I went for a run in Forest Park this weekend - a glorious spring morning with pink and white trillium in full bloom. Mildly chastising myself for not getting up there sooner, or more often, I remembered that the last time I ran the Wildwood trail, a young woman who'd passed me a couple of times, asked me in the parking area if I'd had a nice walk. Walk? Excuse me? I'm running here. At least in my mind.

We often hear in the rooms of recovery to be mindful of not judging our insides by other people's outsides. What I've realized, reflecting on how I felt when the "real runner" called me a walker, is that I also need to be careful not to judge my insides by how other's may perceive my outsides.

Aging is kind of weird. OK, really weird. A few months ago I was in a shop and overheard the proprietor describing a customer as having dark hair and glasses. I thought she meant me, until I remembered that I have gray hair and glasses. Oh, right. My mom often said that she felt the same inside as she always had, but saw an old woman looking out at her from the mirror. Yes. My insides don't always match the appearance of my outsides.

A couple of years ago, a small in-home group I'm part of (we call ourselves "the Cabal") looked at aging via the 12 Steps. Step One, I am powerless over getting older, and my life becomes unmanageable when I try to pretend otherwise (i.e., there is no magic potion or lotion that will make me look/feel/be younger). Step Two, a Power greater than myself can restore me to sanity when I worry about the effects of aging. Step Three - I make a decision to turn it all over to HP and get out of my own way. Step Four - I inventory my fears about the process, and share them with another (Step Five). In Six and Seven, I humbly ask God to remove my fears, and any other defects that stand in the way of my usefulness. Step Eight and Nine - List, then make amends to anyone I may have harmed in the process of denying or fearing my aging (including myself). Step Ten, continue to keep an eye on fears/denial/anger/self-centeredness. Eleven, remember to ask for knowledge of HP's will for me versus my often very small ideas, and Twelve, carry the message (not the mess) while attempting to practice the principles of the program in all my affairs, including the getting older bit.

If we are lucky enough to not die, and diligent enough to not drink, we become literal old-timers in our recovery program. "What you think of me is none of my business" applies now more than ever. Recently I shared a small episode from my using days, to illustrate a point. Afterwards, which is fairly common, a couple of guys said, "You're kidding? You were a meth addict?" Thank God that I don't look like my story, in my little sweater twinset and gray hair. Again, my insides vs what you think of my outsides. Recovery is like that - you wouldn't know, as we stand in line with you at the grocery store, or pull out from the gas station, the histories we've survived. You have no idea. I can remember that the next time someone wants to pat me on the head for being a nice old gal. Ha! You have no idea.  And, I'll have you know, I'm running here.

How are you addressing any feelings that come up around getting older, including grief, loss, or fears? How might you apply the Steps?