the grand adventure

 I don't consider myself agnostic, but I do appreciate a lot of what is published on the weekly AA Agnostica page (substack).This last week (1/4/26), guest author Paul Pellet compared our alcoholic recovery to the classic hero's journey, noting that not much in AA is actually new, but draws on wisdom from many sources. Joseph Campbell also wrote about the hero's journey and how we all have times in our lives that take us on a archetypal path.

The first part of the journey is about separation, leaving the known, not sure of what lies ahead. That was certainly true for me - I understood that how I was living wasn't working, so took a leap of faith by turning my will and my life over to a treatment program, having no idea what a sober life could be.

Next comes the liminal state, the in-between where we've let go of the old but haven't quite grasped the new - the monkey bar analogy a past therapist used where I've let go of one rung, momentarily in mid-air. For me, this was the scary but exhilarating time of discovery, of following direction because I didn't have any better ideas, the "take what you like and leave the rest" adventure to see what worked for me. 

And then we return - to our daily lives, jobs, family, etc,  now able to guide others through the process, with rites and rituals in the sharing of our stories.

I've long appreciated the ritual aspect of our program. I can be in any meeting,, anywhere, and find comfort in the cadence of the Steps (even if I don't speak the language), the knowing that the meeting will follow a general, recognizable format. Even if I'm not actively listening, I can feel safe with the rhythm of the process. 

And that feeling of safety can often lead to tears, like in my Alanon meeting when the mere act of sitting in the circle brought tears to the surface as I thought about my brother and loss and the passage of time. I'd just visited with him after he'd been to pick up his wife's cremains and saw his attorney to adjust his will and financial intentions. As I sat with him, I could feel the family dynamic of not sitting still urging me to cut the conversation short. Why? I had nowhere else to be, other than being a support to him, listening to this man who isn't very social (an understatement) and now lives alone for the first time in decades. As Lila R said in her new year talk, pause, pray, proceed and sometimes the "proceed" means holding still.

I'm usually involved with my walking group on Saturday mornings, but we're on break until mid-February, so enjoyed the open space that let me attend a meeting that several friends like. The topic was related to identity, and how that (potentially) changes once we're sober. The discussion made me think of my cousin, who asked his sister, "When did Jeanine get a personality?" when I was a few years into recovery. Drinking and drugging me was either in the corner, trying to be invisible, or metaphorically dancing on the table tops. The true "me" is somewhere in-between. As a social introvert, I can hold my own at a party or meeting, but am usually very happy to get back to a cup of tea at home. 

Someone asked themselves the question, "What did I want to be when I grew up?" Though I'd never thought of it before, my immediate, internal answer was Pippi Longstocking - adventurous, independent, imaginative and joyful. When I was little, I had a recurring dream that I was in the Navy, in charge of uniforms and supplies before we set sail. I loved that dream - my own nighttime movie - and often went to sleep hoping to go there again. I also wanted to be a pioneer, like the Sager children who continued on the Oregon trail after both their parents died. 

Obviously I'm not a fictional character, and a century or so too late to be a pioneer, but what is it about those early wishes that might speak to me today and/or has informed my choices over the years? I'm not intrepid in a risk-taking sense, but I've had many grand adventures in many places I'd only read about or seen in a film. An ex could never understand my spending money on travel, preferring to have something tangible in hand. I'd rather have the memory, the experience of a shared smile with a stranger or a conversation with someone who wanted to practice their English. I think Pippi would want to come along.

How has the Hero's Journey played out in your life and recovery? Might you be on that path today in some form or another? What did you want to be, or do, when you were a kid? Has any of that played out in the here and now, whether you work life, social life or ???  

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Time for a new year inventory?   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 who prefer it, or hard copy mailed to you). 

Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. A reminder that the workbook is available at Portland Area Intergroup, 825 NE 20th. for local folks. And Jackie, of TMar, has a supply as well, if you're at a conference where they have a table.

a new year...

 The events in our lives happen in a sequence in time, but in their significance to ourselves they find their own order - Eudora Welty

And that significance seems to come and go, from monumental to mere memory; from a small blip to a turning point. On New Year's Eve, I took a neighborhood walk with several women I've known since grade school. We met at our high school, then naturally gravitated towards the park a mile or so away where we spent many a weekend night as teens, smoking pot and drinking stolen wine, usually until we puked under a tree or the booze ran out. On the way back to my car, I passed the house where I hit bottom, the one with the meth lab in the basement. Time marches on.   

None of this stroll down memory lane had much of a pull, like it might've at one time. Maybe my reactions, or lack of, are related to spiritual fitness? Maybe simply the passing of time? I do know that there are times I think of my mother, for example, with tears, and other times, simply a recognition or pleasant memory. Sometimes I think of my ex, the man who married someone else but still put me through treatment, crying for the pain I caused, and sometimes the memory is simply sweet, or neutral. Sometimes the sunrise or sunset triggers a sense of awe, and sometimes I barely notice. The beat goes on.

The beat goes on, and this weekend I marked 40 years of continuous sobriety. 40 freaking years. I celebrated by throwing myself a dance party followed by a meeting focused on gratitude, and how recovery turned out different than perhaps anticipated in the pre-sober days. We are definitely not a glum lot. And way more than a celebration of my recovery, this was a celebration of of our recovery, of community, of people coming together who may not have seen each other in years (oh how the pandemic changed things). It wasn't the "happy anniversary!" wishes that got me, but the "Oh my god! I haven't seen you in forever!" as people walked in the door,  shrieks of joyful recognition. and  connect-the-dots moments - my sponsor realizing she used to work with a grade school pal of mine; two separate groups who'd been at morning meetings that day talking about a 40th anniversary party they'd be attending, only to have someone they didn't know (yet) say, "We'll be there too." It's like Huey from Nova Scotia said in the Long-Timers meeting at the International in Toronto years ago - "What keeps me coming back is the love vibe of the people." Indeed. Grateful doesn't even begin to describe the joy in my heart.

I chaired my in-person homegroup on Sunday, and could remember almost glossing over when someone shared about having 10, 20, 30 or more years sober. Even 5 years seemed ridiculously out of reach in my first weeks and months. I'm not one of these people who tends to lead with how much time I've got (unless it's a birthday meeting, of course). I subscribe to the belief that we all just have today, having been in too many meetings over the years where a long-timer goes out and struggles to come back - maybe triggered by medication, maybe from simply forgetting they're alcoholic, maybe just deciding they're done with the sober life. I don't want to be one of those people, and I know that I'm sober today based on how I work my program in the here and now, not there and then. 

So, back in the saddle after a very full and fun social month of December, with entertaining, holiday events, house guests - a joyful time of love and laughter shared. Back to the gym, back to salad for dinner, back to not keeping sugary treats in the kitchen! And always an eye to how I can be part of the solution  today, with my morning readings and journal, regular meetings, and contact with trusted others. 

To that end, someone asked me, only partly in jest, to be their "retirement sponsor" as they make the transition from the daily routine to more freedom of time. That can be challenging, with shifting priorities and often a "who am I now?" focus. The part about seeing where our experience can benefit others doesn't just apply to staying sober. As a long-timer, I have a lot of life to share, when asked. And therein lies the key to my Alanon program - Did they ask?  One day at a time I can utilize what I learned from Lila R in a New Year's talk: Pause, Pray, Proceed. One day at a time, one decision at a time.

How did you enter the new year? How can you strive for peace and serenity when the outside world seems to be way off kilter? How can Let it begin with me ease both personal relationships and relationship to news of the day? How can I utilize the tools of the program to deal with uncertainty?

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Time for a new year inventory?   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 who prefer it, or hard copy mailed to you). 

Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. A reminder that the workbook is available at Portland Area Intergroup, 825 NE 20th. for local folks. And Jackie, of TMar, has a supply as well, if you're at a conference where they have a booth

Moving along...

I recently read that a new idea held by an old mind is really just an old idea dressed in a new outfit. To me, that fits in with the AA slogan (borrowed from the Bible?) that faith without works is dead. I can entertain all sorts of "new" ideas, but if they don't lead to action or an internal shift, I'm simply spinning my wheels until the next new thing comes along. Until I had the psychic rearrangement the Big Book writes about, I was dry (in those very few times I tried to control my drinking), and dry was an uncomfortable place to be.

In a couple of meetings this week, people talked about new beginnings, starting a new chapter, with new jobs, recent loss of a loved one, the simmering of an urge that isn't quite yet named, the pending new year...  While I don't have a big change on the horizon (that I'm aware of!), I do like to take time to ponder what went well and what didn't this year, as well as any lessons learned. 

One of my biggest lessons was that I'm more competent than I sometimes give myself credit for. As I've written about, I'm directionally challenged, so had a semi-valid fear about getting lost while walking the Camino, intensified when my friend broke her ankle and couldn't continue. But there I was, trudging the road, getting to my night's lodging each day, tagging along with others or seeking help from strangers along the way. I am never alone, even when I think I am.

I got word this week that the AA group I started, maybe 15 years ago (?) held it's final meeting, having stayed online after the pandemic. I wouldn't say it was a resentment and a coffee pot that got it going - more that the nooner I'd been at for a decade got very big and very young and I sought someplace I could more comfortably relate. Funny - along that line, someone dubbed it the old-people's meeting (hmmm) and then someone else called it "the NPR of AA." In any event, it was stellar for quite awhile, and then, for me anyway, faded a bit with schedule changes, etc. I hadn't attended in probably 6-8 years. That's the beauty of AA - whoever or however a meeting begins, groups take on a life of their own, until they don't. 

Over time, there have been several meetings that I lived for, with the perfect combination of fellowship, emotional honesty and spirituality as we all did our best to practice the principles. I currently have online groups that fit that description, though did find myself feeling a bit envious recently as a few people talked about their in-person home groups with reverence. What do they say? If you don't think your home group is the best group in the world, maybe it's time to find a new meeting. To that end, I'm making an effort at fellowship with the long-ago Sunday night home group I've gone back to. It's a big group (40 people?), and, I'm starting to connect with individuals - those newer in sobriety and those who've been around awhile. And that's what it's all about, right? The fellowship, the conversations, the "I've been there too" are what kept me coming back, and allow me to see where my experience can benefit others.

I had an interesting conversation with my brother as I near my milestone. He isn't an alcoholic (he got the family depression, I got the alcoholism), and sometimes will ask me questions, like when reading a novel that has 12 Step characters, wondering if the depictions are accurate. He wondered if I've been sitting on the edge of my seat for 40 years, hanging on for dear life. Gratefully, no, though it can be hard to explain my moment of surrender that removed the compulsion.

It's funny - my brother was there for my descent, though slightly removed from the daily insanity. My first husband's brother, on the other hand, wasn't. When we reconnected a few years ago and I told him the abridged version of my story, he was incredulous, saying he would've punched anyone who'd tried to tell him I was a drug addict. Yeah, I clean up pretty well, and the madness of the disease makes even us nice girls go places we'd never imagined (as I've said, I wasn't a good girl, but I was a nice girl ha ha).

As I write, a crew is banging around on ladders, tearing off old siding in order to repair any water damage and slap up the new stuff. Kind of fitting that it's happening as the calendar turns - discarding what no longer serves. Later today I'll take a walk with women I've known since I was 9, and from there, see my friend, the Tarot Card Lady for a reading in honor of my sober-versary. I fully anticipate being asleep before the ball drops in New York. Midnight is no longer my friend (if it ever was). 

And tomorrow will be 2026. Remember when so many were worried that planes would fall out of the sky when computers turned over to the year 2000? One more piece of evidence that I don't have a crystal ball. I can do my best, one day at a time, to suit up and show up and practice the principles - not perfectly, but humanly, and with gratitude for this sober life. 

 Are there any lessons from 2025 you'll carry forward? What old ideas might you discard?  What went well this year? How will you celebrate your successes while being gentle with yourself?    Wishing you the very best for the new year. 

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Time for a year end inventory?   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 who prefer it, or hard copy mailed to you). 

Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. A reminder that the workbook is available at Portland Area Intergroup, 825 NE 20th. for local folks. And Jackie, of TMar, has a supply as well, if you're at a conference where they have a booth

                  

Riding the wave

 In Speaking of Faith, by Krista Tippett, a book I picked up at a neighborhood kiosk, she mentions Einstein pointing to the theory, or fact, that "time and the experiences it holds and the wisdom it imparts work more like circles than lines" (p.12). Exactly. I've long realized that life's lessons come as a spiral. I may think I've dealt with a certain memory or characteristic, only to have it circle back around - sometimes with more strength, but usually the intensity is lessened because, ah yes, I've been here before. That certainly is true this time of year, with memories of that final (I hope) skid to the bottom.

We attended the End of Year Round-up at the Oregon coast this weekend - very light attendance, likely due to the date change (earlier in the month than usual) and weather, with a lot of flooding here in the northwest. In  addition to hearing inspiring speakers, I got to chair the 8am meeting at the Little Yellow House, a few blocks from the conference - the first place I attended a "real" AA meeting as my treatment stay wound down (staff let a couple of us near-grads go). My uncle was a long-time member there. When I first saw him in a meeting, I said, "You never saw me drunk, but I sure saw you - and you're in the right place!" Both he and his mother had decades of sobriety before they died (I was given her 2nd edition Big Book - I didn't know her well, but it's fun to see her margin notes). 

All weekend, I found myself breathing in waves of emotion, starting with passing the pull-out along the highway where I stopped on my way to treatment to shoot up for the last time. Did I know it would be the last time? Part of me figured I was getting the heat off by going in to treatment, a time out, but there must've been a tiny nugget in my soul that whispered, "You're done." Forever grateful that was the voice I heeded, once I saw what not-drinking could mean (not stupid, boring and glum by any means).

And, 'tis the season for memories galore. My former sister-in-law in the UK, who I've stayed in touch with over the decades, just sent me contact information for someone we've wondered about over the years - an Iranian man who was a friend and business associate of my ex and his brother. This guy was a lot of fun in what was a crazy and frenetic time. Whenever I hear Van Morrison's song, Wavelength, I picture him, my boyfriend and me driving around Beverly Hills smoking a joint, singing along at the top of our lungs. For these Middle Easterners, the Voice of America that Van sings about, was real, a link to a more open world they longed for as teenagers. It's been fun to exchange emails, with a vow to talk after the holidays. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, and everything in between. So good to connect with someone who was there.

This guy was also the first person to suggest I carry a bag of nuts or other small snack for those times my blood sugar tanked, noticing I got a bit cranky when hungry - which happened a fair amount when traveling with my ex's family and large entourage. Who knew? In those days, I seemed to know drunk and not drunk, barely in tune with my heart or my body. Interesting that others seemed to know me better than I knew myself. Again, grateful to have developed an understanding of what makes me tick, physically as well as emotionally, and how I best operate in the world (as in HALTS).  

The Alanon speaker at the conference shared what her sponsor said: "If a sentence doesn't have your name in it, it's none of your business." Brilliant. When I say, or think, "He should _____" or "Why doesn't she ______" and the like, I'm in None of My Business Land. Quitting drinking is one thing, but man oh man, quitting efforts to control and influence people and outcomes is quite another thing altogether. which is why I'll keep coming back to both programs.

And today is Christmas Eve. I can almost touch the sense of wonder and excitement I felt as a kid, the anticipation of Santa's visit. For all that may have been lacking (my perception), there wasn't any drama at our family holidays. Dad may have been hungover, and maybe there was a nip of something or other in his coffee cup, but Christmas morning was a sweet time of parents on the couch, and my brother and I tearing into our meager gifts. I remember when they gave me a typewriter (7th or 8th grade?). Reading was such a pleasure that I wanted to tell a story that took people to another world, never guessing I'd have to nearly die in order to gather material for my novel, Shadows and Veins. A good reminder that I rarely know how today's events and experiences will inform what's ahead.

Happy Solstice, Happy Hannukah, Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanza, or as Seinfeld said, "Happy Festivus for the rest of us." I celebrate love and recovery, family and friends, and the incremental return of the light, one day at a time.

How has your self-care been this month? Any areas that would benefit from extra attention? Whether from childhood or perhaps your recovery years, what is a warm memory you can call on if the sad times are talking to you? And a gratitude list is always a good idea. I am grateful to you, dear reader, and for this now nearly archaic form of sharing the joys and challenges of long term sobriety.

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Time for a year end inventory?   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 who prefer it, or hard copy mailed to you). 

Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. A reminder that the workbook is available at Portland Area Intergroup, 825 NE 20th. for local folks. And Jackie, of TMar, has a supply as well, if you're at a conference where they have a booth