Old behaviors

 

Last week, at my seasonal job with elections, I did data entry work. That's not my usual duty, but I can type, so said "Sure," when asked. My first ever job, in 1972, was typing checks for an insurance company (at a salary of $314 a month), so addresses and names I can do. But apparently I pushed a button I wasn't supposed to, or some technological thing that resulted in an error. Twice. Not the biggest deal in the world, but my first reaction was to hide the mistake and just keep going as if nothing had happened. Never mind that everything on a computer is traceable, what caught me up is how quickly my inner sneak came alive - "I didn't do it." "It wasn't me." "No, I wasn't there."  My mother used to say, after I'd grown up, that she'd be so frustrated, knowing I was looking her in the eye and lying, though she couldn't prove it. Of course, there were plenty of times I was caught red-handed, like with the peanut butter jar half-full of Jim Beam in my underwear drawer that resulted in being grounded, but I generally got away with whatever it was at the moment. 

I've told this story here before, but when I was a couple of months sober, I came across a small amount of methamphetamine while cleaning out the basement. My first thought was, "No one will know," followed by "But you will." That was new for me - the idea that my own morals and values would have an impact on my behavior, rather than drinking that voice silent, or outrunning it. I think I always had that sense of right and wrong, but man, I did nearly everything possible to override it. Without the numbing of drugs and alcohol, that still, small voice came through loud and clear, like when I found a wallet in a shopping cart at the grocery store and took it to the desk. A scruffy fellow also in line was amazed that I was turning it in. I said to him, "I need to be able to sleep at night."

And that's it, isn't it? Practicing the principles in all my affairs isn't so I can get cash and prizes, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow - it's so I can live with myself, so that I can lay my head on the pillow at night knowing I've done the reasonably best I could that day. Not that I don't mess up, but the feeling in my gut that is my 10th Step, lets me know when I need to correct my behavior, make an amends, do some inventory writing if the same thing keeps coming up. And my "sobriety muscle" gets stronger each time I overcome the urge to cut corners or tell a lie, avoiding that terrible feeling of needing to hide something that unconsciously lead to the drink. Thank you to the internalization of the 12 Steps over time.  

This week, my husband and I are driving to Seattle to see a show, a UK artist who doesn't come to the States very often. I'm including it as part of my 70th year celebration (ha ha where I'm labeling nearly all I do this year as a birthday gift to myself). A grade school friend offered us her place to spend the night - very kind of this woman, who I last hung out with in 7th grade. Our paths diverged, as I followed the "park rats" and she joined choir in high school. And, over time, less of that matters. As always, I am grateful for relationships through the years, and the bits of shared history we have in common. Where in early sobriety I identified people as "AA friends," separate from "regular" folks (whatever that meant!), today I simply have friends.

As fates would have it, I got hit with a case of food poisoning Sunday/Monday. While retching, I couldn't help but be grateful for this body that recognizes a toxin and rejects it. I wish I'd paid more attention in the drinking years - I often drank until I puked, did so much cocaine I couldn't breathe out of my nose, ruined my veins with shooting speed that all these years later are still flattened.  All along my body was trying to tell me that what I was ingesting wasn't good for me. Hindsight is 20/20. And, there is nothing like being sick to make be appreciate feeling well. ODAT, I'm grateful for the good health that is my usual companion.

What does it mean to you to practice the principles in all your affairs? How does your conscience or still, small voice keep you on the beam? What is on our gratitude list today?

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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.

Paying Attention

 I walk in the neighborhood most mornings, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, sometimes squeezing in the miles before a time-sensitive day. What I've attempted to do this week, when I catch myself in what a sponsor calls my "top two inches," is to bring myself back to the here and now, the pavement, the cool of the morning on my skin. 

As I walked towards week's end, I did a mental gratitude list: an unlocked porta-potty (yes!), a teen on his way to school who gave a nod to my "good morning," parents with tiny children in strollers, end-of-summer blooms...  Several times I had to lasso my brain back to the present. How easy for me to slip into planning mode - cooking dinner or when to grocery shop, the ever-present To-Do list, a conversation I coulda, woulda, shoulda, or might yet have, one of my frequent jaunts down memory lane (aided and abetted by my often walking past points from my past - there is a quiet joy to aging where I grew up, and for a melancholic like myself, sometimes a slippery slope).

Gratitude lists have been referred to as a spiritual elevator. When I take the few seconds to do a reality check, what I might complain about are really mere inconveniences. Years ago now, I wrote in my journal all the things that annoyed me - my 14-year-old stepdaughter wasn't attentive in the way I thought she should be, nor was her father; I hated my job; neighbors were in my parking spot, blah blah blah. You know what's coming next - a couple of weeks later, I wrote a gratitude list, and every single thing I complained about was on it: my stepdaughter was so very sweet, as was/is her dad, I loved my job and have great neighbors. Classic, right? Again, and always, perception. Perception and a dose of the HALTS. I really do like you a lot better when I've had lunch, and enough sleep.

I did a brief radio interview a couple of weeks ago about my volunteer gig with the American Cancer Society, driving patients to their treatment when they have no other way there (other than paid rides). The radio person asked if, when hearing about people's diagnosis or prognosis, did I feel grateful that I'm healthy. Well, of course, but that's not really the point, though like in an AA meeting, hearing other's stories can be both a wakeup call, or, yes, a trigger for gratitude. But that's not why I do it. That's not why we recovery people are of service, or go to meetings, In fact, false comparison was one of the things that made me question giving up the drink - I wasn't as bad as him, or her, or them now was I? No, I think being of service is more about expressing gratitude for life in a tangible manner, a way to give back, to acknowledge that we're all in this together and sometimes I can offer a helping hand, whether in a meeting or in the wider world, and I don't need to think too hard about it. I'm not the type of person who over-gives as a way to feel good about myself. What I do is pay attention to what and who is drawing my attention, and if that attention fits with my intentions. One day at a time, one choice at a time.

We've registered for the AA International Convention in Vancouver BC next July. I've been to every one since getting sober, starting in Seattle in 1990, and so sorry that Detroit was cancelled in 2020 (though we did visit Intergroup there, when on a family visit). Big crowds can be a bit more jarring now than when I was 35, but I love seeing us come together from every corner of the world. AA is nearly 90 years old - I'm forever grateful to the forces for good that came together on that fateful day in Akron.

And so, beautiful September of cool mornings and leaves just beginning to turn, of ripening tomatoes and longer nights, let me be present to the moments as they unfurl.

When you catch your mind out ahead of your feet (or your seat), how do you bring yourself back to the here and now? Is the Gratitude List a part of your repertoire?  What are various ways you are of service, in or out of the program? What, or who, is drawing your attention this week?

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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.

Compassion and sorrow

 This week I am heartbroken over the drunk driving accident in New Jersey that took the lives of two men, on the eve of their sister's wedding. The driver, in custody, is reportedly a drug and alcohol counselor. How could this happen, you may wonder. It happens because the disease is cunning, baffling and powerful. It happens because too often, those who work in treatment confuse their job with their recovery program. As a supervisor, I can't tell you how many times I had that conversation - your job will not keep you sober. I do not know the story of the drunk driver, but I do know that two men are dead - one a father and professional hockey player, the other a coach, expecting his first child in December. Tragic, frustrating, confusing. And a reminder of the daily reprieve and the awful nature of random events. 

The Daily Stoic reader, on September 1st, speaks to the importance of "learning indifference" to the ups and downs of life, those events that seem to come out of nowhere. The Grace in Aging describes much the same concept - that most of what occurs in one's life is neutral and impersonal, whether a traffic tie-up or an unexpected diagnosis, someone's curt statement or the weather, or a tragic accident. Most of what I encounter in a day is not directed "at" me, though I can react as if to a personal affront if I'm not utilizing the pause. This awareness would be, I assume, no solace to those who grieve this week, whether in Jersey or the battlefield or the hospital room. My ability to accept that "sh** happens" is definitely impacted by my distance from the event, though empathy increases my compassion and sorrow for those I do not know, along with the knowledge that it could've been me behind the wheel. 

I am continually grateful that I got it, that once I fully conceded alcoholism to my innermost self, I haven't had to test the waters. I suppose that is a benefit of long-term sobriety - I haven't known anyone who returned to drinking or drugging "successfully," with a cocktail every now and then. And at this point, I have no interest. Heck, I feel crappy if I don't get enough sleep. I don't even want to imagine a hangover. One day at a time, I'll do what is needed to stay on this side of the great divide. 

I was in a good meeting this week on the topic of the fellowship, which definitely helped me in the "keep coming back" department. While most of those sharing were younger (though several have 30+ year sobriety), I could very much relate to the importance of the "sufficient substitute" for alcohol that the Big Book describes. I couldn't tell the difference between a Step and hole in the wall when I first came in, but I could relate to members laughing and having fun, and gravitated to my "litter mates" who were going to dances and driving to conferences, long dinners or coffee dates after meetings, hiking, movies - all the stuff that didn't exist in my life when the longest journey was from the fridge (booze) to the bathroom (drugs) and back. 

I think of those early days as kind of like high school might've been - traveling in a pack, a posse of people doing our best to grow up. Getting a job, getting a date, getting on a plane sober, having the tough conversation - you all helped me mature, and were there right along with me on your own journey, while my actual high school days were spent getting stoned at lunch, and getting drunk and making out in the backseat of my boyfriend's Mustang on weekends. I'm grateful that so many of us came into program in the 80's, having survived the 1970's - a ready-made peer group who understood the insanity of drinking beer for breakfast and chasing down the dealer in the wee, small hours of the night.

Over time that camaraderie shifted, as I imagine it is supposed to, as people paired off, got full-time jobs, moved away. My social network has definitely changed over time, with some drifting away from our common bond of meetings, some changing interests, some moving (though several of my closest friends live elsewhere - I guess that's the difference between situation-dependent acquaintances and true friends). I'm grateful for the whole of it. 

My ongoing quest is still and always, "relieve me of the bondage of self." The illusion of control, and of being right, dies hard. Singh (Grace in Aging) describes a sitting meditation practice as a way to let go of the attachments to me, me, me, that process of getting still and observing my thoughts. I've never been great at the sitting still part. I used a meditation app for a while, then realized I was mainly in it for the daily chit marks, whether I was actually in meditation mode or not. Might I try again?  Sure, but not this week, with a full schedule. Of course, I do understand that it's always something, especially when the task is a thing I'm not good at, or not really interested in. Meditation? Maybe next week. Yoga? Hmmm, maybe after the upcoming trip. Writing? Perhaps when the weather changes.  I think I'll go for a long walk instead. 

And so, this week, I relax into gratitude and compassion, and a healthy respect for the disease of alcoholism. One day at a time, I can do my best to be part of the solution, however that may look on any given day.

In thinking about what may have upset or annoyed you this week, how can you detach from taking events personally? How do you call on compassion for the injured and the injure-er when the disease strikes a friend or stranger? 

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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.

History

 Between the weather shifting here in the Pacific Northwest to a rainy few days (yes!), my husband's quarterly work schedule change, and September looming, I'm feeling the yearly pull towards new beginnings and possibilities. Never mind that it's been decades since I was in school, this time of year I yearn to stock up on office supplies and buy notebook paper, look for my next year's desk calendar, clean out the closets. We'll have more warm days, so it's far too early to change my closet from summer to winter wear, but the urge is there.

In the new beginnings department, I picked up the Secretary position for one of my online meetings. As much as I'd rather leave that for someone newer, who "needs" a commitment (oh please), I was due. I'm there most weeks anyway, and in the spirit of rotation of leadership, it felt like my turn. 

In an article I recently read, in Voices of Long-Term Sobriety: Old-Timers Stories from AA Grapevine,  a writer says the founders didn't mean for us to be going to multiple meetings per week, and that they practice the principles without regular attendance (although I'd add, at the beginning, there weren't many meetings a person could attend). A few stories later, another author says their recovery has a 72-hour shelf life, so they are a regular attendee. We are as different as our stories - alike in many ways, but individual in our application.

I feel so fortunate that I live in a city where, when new, I could go to several meetings a day if I needed to, and at the beginning, I needed to. I wasn't working, the heroin-addicted meth cook was still in the picture, and I was at loose ends. Those early meetings helped me establish the habit of sobriety, and taught me, by your example, that drinking was not the answer to either my problems or my joys. 

These days, AA/Alanon is a place of spiritual reminders and lessons, but also a place of community. It's where I see friends, close or acquaintances, staying connected over time. As I often say, no one ever says, "Oh man - are you still going to church?" I get it - meetings aren't for everyone, but I like walking into a room (or signing on) and seeing my people, whether we've met or not.  And I'm realizing that my frequent revisiting this topic has to do with my own internal "want to" vs "should." Two of my meetings are in the very-much-want-to category, while another few aren't. That's what I need to pay attention to, whether related to meetings, volunteering or friend dates. It is my inner, still, small voice that wants attention, not whether or not you or you go to meetings or don't, or are of service in particular ways, or bake bread. What works for me, today?  (which could very well be something different tomorrow)

This past weekend, I went with friends to a backyard concert, a benefit for musician's healthcare - really good foot stomping blues and a Motown cover band, and LOTS of pot smoking (as well as growing plants). Pot would not be my first choice were I to go back to substance use. Heck, it wouldn't be my third or fourth choice either, but it was interesting to see all the old stoners toking away. Most were in my age range, though in my delusional view, I tend to see anyone from 45-60 as being in my range. I felt no pull towards the pot - it was more curiosity and gratitude that I no longer feel the need to alter my consciousness. When first sober, I really feared that I wouldn't enjoy music again, and then, a few months in, went to hear BB King. He was fantastic, as was my sober appreciation. Like so many of my old ideas about being sober, that one was dead wrong. Yes, I would enjoy music, yes, I could go on a date sober, yes, I could cook, sleep, stay awake, converse, enjoy the sunset without drugs or alcohol. Who knew? Apparently, all of you.

At that backyard concert, I sat next to a friend of a friend, a woman with a somewhat unusual last name. I've known her, and her last name, for a few years now, but it suddenly struck me to ask, "Are you related to So-and-So?" Yes, she replied, though not closely and rarely sees them. "Small world," we remarked, but I've been in and out of memory lane ever since - the haunted forest memory lane, not the tra-la-la section.

This person was my ex's banker, then friend, then came to work in the small Portland office. As time went on, and I skidded to my bottom, this guy was often the bearer of news I didn't want to hear, like when the locks had been changed on the house I'd moved out of, and no one told me until I went over to water the plants and my key didn't work. I get it, but I vividly recall the pitiful, incomprehensible demoralization of standing in the neighbor's kitchen, on their phone, being informed, without even a "Sorry, I thought you knew." 

The last year or so of my drinking and using was a time of deep grief, for my father who'd recently died, and for my boyfriend who'd gotten married and left me to hear it from someone else. It was a time of fear - that the meth cook in the basement would blow the house up, that the voices I heard were real, not toxic psychosis/paranoia, that the support checks would stop abruptly, that whatever spark it is that is "me" would disappear altogether. In theory I agree with the 9th Step promises, but there are parts of the past I do regret and wish to shut the door on. Can my experience benefit others? Maybe, which would be "Don't lie to the person you love," "Don't do things that make it necessary to lie to the person you love," and "Beware of good-looking ex-con drug dealers." One day at a time I've followed my own advice. 

It's long enough ago now that I rarely think of how dark those last months were, but I hope I never forget. It's less "morbid reflection" than it is an "Oh, wow." It really could've gone either way. And as my January sober-versary approaches, I can probably expect more flashes of memory to arise, triggered by a song, or a conversation, or the way the wind blows through autumn trees. Pay attention, breathe into the feeling, let go, appreciate the simple beauty of a sober life.

What might your still, small voice be whispering to you this week? What are some of the misconceptions you had about a sober life? What are ways you can honor your history and how it brought you to today without getting stuck in the past?

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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.