I attended a great meeting this week where a friend pointed out that, while this time last year we had no idea what was coming, in reality, we never truly know what's coming. A global pandemic, a diagnosis, a forest fire, fender-bender, falling in or out of love, losing a pet-companion - we just never know. 

Residing in that place of not-knowing, of daily surrender, is a prime challenge of my recovery. It's that sage advice of keeping my head and my butt in the same place vs time traveling to some distant experience (what I imagine that experience to be). This is similar to a new year's resolution I once heard in a meeting - the vow to only talk to someone who is actually in the room. Right here, right now, is all we really have.

Old thinking tells me that life will be better/smoother/easier when...  things calm down, I leave that job (or start a new one), I get back from vacation (or leave the country), this or that person changes (which they don't), I finish the Christmas candy, the rain stops (or starts) - you get the idea. And, I'm probably not alone in bringing this mindset to the pandemic, as in "life will get back to normal (define as you will) when everyone is vaccinated, when everyone wears masks, when we can leave home without a plan (mask in pocket? where are the bathrooms? who will be there?). The truth is, this looking forward to post-pandemic time is really just a variation on the theme of my life, sober and pre-recovery - looking ahead to the mirage of smooth sailing.  

And it is a mirage. Life is life. I had a wonderful holiday, and spent some time sobbing over those no longer here. I don't really mind "stay home, stay safe," and I mourn the mountain of loss we've all experienced - so many lives lost, plans cancelled, businesses closed, people in line for food boxes, racial reckoning, unfathomable destruction from wildfires, social unrest that still scars my city... this has been hard. Much harder on others than on me, and it is important to acknowledge my own sense of grief.

Which brings me back to my seemingly innate desire to predict, while at the same time, looking to the horizon for better days. These are the better days. I'm sober and healthy, as are my family members. And even when me and mine are up against it, I have the foundations of recovery to walk me through. Even when the world seems to be untethered from sanity, I can choose to focus on the kindness of strangers coming together in times of need, the beauty of one hand reaching out to another. 

Today, I am at peace. Sunshine helps, as does the glimmer of hope leading to the new year. I'm coming up on 35 years recovery, and am looking forward to various zoom shares. I'm looking forward to the incremental return of the light, and re-starting my walking group. I'm looking forward to my appointment with the resale shop, to see how much of my former office-wear they'll be interested in. I look forward to the fresh pages of a new journal and calendars as I create space, psychically as well as physically.

When I was nine or ten years old, Mom put us to bed on New Year's Eve saying, "I'll see you next year!" I started to cry, thinking she was going away, struggling with the concept of one year becoming another while I slept. I can still get in a place of either wanting to stop time, or hurry it up, while amazed that in the blink of an eye, I'm 66 with long term recovery. My challenge in the coming days is to be here, and not put too much emphasis on our arbitrary markers of time passing.

I fully expect to be asleep before midnight on December 31, much preferring early mornings to late nights. How will you spend New Year's Eve or New Year's Day? Do you have a special ritual to help release the old and welcome the new? What do you look forward to in the coming winter months?               ~Thank you, for riding out 2020 with me. Here's to 2021!

~ Just in time for your year-end inventory  (See the 11/17/20 blog entry  for a chapter sample)

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery” is a 78 page workbook, 8 ½ x11 format, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view and processing questions. Available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 N.E. 20th or online through this blog page. If you would like to purchase online, you will need to go to the WEB VERSION of this page, at www.soberlongtime.com  to view the link to PayPal or Credit Card option.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information. (my apologies, but with the link, you can only order 1 workbook at a time). 

 I chaired a meeting this week on the dichotomy of feeling like I'm not "enough" while also thinking I know what it is you need to do. The reading I referenced (Courage to Change, July 26) pointed out that my efforts at control are an illusion - I am only in charge of myself. And, as was pointed out in the meeting, the feeling that I'm not ok is illusion as well. 

What stories have I used to justify my actions and dress up my false beliefs as facts? I used to think that I was a defect of character, that I was broken, that the answers to my problems were outside of me - the right relationship, right job, right clothes, etc. Time, Step work, therapy and sponsorship, as well as simply growing up, have walked me down a different path - one of greater self-acceptance and understanding that, like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz (which I recently watched for the 1,000th time), "There's no place like home." That which I seek is already in my heart, if I but listen. 

Another old storyline had to do with my ability to fix you. I remember buying a pair of snowshoes for an ex, who had depression, because we went once and he liked it, a rock polishing kit because he admired a friend's collection, and drawing supplies because he'd done that in the past. The illusion was that I could have his "ah-ha" moment for him and, thus, get him off the couch. Like with my dad all those years ago, I thought he'd be ok if I came up with just the right formula. It took our break up to realize my attempts at control (otherwise known as being helpful), trying to arrange the actor and the scenery to my liking, not because I'd been asked to do so. Lessons.

A sub-topic of the meeting was a question I heard years ago: What if god really is running the show? Or, from a secular viewpoint, "What would it be like to fully accept that I am not in charge?" What does it really mean to surrender? Not to an entity, but to the knowledge that I'm ok, that life has a way of working itself out, that if I focus on today, I can walk through just about anything by getting out of my own way.  I had a good talk this week with someone who doesn't know that yet, who has forgotten she simply cannot know how she'll be feeling next February or March or April. "2020" is all I'll say on the topic, as in, "Who saw that one coming?"

Which is the primary lesson I've learned this past year - I can plan, but I cannot predict, having to do with travel and parties and my own growth trajectory; with friendships and meetings and how I will navigate what's ahead. For the past 16-17 years I've hosted a women's Solstice circle where we talk about what we want to leave behind and what we hope to embrace as the new year looms. This year, like nearly everything else, we met on Zoom. I was inspired by our resilience in the face of personal struggles, and our ability to practice the principles of recovery even when things are crappy. I breathed in and exhaled deeply as women shared about letting go of outcomes, the importance of self-care, the gift of focusing on the positive, and the newly honed understanding that I am, truly, powerless over so very much. 

What I'm not powerless over are my actions, my thoughts, or my feelings. (As I've read, I'm powerless over my first thought, but not the second.) Along with how life has changed in the time of Covid, I think about the gifts of this past year: My relationship with my first husband's daughter that continues to deepen and grow, my spouse's recovery from cancer and our redefinition of what matters, the ability to get outdoors, alone and with friends; the gift of our online meetings and long phone calls, the joy of getting and receiving mail. The relative isolation of the pandemic has definitely highlighted the importance of relationships that I took for granted when connecting in person was easy. 

And so, as this year draws to a close, I look forward with hopeful anticipation. In our previous life, a long time member of AA handed out small white "surrender" flags for sobriety anniversaries. Mine rests in a mug decorated with a grid of the London Underground, along with a random collection of pens and dull pencils. Instead of looking past this little banner as I sit at my desk, I will use it as a visual reminder of the freedom I feel when I get to the spiritual place of letting go. 

How are you feeling about the approaching year? What hopes and dreams are quietly tapping at your door? During these darkest days of the year, try to take some quiet time to listen, and perhaps, to write them down.

** Just in time for your year-end inventory  (See the 11/17/20 blog entry  for a chapter sample)

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery” is a 78 page workbook, 8 ½ x11 format, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view and processing questions. Available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 N.E. 20th or online through this blog page. If you would like to purchase online, you will need to go to the WEB VERSION of this page, at www.soberlongtime.com  to view the link to PayPal or Credit Card option.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information. (my apologies, but with the link, you can only order 1 workbook at a time). 

A meeting topic last week had to do with ideals, based on a reading from the Big Book, page 70, that says we are sure to drink again if our conduct continues to harm others. This section of the book specifically deals with sex, but the chairperson extrapolated the message to all our behavior in the world - how do we treat our fellow travelers?

This chapter counsels that we should turn to a higher power to shape our ideals. At the beginning of my recovery, that prospect scared me. I had the notion that if I truly practiced Step 3, I'd need to sell all my worldly goods and move to Calcutta to work with Mother Theresa. I had a hard time reconciling what I thought of as "happy, joyous and free" with the underlying notion of earning my way back to full humanity after all the crappy things I'd done. Even now I notice a slight hesitation at the thought of shaping my ideals based on my highest good, as if my highest good would be something negative or punitive. 

What are my ideals? The dictionary definition is "a standard of perfection, a principle to be aimed at." What jumps to mind, of course, is the 12 Steps - our philosophy of unity, recovery and service, being open, honest and willing to both behave in a loving manner today, and to amend and repair where we falter. Am I doing my best to strive towards those principles? I so appreciate the small note in Step 12 (12x12) that describes Step 7 as asking for our defects to be removed based on the condition of the day we ask. Some days I'm able to pause, some days not. I can always try again.

The winter solstice is next week, which coincides with an astrological "great conjunction," where Jupiter and Saturn appear to meet in the sky (happened in 1623, but last visible in 1226). I'm not a huge follower of astrology, but I appreciate the cosmic reminder that life is, that life goes on in the tides, the rain, the seasons, and the planets regardless of what I'm experiencing. In any event, this year's solstice in particular, the day of the conjunction, is a good time to set intention. What does that mean in the time of covid, this altered reality we've been living in for nine months now? It seems that my new year intentions will be internally focused, more home and heart-based rather than what I want to accomplish. Where and how do I want to grow in application of recovery principles? Where and how might I deepen my spiritual connections so that I'm better available to be of service, be that in program or the wider world? 

I came across this lists of questions - good for any time, but especially helpful as I take stock of the year that is passing and plan for the year ahead:

What do I want more of in my life?  Less?

How have I contributed this past year, and what might that look like going forward?

What truly matters to me?

Does my daily life reflect those ideals?

What do I want to learn?

What do I want to practice?

What do I want to complete/end/let go of?

What do I want to experience/enjoy?

What does it mean for me to be well? to thrive?

Best wishes to you as we move towards the darkest day of the year (here in the northern hemisphere) and approach the return of the light (and a happy summer solstice to you down under and elsewhere in the south).

** Just in time for holiday planning, or your year-end inventory.  (See the 11/17/20 blog entry  for a chapter sample)

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery” is a 78 page workbook, 8 ½ x11 format, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view and processing questions. Available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 N.E. 20th or online through this blog page. If you would like to purchase online, you will need to go to the WEB VERSION of this page, at www.soberlongtime.com  to view the link to PayPal or Credit Card option.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information. (my apologies, but with the link, you can only order 1 workbook at a time). 

I've found myself wrestling with Step 11 recently, tying myself in knots as I try to figure it out. I'm not sure when or how I moved into define-and-explain mode, but have come to re-understand that my spiritual connection is a feeling, not a thinking exercise. 

Over the past year or so, I've found myself being very careful not to talk about my beliefs, or to do so in a very generic way. For me, it's something of a Tradition 10 issue - no opinions on outside issues. I want everyone to feel comfortable in a meeting - Christian, Muslim, Jew, Atheist, Pagan, Republican, Democrat, etc., which means, for me, I don't talk politics and I don't talk specifics about spirituality. How can anyone describe that stuff anyway? And... I feel that something is missing. 

I know that my experience of AA/Alanon and spirituality is very different at 34+ years than it was at three months, or three years when everything was shiny and new. I find myself longing for the feelings of awe and wonder that accompanied those early light-bulb moments. Alas, as I've aged, the novelty has pretty much worn off, or so I think until I hear or see something that takes my breath away. Like last week, when a friend shared about being a good dad and I teared up remembering when he was new and we'd metaphorically wager as to whether or not he'd make it back the following week. That miracle of recovery, of changed lives, is a piece of my higher power(s). I can sometimes feel a meeting almost levitate, when your spiritual energy bounces off mine like an electric current. And, as much as I appreciate our online connections, it just isn't the same as when I can see your tears, watch your hands shake as you pick up your coffee, or feel the rumble of your laughter.

Do I think that I've stayed sober because of some supernatural intervention? Not really. I'm the one who gets myself to meetings and puts pen to paper. I do think it was some combination of grace, pain, and desperation that got me to the point where I'd have done anything to stop hurting, and being in the right place, at the right time, where I connected with people who are still in my life today. God? (Gift Of Desperation) Coincidence? Timing? I don't know, and if I could explain the forces at work in the world, I wouldn't need them. I surrender to the mystery - the mystery of the starfish and the Douglas Fir; the mystery of love and attraction, and of the hopeless drunk who becomes a sober, good father. 

I walked with a friend last week, and when she asked, "How are you?" I was tempted to say, "I'm good," and change the subject. Instead, I talked about all of the above, and how it has felt like I'm pretending not to have a spiritual life. That's what my malaise is really about - not the particulars of my  belief or practices, which grow and change over time, but about being genuine, and true to myself instead of what I think you want to hear. It's about trusting someone enough to say, "This is what's going on," not out of any desire to get fixed, but to hear myself say what's been rattling around in my head. 

And so, the wheel keeps turning. I will continue to be a seeker (I'm currently appreciating the Alternative 12 Step book as an adjunct to the 12x12). As I study and apply Step 12 in December, I'll reconsider what it means to be of service in the time of covid along with how I'm practicing the principles in all my affairs when there aren't that many "affairs" I'm participating in. Service, as well as practicing the principles, doesn't have to be some grand gesture. Maybe it's extra cash in the tip jar when I take-away. Maybe it's a check to the local food bank. Maybe it is intentional kindness to those I interact with instead of my usual hurry-up. Maybe it is being fully present for the 5th Steps I'm hearing this month. And maybe it includes cutting myself some slack in the "should" department.

Today, I picked up a friend (masked) and we went to another's home for a holiday cocoa party, just the three of us, distanced. I've known both these women since 3rd grade, 1963, and we're all in recovery. One moved away before high school, but the other and I were part of the same nebulous park gang that drank our brains out on any given weekend. Such a gift, these friendships over time. I get a little misty when I picture us at 9 or 10 years old, playing hopscotch on the playground, or at 25 when Deb and I sang, "Give peace a chance" at the memorial following John Lennon's murder 40 years ago yesterday. Time is no longer my enemy, though I can feel full to the brim with memories. I think that is a good thing. Some of the past I do regret, but more now falls in the category of sweet remembrance. 

As the end of the year draws near, and a holiday season like no other commences, how are you taking care of yourself , one day at a time? What is one nice thing you can do for yourself today? How about for someone else?

 ** Just in time for holiday planning, or your year-end inventory.  (See the 11/17/20 blog entry  for a chapter sample)

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery” is a 78 page workbook, 8 ½ x11 format, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view and processing questions. Available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 N.E. 20th or online through this blog page. If you would like to purchase online, you will need to go to the WEB VERSION of this page, at www.soberlongtime.com  to view the link to PayPal or Credit Card option.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information. (my apologies, but with the link, you can only order 1 workbook at a time). 

 I've been in recent meetings chaired by people I've known for decades - one a regular meeting go-er, the other, not so much. What struck me is the variety of how we stay sober. Some people "put the plug in the jug". They stop lying, cheating and stealing, do the Steps once or twice, and have an improved life for a very long time while seeming to just scratch the surface. Then there are others who go deep, making regular practice of the Steps, looking beyond their superficial defects of character to underlying causes and conditions; people who exemplify the principles of the program, whether attending meetings for the long haul or not. Those are the people I listen to most intently as beacons of how to navigate life. I don't care much about the stuff you've gained - houses, cars, spouse. I want to hear about how you answer the 3am demons, what you do when you feel adrift, how you maintain connection to your spiritual source(s). I'll never forget the older guy in an out-of-town meeting who had a great share, sounding like a guru, and then not thirty minutes later, I observed him being incredibly rude to a woman in the grocery store. Surface recovery, or the real deal? As we're told, it's not enough to talk the talk. And, as long as we don't pick up, we're doing something right.

I like to think I'm in the deep end, but will acknowledge that it depends on the season. Sometimes my fields are fallow as I rest, ever so gently, on my laurels. Other times I'm up to my eyeballs in revelation and excavation, prompted by a life event, or perhaps something I've read or heard in a meeting. Sometimes my "searching and fearless" is triggered by a walk in the woods, when I'm able to breathe into nature's stillness. Sometimes the going deeper is accompanied by "This again?" as I circle back on a characteristic or relationship. Always, always, my seeking is related to looking at what comes between me and serenity, whether my own "instincts gone awry" or momentarily forgetting my powerlessness over people, places and things. This never-ending program offers the gift of growth through the years, if I'm willing to do the work, both in and out of the rooms.

There was a time when the never-ending piece scared me. In my first year of sobriety, Bruce, an old-timer, leaned down on one elbow as he surveyed our meeting room, snarling, "Don't let this 'one day at a time' crap fool you - we're talking about the rest of your God damned lives." The rest of  my life. The rest of my god damn life. At 31, my perspective was limited. I'd see the old guys (and it was mostly guys) in their regular seats and think, "You poor old suckers - don't you have anything better to do?" And now I'm one of them, reveling in the understanding that I have lots of better things to do because I'm in my appointed spot each week. And I can only hope to be doing this for the rest of my g.d. life.

One of the pursuits I picked up in earlier recovery was distance running. I'm slow, but point me in one direction and I can go a long way. Migrating from running to walking has been tougher emotionally than I'd anticipated as I relive past accomplishments, with a bit of longing for the satisfaction of a 20 mile trail run. But I've realized much of what I enjoyed about running is the same when I walk - being outdoors, actually living the seasons; the feeling of accomplishment when done for the day, the sense of community whether I'm at the back of the pack, or somewhere in the middle (Bonuses: I can eat before I head out, and am more inclined to stop for a photo or to pet a neighborhood cat. Maybe this is a good thing - that "Slow down, Jeanine" I've heard for so long. Time will tell...) 

I can appreciate the passing of time, and enjoy my memories, while embracing the now, which means I've found my new sport - distance walking! I'm getting ready for a virtual half-marathon (13.1 miles) and may even tackle the full 26.2 in the coming year. While I think of myself as a solitary runner/walker, I'm realizing just how much I enjoy the camaraderie of putting in the miles with my peers. Spending anywhere from one to four hours with a person over the weeks creates a bond as we talk about aches and pains, recipes, relationships, family, life in general. And while that bond is often event-specific, it is real nonetheless. Kind of like our meeting relationships. I may never see you outside the home group, but our connection is genuine. Wish me luck as I continue to let go of one identity while embracing another.

And here we are in December; December 2020 no less. I'll be gathering (virtually) with my Step Group this weekend to talk about how we applied Step 11 during November. It can be a delicate balancing act between making plans and letting go of expectations, surrender and action. My fledgling meditation practice has faltered this month, victim of an abbreviated morning routine. But, I've long said my gut is my barometer, my internal Step 10, 11 and 12. This thing does "become a working part of the mind," just like Bill wrote all those years ago.

How do the maintenance Steps manifest in your life? Thinking of this challenging time we're experiencing, would you say you are in the deep end, or treading water? How do you balance doing and being, surrender and letting go? What, or who is it you need to release today? 

 ** Just in time for holiday planning, or your year-end inventory.  (See the 11/17/20 blog entry  for a chapter sample)

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery” is a 78 page workbook, 8 ½ x11 format, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view and processing questions. Available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 N.E. 20th or online through this blog page. If you would like to purchase online, you will need to go to the WEB VERSION of this page, at www.soberlongtime.com  to view the link to PayPal or Credit Card option.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information. (my apologies, but with the link, you can only order 1 workbook at a time). 

I woke up in a funk on Monday and had to remind myself that I get melancholy during the holidays in a good year, so a bit of the blues doesn't mean I'm doing anything "wrong." I can sometimes use the program as a weapon - the sword of striving, of "self-improvement," of trying to be better - Step 10 with a vengeance. I seem to self-flagellate more when I'm off-center, when I've forgotten my powerlessness, when I'm looking outside myself for some sort of fix.

As the stars aligned, I found myself in a meeting later that day, shared my dis-ease, and heard several others say the same. Ah yes, I am not alone, in either my grief or my joy. There again,  my off-centeredness can take me to a place of aloneness, of thinking that I'm the only one who sometimes feels lost or unmoored. We could almost call alcoholism/addiction a disease of separation - my perception of "I'm different." That feeling comes less and less the longer I'm in recovery as I'm better able to recognize its lies, and old ideas are old ideas and comfortable in their familiarity, even when not in my best interest. And then the next day I woke up in a positive frame of mind. From the previous evening's shares? From some good news on the personal and greater world fronts? After a good night's sleep? Probably all of the above.

I was honored to attend the online memorial for my husband's first sponsor over the weekend, a well respected member in the Berkeley/Oakland/Bay Area fellowship, who died after a three year journey through liver cancer. It was a moving service, with 9 speakers sharing for five minutes each, followed by smaller break-out groups for individual shares (there were over 180 attendees). Many quoted different things John said over the years, evidence of his commitment to the 12 Steps and service, as well as his grace in walking through a terminal diagnosis. I've been reflecting on one of his statements: "I don't know what's next, so I'll just do what's next." Would that I be so gracious in the face of adversity. 

In another meeting, with a generalized topic of perspective, someone shared the tool of "and," as in, I'll miss seeing our faux-family for Thanksgiving tomorrow, "and" I'm grateful we're all healthy and safe. I'm bummed that gyms are closed, "and" I'm able to get outside for my daily walks. I look forward to vaccines and healing, "and"  I've had enough to eat today, I know where I'll be sleeping tonight, I have my recovery.

I'm an introverted writer, who'd really rather be locked in my garret with candles and a cup of tea, but alas, part of getting read includes at least a modicum of self promotion. A potential opportunity to get the word out about my workbook has presented itself, and as I talked with the person involved, I could feel myself shrink. Having done the work of recovery, I recognized, for a least a few moments, I wanted to be invisible. Rather than letting those old triggers make my decisions, I was able to acknowledge that a part of me was scared, "and"  that I could move forward anyway. One day at a time, one choice at a time. Recovery doesn't mean that I'll never be triggered. What it does mean is that I can respond differently this time, or the next. 

And so, it is Thanksgiving eve here in the U.S. Last year, we shared our meal with my brother and his wife, and my first husband. In the following month, my ex was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer that had metastasized to his brain and my spouse was diagnosed with Stage 1 throat cancer. And then the pandemic and all its disruptions hit. What I've learned over this past year is that nothing is guaranteed - not health, not conferences and airfare I've paid for, not employment, not the ability to safely hang out with family or friends - nothing. What I hope I've gained is a conscious awareness of all there is to be grateful for, even on the darkest of days. I will cook a bird, mash potatoes, and bake a  cake, frosting it using my grandmother's recipe. We'll watch a few episodes of our current show, and maybe some football. We'll call our college student and our San Francisco family, and I'll ring my ex's daughter along with a couple of friends. We'll all likely remark on this strange and separate year, with hopes for better, safer days to come.

The Gratitude List is one of my favorite tools of recovery, never failing to adjust my attitude, even if just a little. I am grateful that I didn't die with a needle in my arm (Thanksgiving marks my final skid towards hitting bottom). I am grateful that I hear from many of you over the course of the weeks. I'm grateful for home and health, sobriety and (relative) sanity. And I'm grateful for connections over time.

What are you grateful for, this day and always? If you have an off day, how are you gentle with yourself in the process of coming back to center?

Just in time for holiday planning, or your year-end inventory: 

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery” is a 78 page workbook, 8 ½ x11 format, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view and processing questions. Available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 N.E. 20th or online through this blog page. If you would like to purchase online, you will need to go to the WEB VERSION of this page, at www.soberlongtime.com  to view the link to PayPal or Credit Card option.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information. (my apologies, but with the link, you can only order 1 workbook at a time).

 I attended a great meeting last week with the topic, "How do we stay desperate" enough to maintain vigilance against the "ism" of the drink and the variously subtle mindsets that can lead us down the rabbit hole? I do think about that - how to keep it fresh and engaging after decades of abstinence, which is part of what motivated me to start this blog and write the Now What? workbook. Does "Expect a Miracle" apply only to the newcomer? Could "Put the Plug in the Jug" also come to mean the cauldron of old and negative ideas?

Desperation today looks very different than it did 30, or even 20, years ago when even a venture into a restaurant was fraught with previously automatic responses (pizza without a pitcher, no thanks to the wine menu). Desperation today stems from self-knowledge, and the practice of being honest with myself. Yes, the literature warns that self-knowledge alone isn't enough to maintain the daily reprieve, and after decades of inventory and meetings and working the steps with sponsors and sponsees, I can usually recognize when the disease comes knocking. It was self-awareness that reacted to the instinctual wondering if I'd feel anything by licking my hand where my mother's end-of-life morphine had spilled. It was self-honesty that triggered the "ding, ding, ding!" bells when I found myself making an excuse for a boyfriend who'd punched a hole in the wall. It is being honest with myself that leads me to pick up the phone (or send the email) when I'd rather figure it out myself.

Part of what keeps me desperate, or willing, is the still vivid memory of just how sick I was. I remember sitting on the toilet with a belt around my arm. I remember the morning I dropped a full blender (of a healthy smoothie!) as I passed out on the kitchen floor. I remember driving blotto with a hand over one eye and the windows down. I have physical scars from the methamphetamine years, but deeper emotional scars from the lies, arguments, deceptions and the painful look on loved one's faces as they confronted the various manifestations of my disease It is those "again's" that I hope to never repeat. And as I've written before, my alcoholism rarely shows up on a random Tuesday saying, "Hey, let's go have a drink!" I know that relapse is a series of decisions, of permission statements, of moving away from that which keeps me on the path. I don't walk around today with the same level of desperation I had in 1986, but today I have more to lose - so much more to be careful of - which is why I keep coming back. 

* * *

My husband got word this week that his first sponsor succumbed to liver cancer after a three year battle. I only met this man, in Berkeley, a few times, but was so impressed by his dedication to recovery and service. I will be forever indebted to the love of the program he passed on to my spouse, telling him, "Do the work and the gifts will follow." It is especially heartbreaking when our deaths are precipitated by the damage from long ago drinking and drugging. We truly do only have today. And as John F. advised the last time we saw him, "Don't wait until you have a diagnosis to take care of yourself." Truly,

* * *

I had what the old-timers would've called a "god-shot"  this week. In a conversation about desserts, I told my husband about Mom's chocolate cake, topped by delicious frosting that included a dollop of peanut butter. A few days later, I tackled my cookbook shelf as part of my on-going de-clutter project (as in, do I really need 3 Middle Eastern, 2 Indian and 3 vegetarian volumes?). I came across a small binder of Mom's I don't remember seeing before, titled "My Favorite Recipes." Right on top was a letter from my paternal grandmother (who died when I was 5) that opened with instructions for the frosting (start with a tablespoon of peanut butter and add more if you'd like). What are the odds? 

I try to be open to synchronicity, the paying attention to connections and coincidences, like the "Return to Sender" card that arrived after 2 months, on the day that an old friend paid tribute to my deceased first husband; the "I was literally getting ready to dial you!" from my best friend as she answers the phone when I call. I suppose there are mathematical explanations for seemingly random and coincidental occurrences, but I prefer to believe they are from the realm of spirit, of connection over time and space.

And connection over time and space is what we have right now as much of the country is on what Oregon is calling a "pause" as we again stay home to stay safe, and give our beleaguered health care professionals the semblance of a break. Do I like not going to the gym? No. Do I recognize that as a luxury problem? Definitely. Will I seek ways to help those who are struggling? Yes. And, I will do my part as we continue to cover uncharted territory.

How do you stay desperate enough to do the deal, one day at a time? How do you recognize when you are no longer teachable? Are you aware of your emotional and physical triggers? What helps you stay open to the synchronicity of reading the right thing at the right time, or running into just the person you were meant to meet?  

Take care, friends...   

  Just in time for holiday planning, or your year-end inventory:  (& note that prices will be going up effective 11/23)

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery” is a 78 page workbook, 8 ½ x11 format, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view and processing questions. Available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 N.E. 20th or online through this blog page. If you would like to purchase online, you will need to go to the WEB VERSION of this page, at www.soberlongtime.com  to view the link to PayPal or Credit Card option.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information. (my apologies, but with the link, you can only order 1 workbook at a time). 

 Hello dear reader. You will see my usual weekly post tomorrow, but wanted to share a (condensed) sample from the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook. Note that the workbook contains more room for your own writing than what I'm sharing here. 

The price will be going up in the next week, so if you've been thinking about it, buy now at $15 U.S. (new price will be $20 in U.S., $30 for out of the country). Please contact me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you have any questions.

Chapter 1 – Taking Stock

When we first enter sobriety, most of us aren’t thinking of the long term. We come in to get the heat off, to save a marriage, a job, or both, to repair relationships with our children, or simply because we can’t go on living chained to the bottle or the bag or what the doctor ordered. Some of us may have wondered if we’d be taught to drink responsibly, without consequences, and were upset when we learned that total abstinence is the best prescription for alcoholism and addiction. But we listened and learned from the examples of those around us, from our sponsors, and from our new friends in the rooms of recovery. We began to grow up.

With willingness and at least some humility, we learned to live sober, and to take the necessary actions to move into a life of recovery. Life became good, or at least different. Often, we developed a new social network of like-minded individuals.

 

And then, seemingly in the blink of an eye, we wake up and find ourselves with long-term recovery. Ten years, twenty, thirty, go by in a flash of life-on-life’s terms...

  

Long term recovery comes with a certain amount of responsibility. Being an elder doesn’t mean that we won’t have troubles, but it does mean that we are role models for walking the walk rather than simply talking the talk...

 

Self-care is no longer a theory, whether related to our physical health or our emotional well-being. “Someday” is now, that elusive here-and-now that we read about and glimpse from time to time. That being said, we cannot stay in recovery based on what we did ten years ago, or even ten weeks ago. What is it that I need to do today?

 

“How do I stay engaged in the recovery process, in my recovery process?” is a question to be asked as time moves forward. Sometimes it can feel rote, like a cozy and comfortable rut. Sometimes we get bored, and think that we’ve inventoried all we need to inventory, heard all the stories we ever want to hear. One of the biggest challenges of long term recovery is to keep it fresh, to keep growing spiritually and emotionally. That takes effort, effort of a different nature than that required of early sobriety, effort that may ebb and flow, but effort nonetheless.  Literature, trying a new meeting, taking on a new sponsee, or a new sponsor, hitting a meeting out of town – it is an individual journey, but one we don’t need to take alone.

 

  A long timer’s view:   Catherine N. ~

 

Long term recovery comes to me one day at a time. Once, my counselor asked me if there was a recovery 2.0! Like do we ever graduate from AA? The answer is no, keeping my AA program simple like when I came in still helps me to stay sober today. I still have a home group, work the steps, have a sponsor and I sponsor. 

 

Although it was all I used when I was young, AA is not the only way that I get what I need for my recovery or self-care anymore. I go to meetings now once or twice a week (as opposed to seven days a week for years!). Now I try and go to yoga three times a week, therapy once a month, pray & meditate, soak and get massage, make art and practice writing, travel, walk and spend time outside in the natural world...

      For reflection:

1.      How is my life different today than when I first entered recovery?

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

3.      What goals have I achieved along the way, and what dreams have I let go of?

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

4.      How has my inner life changed?__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

5.      List at least 10 gratitudes

6.      List intentions or goals as related to recovery, relationships, health, work/retirement

     Describe any challenges, internal or external What are my strengths, my positive qualities?

Jbassett now what workbook  (copyright)

I am exhaling this week, with the knowledge that there are those who celebrate and those who mourn the US election results, doing my best to hold all beings with gentle compassion. As I was once taught, it is easy to love the loveable. Not so much those I disagree with. Progress, not perfection.

I realize that I forgot to check back in about the part-time job. Oh man, did I wrestle with that one. Initially, I thought it was a message from the universe, the answer to my "what am I going to do over the winter?" question. Then the whispers started (including a gentle nudge from my sponsor and a good friend). If I'm sometimes feeling time crunched with nothing but hikes on my calendar, why would I add in a 3 day a week obligation? Why, indeed? Am I that adverse to empty spaces, those empty spaces that I said I craved pre-retirement? 

As one week turned to two, I made a pros and cons list. I also tuned in to a guided meditation on listening to our hearts. Part of the meditation suggested asking a question and waiting, in silence, for an answer. My question was related to should I or shouldn't I, with the answer being, "There's no decision to be made." I didn't have any additional information about the position, beyond the initial vague inquiry. I'm not exactly sure that it's alcoholic thinking, but is is something - the tendency to make a decision without all the facts. It goes back to what I touched on last week - my discomfort with uncertainty. Not enough info? No problem - I'll fill in the blanks myself!

So, I got on a plane to New Mexico, fully intending to not think about work/no work. Then came word that the organization had decided to hire a full time counselor. The decision was made for me. And, I was pointed in the direction of further self-examination as suggested in Step 10. When I'm uncomfortable, can I use the tools of the program to unearth causes and conditions? What are the core beliefs that drive my defects/defenses? What is behind the perceived need to do rather than simply be? Food for thought as I consciously practice Step 11 during November, heeding my sponsor's suggestion that Steps 1,2 and 3 can be useful in the decision making process, big or small. 

I enjoyed a online call with a former sister-in-law in the UK this week (she was married to the elder brother of my ex, both of whom are deceased). I've seen her a few times over the 35 years that our paths separated, and have appreciated our ongoing friendship, which has progressed with the times from letter writing to email to skype. We were together a lot during the late 1970's-early 1980's, and while she's not "one of us" it is good to periodically connect with the one living person who shared the experiences that are now distant memories.

And then, I took a long walk with a new-ish neighbor, recently relocated from out of state. As we walked up and down the Alameda ridge, I pointed out various locations from my history: the public stairs where I had my first kiss, and my second beer; the house where I hit bottom; "Dead Man's Hill" where we went sledding...  Living in the general area where I grew up is both a blessing and a curse. I love the familiarity of running or walking through the park where we hung out in high school, seeing old classmates at the grocery store, my friend who lives in the house where she grew up.  And... the same things that bring small pleasures can also feel like being frozen in time. Was it really over 50 years ago that we waited for the berry picking bus in front of the bakery? Didn't we just have that water balloon fight in the park? I've long joked that you know you're getting old when sentences start with, "Why, I remember when..."  I am definitely there.

In regards to "do" vs "be," I don't need to chastise myself for being a do-er. How do I balance that tendency with my spiritual quest for serenity? Part of it seems to be working with what is - in other words, redefining the "do" to include things like waiting, holding still, or allowing, while acknowledging that, for me, serenity includes activity and planning ahead. More and more, I am hearing and reading about the importance of self-acceptance. I cannot change myself (or I would've a long time ago) and, I can't let go of something (person, place, thing or trait) when I'm holding on tight.

Staying home/staying safe is something sensible I can do (as corona cases rise). Tackling my various de-clutter projects is something I can do, rather than distracting with just about anything else (Not that closet! Nooooo!). Writing on my Step work before our monthly meeting is something else I can do. It's about choices. With awareness,  I will continue to schedule walks with friends on these glorious autumn days. I will begin to take stock of where I am and where I want to head as the new year approaches, though inventory in the time of covid is its own type of beast. I don't harbor the illusion that 1/1/21 will bring real relief, but simply the act of turning the calendar will be an adventure. What might the new year bring, in my own life and in the world?

How do you tackle decisions? What do you do in order to shift your awareness from doing to being? As you, perhaps, begin to take inventory of 2020, what personal milestones, accomplishments or grievings have dovetailed with the world's? 

Just in time for holiday planning, or your year-end inventory: 

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery” is a 78 page workbook, 8 ½ x11 format, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view and processing questions. Available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 N.E. 20th or online through this blog page. If you would like to purchase online, you will need to go to the WEB VERSION of this page, at www.soberlongtime.com  to view the link to PayPal or Credit Card option.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information. (my apologies, but with the link, you can only order 1 workbook at a time).

 I'm not sure that I've got many coherent thoughts today. The U.S. election isn't over - counting all the votes could take days. I'm fine with that. What I struggle with is uncertainty - always have, whatever the situation. Just let me know what I'm up against, and I'll deal. It's the not-knowing that agitates me.

Early in recovery I attended meetings with a guy named Dale. After a Sunday evening group, going on about one thing or another, I said, "I just want someone to tell me that everything's going to be ok." His smile was a metaphorical pat on the head as he replied, "Everything is ok." I so often forget that simplest of lessons - that right here, right now, all is well.

Part of it has to do with the story I'm telling myself about people, places and things. I do not have a crystal ball, but my mind thinks otherwise. I often attempt to think my way out of whatever fear or confusion I'm drowning in, rather than turning to my spiritual resources. Even with long term sobriety, I easily fall in to the figure-it-out trap - a dead end if there ever was one. (I heard in a meeting years ago, "My mind would kill me, but it needs me for transportation.)

As I pay attention to  my breath and heartbeat (shallow, rapid), I have a choice - feed the anxiety, or take a step back. I know what I need to do - journal, meditate, ask for help, share openly with a trusted other, use my god (as in good, orderly direction) box, talk with a friend about something other than what is ailing me. I did a brisk 5 mile walk with a good friend through a neighborhood where the trees seemed to be lit from within. That helped. Yesterday, rather than agitate in front of the television, I jumped in to some physical tasks. Keep moving. Get outdoors. Read a book. 

Moving away from the story telling, which is nearly always negative, involves retraining my brain. I've done it before, though it took years to develop the discipline to enforce the "stop!" when my mind wandered to a particularly dark alley. I was finally able to say, "You don't do this anymore," when the film noir of my life would begin. I can take that same resolve to my current obsessions. 

I can tell you what doesn't work - junk food. I don't generally keep anything too unhealthy in the cupboard, but we did have a wee bit of leftover Halloween candy that got inhaled last evening as I vacillated between the news and a favorite Netflix show. Comfort food? Ha! Maybe for the 30 seconds I'm actually eating, but certainly not the next day when my G.I. system rebels. For me and sugar, one is too many and a thousand not enough, which I sometimes only realize in hindsight. Ah well, today is another day.

And what I can assume is that the sun will come up tomorrow, and the day after that. However this election turns out, from the local to the national level, there will be work to do, both internally and in my community. As we learn in the program, I can't give away something I don't have, so today my focus will be on balance and serenity. As this is the 11th month, I'll look at how Step 11 can quiet my racing thoughts, remembering that I'm not asking for specifics, but for knowledge of higher power's will for me and the power to carry that out. If higher power equals my better nature, I can know, deep in my bones, that inner peace is what I seek.

How are you handling the various upheavals in the world, whether that is the US election, health or financial concerns related to the pandemic, challenges with family (can't see them, or maybe disagreements)? How do the Steps help you gain perspective?

Just in time for holiday planning, or your year-end inventory: 

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery” is a 78 page workbook, 8 ½ x11 format, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view and processing questions. Available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 N.E. 20th or online through this blog page. If you would like to purchase online, you will need to go to the WEB VERSION of this page, at www.soberlongtime.com  to view the link to PayPal or Credit Card option.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information. (my apologies, but with the link, you can only order 1 workbook at a time).

 As you read this, I am in snowy New Mexico, having made the decision to double-mask and get on a plane. I am operating from a place of what I think is sensible caution - neither paranoid nor cavalier about the dangers of the virus. 

I'm paying attention to the beauty around me this week, rather than the noise in my head. Whether that beauty is in the glory of the Sangre de Cristo mountains here in Taos, Forest Park at home, or simply our neighborhood; the laughter of my good friend over my favorite southwestern meal (frito pie from a food truck) or the joy on my healthy husband's face as he completed a virtual 5k, there is so much to appreciate in this life. Much to mourn and a whole lot to flip my outraged switch, and I am alive today to feel all of it. We had a counselor in treatment, those many years ago, who'd listen to us individually whine about this circumstance or that, always coming back with, "Do you know where you're sleeping tonight? Have you had enough to eat today?" Then thank your lucky stars, because it could be a whole lot worse.

Which is not to say that I get my good feelings from others' misfortunes. However, when I'm in a place of me, me, me I'm never satisfied. When I remember that I'm just one human among billions, each with our own wants and needs, it helps me keep perspective. I've traveled a fair amount in my life thus far, from Five Star to No Star hotels, and I think that most people want basically the same things - a safe place to lie our heads at night, a means to provide for our families, and sense of belonging. It looks different from varying vantage points, but if I keep in mind that the jerk who cuts me off in traffic, or the pedestrian who steps out into the street without looking, is simply making their way through life the best they can, I'm better able to detach from how I think things should be. I definitely need to keep that in mind when I read the newspapers or interact with those who have different beliefs. 

Like we learn in Alanon, I only have control over what is inside my hula-hoop. Sometimes I wish my hula-hoop were bigger, but it's not. Did I get enough rest last night? Am I hungry, or maybe holding on to some anger I need to address? Am I lonely? Those early recovery lessons are as pertinent today as they were thirty years ago. One day at a time. How Important Is It? And one of my favorites, "If it's a good idea today, it will be a good idea next week" (see: Pause). 

On another note, I made the official (to me) decision that I am now a walker rather than someone trying to hang on to running. I needed to tell myself I was a jogger, then a s-l-o-w jogger, as a way to ease myself out of a particular identity. I can celebrate my 30 years as a runner, my 10 marathons and countless half marathons, and know that there are many more miles ahead of me - just at a slower pace. Sort of like redefining my identity in early sobriety - who was I if not a party-girl drinker and drugger? I got to decide. Who am I as a retired person? I get to decide and see what fits at this stage of my life.

Today, as we fast approach November, or as we call it in 12 Step recovery, "Gratitude Month," I am grateful for so much: for long term friendships over time and space, for my health and relative fitness (as I wheeze my way through a snow hike at elevation!), for the absolute beauty of the natural world. 

What are you grateful for today? Is there something in the natural world you can anchor to when your mind gets caught in itself? Have there been times you've felt the pull to reimagine who you are? What helps you navigate the unknown?

 In 2011 I joined a group of women who met monthly with a spiritual teacher for the purpose of exploring goddess wisdom and learning to live with ourselves and the world in a positive and balanced way. I was hesitant. I knew that a few of the women were in recovery, but that wasn't the theme, and, truthfully, I wasn't someone who celebrated circles of women. But I wanted to be. Knowing that my internalized misogyny grew out of discomfort with myself, I sought to heal, to open myself to the wisdom that I knew I could glean from my sisters. As I hemmed and hawed around the invitation, citing concerns for time I "needed" to spend with my new spouse and his daughter, our teacher gently asked, "Do you think they'd be OK with you taking one afternoon a month for yourself?" Well, of course they would (and may not even have noticed I was gone!).

So, I spent the next year chanting, meditating, dancing and learning about various facets of spirituality with a focus on the feminine, sometimes with an internal eye-roll, but mostly with a desire to relax into a greater sense of my connection to Spirit, and to recognize that in other women, I had more in common that there were differences. Following the official year, members of the various "classes" met quarterly, coming together to share how we were practicing the principles of compassion and respect for the planet and all beings in our daily lives. While not as engaged as many, I showed up, enjoying the cosmic exhale as we sat. And then, our teacher, my age, took ill, and was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer that took her in eight short weeks. It was a shock to all who knew her. 

That was three years ago this weekend, and to mark the occasion, a dozen of us gathered on Zoom to listen to one of our teacher's recorded meditations. It was good to be reminded of the importance of a daily practice, however we define that, as well as the striving to keep an open heart, despite my (or the world's) circumstances. Exhaling.

Three years since Jayna's death marks a season of loss in my personal calendar with anniversaries of passings punctuated by the glorious colors of autumn. As I learn to breathe into my memories, I move towards a calmer acceptance of the impermanence of this life, though I sure wish some of my loved ones had stuck around a bit longer. As ones who borrow from many different spiritual traditions, my spouse and I have started our yearly ofrenda, the little space amid Halloween decor reserved for photos of family and friends who've gone on. I appreciate this small ritual of remembering.

Sitting in my regular online meetings this week, I had to chuckle at our new "normal," seeing fellow travelers in their living rooms, or their beds, eating oatmeal or maybe a burrito, with cats and the occasional small child wandering across the screen. I marvel at our adaptability, and the swiftness with which the 12 Step powers-that-be stepped in to make sure we had options. I hear people who aren't in recovery talk about the disconnect of not seeing anyone, and while I sometimes bristle at sitting in front of the computer, I'm so very grateful for the option (especially now that our outdoor park meetings are coming to an end).

Moving into the darker, colder days, I've been thinking about how I'll fill my time. Here in the Pacific NW, we say that if you don't run/walk/hike in the rain, you don't do it at all, so I will still be outdoors, but definitely not as much. Having journaled on that topic earlier in the day, I opened an email offering me a part-time gig in my field, working from home for about 12 hours a week. I haven't made a decision as I gather more information, but was reminded of the time I was between jobs, wondering out loud what might be next. Several people pointed me in a particular direction, and when I finally listened (and got the job I'd have for the next 5 years) I remembered the story we tell in AA about the fellow who is shipwrecked and asking HP to save him. He turns away several offers, saying that he's waiting for God. After he dies, he asks St. Peter, "Why didn't God help me?" to which Peter replied, "He sent you a helicopter and a rowboat - what more did you want?"  I'm not equating my friend's email with the Voice of God (see: Alan Rickman in the movie Dogma) but I am paying attention to a possible answer to my "what now?" question.  Sometimes what I seek is right in front of me while I'm busy looking for flares and skywriting, nowhere near as complicated as I may want to make it. I loved my career. I just didn't like doing it for 40 hours a week. Might this be a temporary answer to my question?  As in all things, more will be revealed.

How do you know when you are in self-will or when you are trusting the process? Are there practices that take you to a place of calm attention? Do your self-care practices shift with the seasons? (For me, it is more candles and cozy naps; a good book and hot tea vs iced.) What brings you peace?

Just in time for holiday planning, or your year-end inventory: 

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery” is a 78 page workbook, 8 ½ x11 format, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view and processing questions. Available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 N.E. 20th or online through this blog page. If you would like to purchase online, you will need to go to the WEB VERSION of this page, at www.soberlongtime.com  to view the link to PayPal or Credit Card option.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information. (my apologies, but with the link, you can only order 1 workbook at a time).

 As I sat in several stellar meetings of friends and strangers in our current Hollywood Squares format, I was struck by the poignancy, pathos and outright hilarity of how we come together to talk about our lives and our recovery. Craig, poet and big teddy bear of a guy who was a member of our long ago Friday night meeting, used to describe our group as the "sacred campfire" where we'd come together to share tales of the dragons we had slain, or those we were facing that week. 

That witnessing of each other's journeys, from a couple breaking generational patterns by purchasing their own home, to a young mom carving out an hour of the day for herself; from the traveler en-route to faraway places, to the parent of teens attempting to home school - we are people who normally would not mix for the most part, simply because our paths wouldn't necessarily cross. But here we are, in the rooms (virtual or actual), brought together by our shared desire for healing and growth. 

As I made initial notes for this blog on Friday, I'd already been to seven meetings, though not because I was in distress, which is often the impetus for increasing attendance. Five were women's meetings, with a strong focus on identity and self-worth, all the ways we/I've given away my power over the years, as well as extreme gratitude for the different way we/I live today. I had a nebulous self-image as a kid and a teen, with only a limited sense of direction. I early on learned to look outside for a thrill and/or my identity. My first drug of choice was sugar, along with other adrenaline producers of stealing and sneaking around. With puberty, I "graduated" to boys - if "he" liked me, it meant I was OK. This is pure hindsight of course. At the time, I was only aware of the next shiny object, be that person, place or thing, my sense of self determined by my relationships. I was Mrs. So-and-So, or "His" girlfriend, rarely just Jeanine. 

And then I got to treatment and no one was interested in the wealthy boyfriend, or the meth cook in the basement. They asked questions like, "What do you like to do?" and I was stymied. I'd used to like to read and watch movies, but both of those were far by the wayside as my attention span declined. Nearly all of my "likes" revolved around drinking - dinners out, long drives with stops at little pubs along the way. I liked to travel, though through the veil of hangovers, had mostly blurry memories. 

What did I like to do? What might I like to do? I can remember my first sober hike, the first time I ran five miles at a time, the first time I heard live music without a drink in my hand. Recovery = discovery and it was exciting to sample life and see what fit. Life feels similar now that I'm in early retirement. I still like to read, hike and travel, but what else might strike my fancy? A friend who reads Tarot cards keeps reminding me that I don't need to figure things out, or look too hard, as "it" will find me. And maybe the "it" for this month won't be the "it" come springtime. I'm excited to see how the months unfold, while very aware that I'm moving closer to the end. It is an odd juxtaposition - dueling emotions, though simply opposite ends of the surrender spectrum.

Time marches on, and will whether I'm here or not. I attended an online 91st birthday party for my husband's step dad the other night - when he was born, his mother had to ride a ferry from Oakland to San Francisco because there were no bridges at the time. My aunt remembered when the line of trees along a major thoroughfare in Portland were saplings. The three inch pine seedling I received after completing my first marathon in 1995 is now twenty feet tall. I was once a small child and now I'm 66. Who actually knows what's next? 

I'm on a bit of a tangent this week as I mark my birthday, and the eighth anniversary of my mother's passing. My baby brother will be 63 in a few weeks. My step daughter is 20. Reminders, all, of the one-day-at-a-time notion of appreciating the moment because they fly by so quickly.

Are you attending meetings, virtual or otherwise? Is this different than in pre-pandemic times? My first sponsor always spoke about staying teachable. How are you teachable today? What new activities or ideas might you be interested in trying on? Here in the U.S. we are approaching an election, with high emotions on all sides. How are you staying level and centered, with political divisions as well as the on-going covid way of life?  Thank you for reading, and please do feel free to post any comments. 

Just in time for holiday planning, or your year-end inventory: 

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery” is a 78 page workbook, 8 ½ x11 format, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view and processing questions. Available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 N.E. 20th or online through this blog page. If you would like to purchase online, you will need to go to the WEB VERSION of this page, at www.soberlongtime.com  to view the link to PayPal or Credit Card option.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information. (my apologies, but with the link, you can only order 1 workbook at a time).

 As much as I'm enjoying retired life (as in very much), I've lately felt a little blown about by my social schedule. With chagrin, I realize that if I'm still complaining about being busy, it wasn't just the j-o-b but more like little-old-me. The matter of my calendar has long been a balancing act - I like a full(ish) schedule and I revel in plans that get cancelled. I'm not big on astrology, but Libra is the balance sign, though I've been reminded that equilibrium is more about flow than stasis. 

In a meeting this past week, I was reminded that I don't have to make decisions alone, whether about filling in my day-planner, or bigger life choices. Yes, there are often other people involved, but the not-alone I'm referring to is related to my inner wisdom, my spiritual guidance - that quiet place where I'm better able to discern my true heart's desires. I heard someone say recently (again, I don't have many brand new ideas) that if she is acting from a place of adrenaline, it is likely self-will. I get it. And, boy, do I get excited. Do I want to do x,y or z?  Yes! All three! The problem is that by the time "z" rolls around, I can feel a little burnt. 

I discovered this truth (though promptly forgot) when I turned 50. It was a stellar year - friends and I ran the Paris marathon, I hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and back up, did a multi-day bike ride, hiked around northern England with my brother, and had a big dance party. By the time my actual birthday rolled around, I was exhausted and realized that if everything is special, nothing is. If I plan two or three hikes in a week, I can numb to the beauty of my surroundings, my mind already racing on to the next date. Despite what I may think, I do not need to make up for lost time or cram all of my retirement hopes and plans into this one weird covid summer.

All that being said, I am an energetic lass who loves having things to look forward to. I am in no way clearing my calendar, but rather, looking to be more mindful of my choices. And, I need to look at where discomfort today may stem from long ago decisions. As I type this, I clearly recall the feeling, as a kid, of not wanting to miss anything. Our home was deathly quiet during my dad's drinking and depression years, and I lived for raucous weekends at my cousin's, or our little bike "gang" that flew up and down neighborhood streets at dusk. Of course, alcoholic-in-training that I was, my activities also included shoplifting candy bars, climbing on neighbors' roofs, smoking cigarettes from the upstairs window, and cursing like a sailor. In other words, a lot of fun. And, I'm probably not going to miss anything by leaving open spaces in my planner. An empty page does not need to mean "available."

I do realize that these are luxury problems. The point, always for me, is the pause, the slowing down, the paying attention to my spiritual resources. For some, that means big "G" God or Goddess. For others, universal truth or love. I've given up on trying to name whatever wisdom it is that guides me, usually via a quiet morning or afternoon cup of tea, or maybe something I'm reading, as I gradually learn to wait before saying "yes."  Alanon teaches that, "I'll get back to you" is a valid response, even if (especially if?) I impulsively want to agree to an invitation. I've also learned that waiting is an action, which can be a tough concept to grasp. A couple of other sayings come to mind: "If you don't know what to do, don't do anything," and "If it's a good idea today, it'll be a good idea tomorrow." 

As the weather shifts here in the Pacific NW, I imagine that some of these decisions will be made for me by the forecasts. I've been very fortunate to participate in a couple of small outdoor AA meetings over the past few months, and those will end with the rain and the time change. It has been such a gift to gather with others. Nearly every week, someone attends who hadn't been to an in-person meeting since March, and their exhale as they take their seat is an audible reminder of the importance of connection in person, at least some of the time.

October is the month my group focuses on Step 10 - continuing to make amends when we are wrong (not if, but when). I much prefer practicing the principles so that I don't need to promptly admit my wrongs, but part of living amends to myself is in embracing my humanness. Sometimes I snap when I should've kept quiet. Sometimes I over-book. Sometimes I get frustrated and annoyed at my fellow travelers. And sometimes I fairly skip along the road of happy destiny.

Where are you on the path today? What characteristic continues to get your attention? How do you move in to acceptance of all of it - the good and the bad referred to in the 7th Step prayer? As the season shifts, how will you stay open to what may be rather than holding on to what was?

A reminder: Since so many are off Facebook these days, you can sign up to get this weekly post via email by going to the little box on the right side of the page. 

Just in time for holiday planning, or your year-end inventory: 

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery” is a 78 page workbook, 8 ½ x11 format, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view and processing questions. Available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 N.E. 20th or online through this blog page. If you would like to purchase online, you will need to go to the WEB VERSION at www.soberlongtime.com of this page to view the link to PayPal or Credit Card option.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information. (my apologies, but with the link, you can only order 1 workbook at a time).

 I attended a great (online) meeting this week focused on healing relationships as we integrate the principles of recovery, and the understanding that healing our relationships with others comes out of healing our relationship with ourselves. I can't give away what I don't have, and that includes respect, honesty and compassion. I'm reminded of "Let it begin with me," as well as "More will be revealed."

I think of my Alanon journey, going to my first meeting hoping to get my heroin-addicted boyfriend clean and sober. As we grew apart, I realized that despite my initial doubts, I had been affected by my father's alcoholism and I turned my focus to unraveling the wounds I'd carried forward. It was complicated. My father sobered up when I was 12, and any impact on my psyche from his disease was subtle, related more to what felt missing in the emotional department than anything specifically done, and certainly not about anything done to me. Because he had passed, about 5 years earlier, I was able to deal with the emotions around our history on a piecemeal basis - some therapy here, some inventory there, another go-round a year or two later. But my mom was right here, interacting with me on a weekly, if not daily basis. For a brief period, she became the enemy. Why hadn't she....?  Why didn't she....?  Didn't she realize....?  

With the guidance of a strong sponsor, well-versed in adult-child issues, I came to see that I was looking for a combination of Betty Crocker and my therapist. I wanted mom to understand me, read my mind. It was me, me, me - which is probably a stage of early recovery. But I recall being in an AA meeting, a few years in, hearing a woman in her 50's complain about her mother - they hadn't talked for months, she hated the idea of seeing her, etc. Hearing that long festering resentment, my still, small voice whispered, "I don't want to be angry forever." So, I made the conscious decision to initiate the difficult conversation when the subject of dad's drinking years came up. Was it perfect? No, but I did the best I could at the time. Part of my growing up was coming to understand that she (or anyone) couldn't know what I was feeling unless I told them. What a concept, and still sometimes a challenge.

Mom and I had many years of a solid and loving relationship as I allowed her to be human, learning  to talk with her (not at her), and to really listen when she spoke. I went in to Alanon for my addict lover and ended up healing the relationship with my mom - not what I'd anticipated. Once again, I'm grateful that my recovery hasn't been limited by what I thought I needed.

For those who died before I had the spiritual bandwidth to even consider amends and forgiveness, the healing has taken place when what I know with my intellect moves those excruciating 12 inches into my heart. I can help that process along with inventory and writing letters to burn, for example, but the shift comes when I finally let go of my need to control the uncontrollable. I wish I understood that mysterious process, but all I can really do is make myself ready to be changed. 

I'd always heard that the road gets narrower in long term recovery. At first that bothered me - I'd hoped for easier and smoother, not a narrow little alley. But I've come to understand that it means I know my parameters today. I can see the path rather than stumbling around in the dark. My gut guides me today, with a heavy dose of the 12 Steps. It really is a road of happy destiny.

How has your relationship to yourself impacted your relationships with others - those people you are close to or those you interact with in the world? If there is unfinished business, how might you use Steps 8 & 9 to move forward?

“I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery” is a 78 page workbook, 8 ½ x11 format, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view and processing questions. Available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 N.E. 20th or online through this blog page. If you would like to purchase online, you will need to go to the WEB VERSION of this page to view the link to PayPal or Credit Card option.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information.