What is it you really want?

 One of my daily readers asks the question, "What is it you really want?" versus what you think you're supposed to want, or what I'd add, what you may have wanted in the past but now aren't so sure?

What initially came to mind is the standard "health and well-being for me and my loved ones," but then I wondered if the question is really more about "what do you want to do?" Sure, I want world peace and prosperity for myself and others, but those are more generalized and not things I have much control over. But "what do you want to do?" gets into the grit of how I live my life. 

I think of sober habits, picked up in treatment and now simply a part of who I am - make the bed each morning, time with daily readers, which have changed several times over the years - small morning habits that set the stage for practicing the principles in all my affairs. Meetings are part of my recovery habit - yes, still.  I like "us" and I appreciate hearing how others live life on life's terms, or as a friend recently said, life on spiritual terms. I'm not a church-goer, and haven't had much formal religious education. I think of meetings as my spiritual home. Meetings and walking in the woods, as well as on the beach when I can get there. 

And then there is the whole deal of practicing the principles in all my affairs, the focus of December Step 12 work specifically, but really, the focus always. Something came up this week that I didn't want to talk about with my sponsor. I will acknowledge that at 37+ years sober, I do sometimes consult a couple of trusted others in lieu of my sponsor, seeing as how they've lived the back story with me. But this was sponsor material and I resisted out of fear around judgement, out of not wanting to be told what to do (neither of which my sponsor does). I realized that it was ego, the thinking I should have it all figured out by now, not wanting to appear less than perfect. Fortunately, another of the long-term sober habits I have is picking up the phone, no matter how heavy (or the email or the text). I know I'm as sick as my secrets, so I made the contact. And as I was reminded in a speaker meeting this week, I'm practicing Step 2 anytime I get out of my own head and reach out to another person in the program. 

I continue to be presented with serendipity as I'm relaxing into opening to the mystery. Just yesterday I got a call from someone I've known professionally for many years. In the course of the conversation, "one day at a time" came out, with his asking, "Is there a part of your story I don't know?" Well, yes, quite a lot of it actually. It turns out that I was his first phone call after learning that an alcoholic family member had attempted taking their own life. I heard his voice crack as he expressed gratitude to know that there are happy endings. Coincidence? Maybe. 

So what is it I really want? I want to travel and spend time out of doors. I want to continue growing in our program, which, to me, means deepening my spiritual connections. I want to grow old with my spouse (oh wait, we already are old!), knowing there are no guarantees. I want my brother to be content, and his wife to further settle in to her memory-care foster home. I want to enjoy and appreciate my stepdaughter growing into a happy adulthood. I want to keep up my distance-walking and contribute to my overall health (again, no guarantees). I want to read good books and watch good movies. I want to gather with friends, actually or virtually (thank you zoom!) And, one day at a time, I want to continue living in gratitude for this life I'd never imagined.

What is it that you really want, and/or really want to do? If time and money were no object, where would the journey take you, whether that is related to job, home or adventure? Has serendipity visited you this week?

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Thinking of a year-end inventory? I've restocked my supply of the workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?"  with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Bermuda Triangle

 We've entered what's often called the Bermuda Triangle for those of us impacted by the disease of alcoholism - Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year (for those with food issues, that would be extended to Halloween). Holidays can be a mixed bag - for me, this time of year is fun (food! friends! lights!) and fraught with bittersweet memories of holidays-past, as well as missing those no longer here.

I remember the early years, when simply getting through the holidays sober was a big deal (still is). For several years (5?) I threw a big New Year's Eve party, with dancing in the breakfast nook (minus table) and a meeting at midnight. Since my sober date is January 3rd, it felt good to reclaim the holiday and to add recovery events to my memory bank. One year, our local Alano Club's annual party was cancelled, and I quickly realized that many of those folks were now packed into my living room. That's about when I stopped the tradition, a bit uncomfortable that I didn't know half the people there!

Over the years, my holiday traditions have changed - what started as an "after-Thanksgiving" dinner for those who didn't have family turned in to a funny gift exchange with the home group which morphed into a small gathering of friends old and new. After my mother died, we stumbled along with deciding what traditions to keep and what to discard (though the first few years were tough - Christmas was her holiday), and for years now, my husband and I have gone to my bestie's home for a big and boisterous creole feast. 

We do like to go to the Year-End Roundup in Seaside, OR - for me, it's about the beach, and the chance to hit a meeting in the town where I got sober, while my spouse is there for the speakers. I'm a morning person - would much prefer an early walk New Year's Day to staying up until midnight (years ago, a friend suggested "New Year in New York" which is 9pm here on the west coast - brilliant!). I'm grateful to know my rhythms these days, rather than the years I tried to fit others' internal preferences. 

I do tend to think of the new year in spiritual terms, much like Solstice, which for twenty years now, I've marked with a women's meeting. I know that the calendar is simply an arbitrary marker of time, but I appreciate the deep breath of reviewing months just passing, and anticipating what is ahead. Always present is the memory of Christmas 1985, knowing I'd be going to treatment in a few days - scared, with the tiniest bit of hope that my life could be different. Even though that was a long time ago now, I can still feel the trepidation as well as the relief when the spinning top that was my addiction finally came to a stop.

Other than a few late-in-the-year early birds, my school classmates and I will turn70 in 2024. How very strange that sounds. There is a small handful I see regularly, and we have walked the gauntlet together and separately over the years. I've been contemplating a proper marker for this milestone year, and in a somewhat random conversation on another topic, recognized a fellow traveler who mentioned something I've long wanted to do myself. Nothing written in stone yet, but I'm appreciating the serendipity of being in the right place at the right time with a rightly opened mind. Like when I picked up the community college schedule that had been sitting on my desk for weeks, and it randomly opened to a writing class that seems right up my alley (zoom, 5 weeks, hopefully just enough to start my motivation engine). Suit up and show up and pay attention, remembering that messages rarely show up as skywriting or megaphone JEANINE THIS IS FOR YOU. Wouldn't that be nice??  

And so, December fast approaches. Our outdoor lights are up, but I'm a traditionalist and won't turn them on until the first. I've had a few things cancel this week so am exhaling into the empty space, if not hibernating in the darkness, at least allowing the slow-down in a time when media pushes frenzy. I have choices today, to go with the flow and step off the escalator when the opportunity presents itself, or jump into the fray and then wonder why I feel stressed. Today I choose peace.

What holiday traditions feed your soul? If you are in a place of transition, how will you honor your heart while finding safe places to simply "be"? Where is serendipity showing up in your life today, via a random conversation, something you read, or a chance meeting?

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Thinking of a year-end inventory or a holiday gift for a sponsee? I've restocked my supply of the workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?"  with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Open to serendipity

 It struck me, as I've listened to others talk about their on-going ins-and-outs of the spiritual experience that maybe, perhaps, all that god-shot stuff I say I miss, happens when I'm vulnerable, open, and less invested in "my ideas," old or new. I think of times in early recovery when the right person showed up, or the letter came in the mail or the check appeared just when I needed it. I think of when my mother died, and there was her physician in the grocery store parking lot, sharing kind words (and never seen since), or when an important ex died and he was in my dream saying goodbye before I was told he'd passed. I think of the time I was out of work, withdrawing my application from one position but thinking about another, and the phone call that came just days later with the offer to apply for that job that I ended up retiring from. 

Maybe this stuff happens often and I just don't notice, or chalk it up to coincidence. Maybe it's only when I'm grieving or scared or otherwise hammered down by life that I'm more receptive to serendipity, to viewing seemingly random events as Spirit saying, "Yeah, I'm here." 

I do not pretend to be any sort of Christian, but I think of Teresa of Avila, who is reported to have levitated on more than one occasion. I think, "Well of course she did." Without television or radio or books or social media, etc etc etc to distract her, it makes sense that the spiritual energy she felt could lift her off the ground. Our world is so busy, with the near constant onslaught of information (if I so choose) that it makes sense that a bird's morning song, or the sand dollar on my beach path, or the phone call that comes just when I was thinking of my friend are barely noticed. 

I am reminded again and again that "the spiritual life is not a theory." OK, so what does that mean in the course of my life? Paying attention, yes. Pausing when agitated, definitely. Many of my peers talk in meetings about their daily prayer to be of service. I have to admit I rarely say that prayer, for fear that it would inconvenience me. Yes, selfish and self-centered, with a bit of magical thinking thrown in. Think "la la la" with eyes closed and ears plugged. What I've learned over time is that if the universe wants my attention, it will get it, whether that is a service opportunity, or, say, losing a job that didn't fit anyway. And the truth is that I am of service in several different areas, but along with the "No!" voice is the whisper that it's never enough, that I should be doing more, that I should be more. Just for today, I can say, "Thanks for the input, but no thanks." Funny (as in odd, not ha ha) that the not-enough voice is still there. Not loud, and not always, but those tracks were laid early and deep.

The Big Book tells me that "lack of power" was my dilemma. Lack of power wasn't my dilemma, at least not by my thinking. My dilemma was that I needed to get high every minute of every day and a small handful of people told me I should stop. The thing is, all they said was "stop" without giving me an alternative. That's where you people come in. You didn't even tell me to stop, but said, "If you want to stop hurting, this is what I did." You offered a way out, and a way of life after the stopping. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

And thank you to the several who shared their appreciation for these weekly posts after last week's message about gratitude. These musings are a "must do" not a "have to."  I'm happy to have an avenue for my feelings and opinions. Wishing you a pleasant and peaceful Thanksgiving.

What are your thoughts about the spiritual experience(s)? How do you make space so that you can notice the unexplainable? If the spiritual life is not a theory, how do you put that into practice? What do you do to acknowledge old ideas without giving them power?  Again with the gratitude on this Thanksgiving eve (here in the US), what is on your list? 

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Thinking of a year-end inventory or a holiday gift for a sponsee? I've just restocked my supply of the workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?"  with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Gratitude month

 In AA, November is designated "Gratitude Month," likely related to Thanksgiving and maybe Step 11. Sometimes thinking of something to be grateful for is easy - other times a push, but always good to remember that gratitude is described as a spiritual elevator. Even if I'm faking it 'till I make it, the exercise helps me remember what it was like and what it's like now. I did not die at the end of a needle or behind the wheel of a car, which means that each day truly is a gift. 

Someone in a meeting once said that when they're having a hard time falling asleep, they go through the alphabet, naming something they're grateful for with each letter. Sometimes that flows, other times a struggle (Q? ok, quiet morning time with my journal, but K? U?). Years ago, I found myself classicly scrawling out things that upset me - the spouse, the job, the x,y,z with just a week later, those same exact things on my gratitude list. Perception. Perception and my being centered, or not. Sometimes the directive to write a gratitude list can feel Pollyanna-ish, head in the sand. And, even on the dark days, there is much to be thankful for - a warm bed, food in the fridge, gas in the car, and oh yeah, sobriety.

A memory came up recently, of a time that my good friend, Ruth, and I went to Seaside for our aftercare. Ruth was a character - my mother's age, funny, and very committed to her sobriety, having lost a son in an alcohol related car accident. She and I, and our other housemate (and still best friend), a decade younger than me, shared coffee and daily meditations in the kitchen each morning, laughing and crying over our individual drunk-a-logs. Those were magical times. 

On the particular day I'm thinking of, we finished aftercare and then hit the evening meeting at the Little Yellow House. The proverbial dark and stormy night, we were nervous about the 90-minute drive home, when one of the treatment staff invited us to sleep on the fold-out couch at his place and head home in the morning. His wife greeted us when we got there, with a look that said this wasn't the first time Joe had brought home a stray or two. Ruth and I were so grateful, so in awe of this AA thing that showed us service and fellowship in action. 

Maybe 10 years later, I was working on the locked psychiatric unit at a local hospital, and who was being admitted, incoherent and drunk? Joe. I was heartbroken. Heartbroken and confused. How could anyone as serious as he'd been about sobriety be sitting here slurring his words? Once you've fully conceded to your innermost self that you're alcoholic, how do you un-concede?

That same best friend/early roommate told me that people forget. People forget the pitiful, incomprehensible, demoralization. They forget that they have a disease, that it's alcoholism not alcohol-wasm. I don't walk around in fear of being struck drunk, but I am acutely aware of the danger of forgetting I'm an alcoholic. I hear too many stories of those who drank after decades sober and have a hard time getting back, or those who "slipped" only to suffer a terrible fall or car accident or blow to the head. I feel solid in my recovery, and I am not immune. 

Recently I read a quote attributed to Marcus Aurelius - Understand that your time has a limit set to it. Use it then, to your enlightenment or it will be gone and never in your power again.  As I age, I'm noticing more, paying attention more to reminders that I'll only pass this way once (as far as we know). Where is my attention today? 

And, where do I acknowledge my age without throwing up my hands in defeat? An example - this week I volunteered for leaf-raking detail up in Forest Park, a three-hour stint with twelve other people, getting fallen leaves off the trails. In years past, I would've gotten up early to go for a run or walk before heading out, but this time, had a little talk with myself. "Jeanine, you're not 49. You're not even 59! It's ok to enjoy your morning coffee and then drive up to the woods." Trust me, my legs and torso are feeling it. Could I have squeezed in three or four miles on the pavement beforehand? Sure, but why? "Motion is lotion" for the joints, I'm told, and I've really got nothing to prove (though I must admit to enjoying sharing my past trail running experiences with a couple of younger runners on the crew. I know, I know - I don't look like my story, either the before or the after).

And so, today, on a gloriously colorful November morning, I am grateful for all my senses, for this body that takes me outdoors or to the computer for zoom meetings. I am grateful for a strong marriage, for good, solid friendships, for memories old and new. And yes, for sobriety and that I've not un-conceded to my innermost self the true nature of alcoholism. I'm also always grateful for Bill and Bob, and that Bob said "OK" when Bill came over to talk. One alcoholic to another., sharing experience, strength and hope.

What is on your gratitude list today? How do you keep the memory of your own pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization fresh without it being morbid reflection? What will you do for your sobriety today? 

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Thinking of a year-end inventory? I've restocked my supply of the workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?"  with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th