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.

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.