I have never been so glad to see the season shift from summer to fall. I am not a hot weather fan to begin with, and this summer has felt oppressive with high day temps, little cooling at night, 52 days without rain, and the pall of smoke and ash from nearby forest fires that caused Portland air-quality to dip below that of Beijing. I've been to Beijing, and trust me, after five days, nearly everyone in our group was coughing - kind of like here in recent weeks.

And now the rains come and the seasons turn, oh joyous Autumnal Equinox! Yes, I know - that means that soon we'll be going to work and coming home in the dark, and it will be wet and cold. Yay! Blankets and sweaters and hot cups of tea - I am ready.

What of the seasons of sobriety? I used to hate it when some old fart would smile and say, "You're right where you're supposed to be," metaphorically patting me on the head. But it's true. There are markers and signposts and seasons in recovery if I'm open enough to heed them.

New sobriety, those first three - nine months, were about the detox and about establishing new habits of going to meetings and picking up the phone. Early recovery, up to about five years, was about emotional sobriety and getting established, or re-established, in the world. The middle years, extending into the teens and early twenties for me, was about causes and conditions - going ever deeper with the inventory (& some outside help) to examine my past (events, decisions and the accident of my birth - as in: this particular family, this particular time, this particular place) in order to unravel the patterns that either kept me stuck or moved me forward.

What about now? What about long term recovery? What about where long term recovery and aging coincide? That's what I'm attempting to ascertain in these pages. Some people with long term sobriety stop going to meetings, some continue, some go more often once they've retired, some less. What seems to be happening for me is that I am much more comfortable in my own skin. Addiction is progressive, but so is recovery. I'm more comfortable in my own skin, and those tasks of later adulthood, such as letting go of a career and launching kids into the world, as well as the monumental spiritual challenge of learning to gracefully walk through grief and loss, are where my program comes into play. It's life on life's terms - always has been. And I can get into trouble when I start thinking that I'm supposed to go it alone, stop asking for help, figure it out.

There have always been people walking the path in front of me. I may need to look with a bit more diligence for the taillights these days, and more often than not, I find that my mentors and guides are walking beside me rather than ahead. We truly do together what we cannot do alone.

What season are you in, of your life or your recovery? Who are your guides for the path ahead?