. I wrestled just a bit with how to spend this now "free" day, a momentary battle between the want-to (ocean!) and "should" (housecleaning!). As a friend pointed out, it is ok to follow my heart, and my heart wanted to dig my toes in the sand. Sometimes responsibility wins out, and sometimes I stretch out on the beach, lulled by the crashing surf as my attempt at meditation turns into a nap.

What are your prominent memories of school days? What did you learn, in class and in the "school of life?" Where are you with "should's" and "want-to's" today? What is your heart telling you?

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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.