And here we are, wandering through the "new normal" that isn't normal at all. Today a friend asked, "Does it seem like time has slowed down?" Yes, and maybe that's a good thing as I stay open to whatever positives present themselves.

I've "attended" several online meetings now, still moved by our collective urge to connect. My local home group this weekend included members who'd moved away - to Iowa, North Carolina, and Wisconsin. What a treat to see their smiling faces, and hear how they are faring. We are not alone. And, it has been good to talk on the phone with members who aren't internet connected. We are not alone.

In every meeting I've been in, and in phone conversations, I hear initial fear, followed almost immediately by expressions of gratitude. Many, myself included, are asking, "What am I to learn here?" For me, a big part of it is truly incorporating "one day at a time." As much as I may think otherwise, I don't know what's going to happen next. That can be frightening for those of us with a wee bit of underlying anxiety, or I can shift the focus to curiosity. Instead of "I don't know what's next" I can try, "I wonder what's next?" Or maybe even, "What's in front of me right this moment?"

I have been attentive to my "Good Orderly Direction" or "Grace Over Drama" box that is my repository for real and imagined fears - and the slips of paper have been flying! Our eventual return to our work site, my spouse's immune system, my friend's cancer treatment and his not wanting to eat, economic fallout from the shut down, what I'd imagined my last three months of work would be like...  I write down my fear or concern, take a deep breath, and shut the darned box. This isn't to say that I'm successful in not thinking about a, b or c, but the action of putting pen to paper, and paper into box, slows the roller-coaster.

I chaired a meeting yesterday on the topic of letting go. A member shared something they'd recently learned: In place of our slogan "Let Go & Let God" (however you do or don't define the "G" word), he is using "Let Go & Let Come." If I'm able to release my internal grip on the unknowable, I can further challenge myself to be open to what shows up.

A much younger friend asked what I might regret 10 years from now if I don't take action today. That would've been easier to answer 10, 20 or even 5 years ago, but today, on the very edge of retiring, I don't have an answer. I am consciously doing my best to stay open to what presents itself - Classes? Volunteering? Hiking? Washing the windows??  Today, especially today in March of 2020, Covid-19 time, I have no idea what I'd regret 10 years from now, but I'm interested to find out.

Someone else at a meeting suggested reframing "social distancing" to "social spaciousness." People are speaking of meditation, time outdoors, connecting with family in ways they hadn't in recent years. This is a time to be still, to be quiet, not merely because we're supposed to, but because I'm feeling called to look at the layers beneath the superficial news of the day. What does it mean to stay home, when "home" has sometimes felt like a rest stop on the way to somewhere else? How can I show up for my loved ones, and my family-of-choice, when we're instructed to maintain physical distance? How much material stuff do I really need and what can I release? How do I apply the Steps and tools of the program in "all my affairs" all of the time? (or, make amends when I falter?) 

How are you able to connect during this stay-at-home time? In what ways can you shift focus from fears to gratitudes? What are you being called to do during this time of enforced slow-down, whether that is writing inventory, cleaning a closet, creating a poem, or going for a walk?


NOTE: “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

Wow - what a difference a week makes. As I was driving to an eye doctor appointment last Thursday, I got a call that my work crew is being banned from our contracted site for 30 days due to the Corona virus. My immediate task was to get back to the unit to bring some semblance of calm to clients and staff who were rightfully wondering, "What does this mean for me?" Every weekday since, I've worked with staff and supervisors online and via text - all while noticing my own simmering fears around the virus, my own dislike of change, my own concerns about what's next.

Being off work, I was able to hit an Alanon meeting I don't usually get to - sparsely attended, extra space between chairs, no hand-holding at the end. Several shares focused on fear and uncertainty, around elderly parents, the financial markets, their own health, kids out of school, etc etc etc. All expressed gratitude for our programs, though having and using the tools doesn't mean we aren't human. We're talking global pandemic here - even the words are scary.

And then, I saw a lovely video of quarantined people in Italy, singing into the streets from their sequestered balconies. I read a lovely poem suggesting that this can be a healing time as we stop traveling, stop buying, get still - a cosmic re-set of sorts. I was reminded of the beauty of the human spirit, when much of the "news" focuses on what is wrong.

Yesterday, a few stalwarts showed up for our regular 7am meeting, not certain if we'll be allowed to gather again. Each day has brought news of closures - in the greater world, but also, all our local 12 Step meeting places are shut down for at least two weeks. What's an alcoholic to do?

Enter technology! Today I attended my first online meeting and found myself getting teary as a friend read "How it Works," thinking of all the people who are connecting in this way during this challenging time. The "we" of the program reaches across quarantine and isolation, through time zones and languages. I am grateful for the privilege of internet connection.

I am also grateful for my Depression era parents - thanks to their modeling, I always have enough t.p. and canned goods on hand to last for weeks. I am grateful that I'm getting paid to work at home, acutely aware that so many don't have that luxury. I'm grateful that the sun has been shining here in Portland, which makes being home easier to take. I'm grateful that I'm able to stay in, at least partly to protect my husband's delicate recovering immune system.

Page 38 in the 12x12 (Step Three) talks about the tests faced by AA's during WWII - would they be able to maintain their recovery in the face of war? Yes, Bill writes, and we, too can walk through what life brings, though I'm realizing that this is a process. I first have to feel the fear and anxiety, accept it as a reasonable response to the current world situation, and breathe into trust. I do not know what comes next, but I do know that today, I am in recovery and doing my best to practice the principles.

Are you able to acknowledge your fears today, and move to a place of acceptance and trust? What do you do to calm the inner storms? How will you consciously move to a place of peace in the seeming chaos?

I would suggest virtual meetings as a tool of the moment, and a good way to stay connected when we are advised not to meet in person. I just googled "online aa meetings" and was given many options. Also, check in with your local Intergroup (pdxaa.org has multiple options).

Until we meet again, friends - stay safe.

NOTE: “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

It’s the third month, which means I focus my attention on the 3^rd Step: Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood God, or,  from the Alternative 12 Steps:  Make a decision to be open to spiritual energy as we take deliberate action for change in our lives.  For me, the gist of it is to get out of my own way – letting go of the fear-based illusion of control that I referenced last week.

My initial Step 3 experience, mere days into treatment, was an out loud, “F**k it, God. I can’t do this anymore. You take over” with what felt like an internal seismic shift that I now relate to releasing the compulsion to drink or use. I don't exactly know what happened - if I could understand the mystery, I wouldn't need it, but I am eternally grateful that I haven’t had to fight that urge like so many of my brothers and sisters in the rooms. Fleeting thoughts, more initially than after all these years, but I’ve never felt like I had to sit on my hands. There were times I felt the need to pick up the phone, or say in a meeting, “I felt like drinking today,” but what I’ve learned over time is that life is life – ups & downs - and no amount of alcohol is the solution to my problems or will enhance my successes. Once I "fully conceded to my innermost self that I am alcoholic" I've never (yet) thought otherwise.

For years, I recited the 3^rd Step prayer every morning. Now, not so much as I examine the automatic language that doesn't quite fit anymore. I do make a decision each morning to actively participate in my recovery, to maintain (& hopefully, increase)  my spiritual condition which, for me, means those practices that get my mind right before I jump in to the day.  I start with quiet time – a daily reader or two, my journal, and some minutes with the Insight Timer meditation app, sometimes an early run/jog. Always, but especially over these past few months, it is important for me to take a deep letting go breath.  I also often take a few minutes at the end of the workday with a cup of tea and maybe some literature or simply sitting in the garden on a nice day as I re-acclimate to home. Transitions are important, whether related to work, coming back from a trip, or other life adjustments big and small. Too often my circumstances have changed while my psyche is still in the old “normal.” Stopping to consciously acknowledge change helps.

This week has felt like a glorious return to routine, with my spouse coming out the other end of cancer treatments – not completely, but he is beginning the healing process. What that has meant for me is going to work in the morning rather than to the clinic, and hitting my  4pm meeting. A fellow there, who, quite frankly I don’t always listen to, said something that grabbed my attention this week (that’s what I get for putting personalities before principles). He said, “We always get what we ask for. My task is to get better with the asking.” This seems to tie directly to what I read in one of the Alanon  readers  – that sometimes I get answers when my heart didn’t even know it had a question. So often, my limited idea of what should be can’t compare to the awesomeness of what is just beyond my field of vision. Again, Step 3 = getting out of my own way, along with being conscious of where and how I spend my mental and emotional energy.

I think it has to do with staying aware of my thoughts and being honest with my motives. If I expect crappy interactions, that’s the energy I’m going to bring to a situation, and presto! I get crappy interactions in return. If I bring my centered-self into the day, I’m likely to have more positive connections, or be better able to deal with those that don’t go smoothly. If I am current with myself, via Step 10, 11 & 12, I can acknowledge what I want or need and speak that, rather than dancing around it, or expecting others to read my mind.

I will admit to being an optimist. I heard a funny story about optimism: A fellow walks into a room and sees another person digging through a huge pile of crap. “What on earth are you doing?!” he asks. “Well, I figure with all this s**t, there’s got to be a pony in here somewhere!” That can be my self-check - am I looking for the pony, or focused on the pile of doo-doo?

Though sometimes, it is about the crap. There's a lot going on in the world right now, around the Covid-19 virus, whether I am in a panic or think the scare is overblown, or am somewhere in the middle. As a recovering alcoholic, the question is always, "What am I doing to take care of myself today?" Get out of the way, yes, and wash my hands. Connect with my program on a regular basis, and eat well. Trust in the power of my spiritual resources, and clean house.

Which, in a roundabout way, brings me back to Step 3. I can’t control what will happen in the day (hello!) but I can control my attitude. Will I hunker down and put up my armor, or relax into whatever is next? Will I try to control, or will I get out of my own way? Will I remain conscious of my motives and my purest desires (& will I write inventory if I don’t know what those are?) or will I try to power my way through and over anything or anyone in my way?

How do you practice Step 3 as a long-timer? How do you catch yourself when you slip into control mode? How do you acknowledge the many transitions you've experienced? And, how do you maintain the sanity promised in Step 2 when the daily news is full of fear?

NOTE: “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

I ordered some Avon online recently, a few products similar to those I liked from long ago. I can't describe how pleased I was to see the small carton on my porch. It seemed right. My mother was an Avon Lady for decades, 40+ years, a part of who she was. I think she sent in her last order just a month or two before she passed, making sure her long-time customers, now long-time friends, had what they needed.

When I was a kid, our family needed the bit of money the Avon brought in. She kept at it because she benefited from the sense of purpose that work brings. In the later years, I think she continued because she valued the people, the connection, the closeness developed over time of knowing who liked which shade of lipstick, or who'd want the particular lotion when it went on sale, which morphed in to knowing who's son was getting married, or who's spouse was laid off, or was sick. My mom was a people-person.

I've never thought of myself as a people-person. I'm an introvert, which seems to have grown more pronounced in my marriage to an extreme extrovert. He exudes and I shrink back. He stays and I wander off. But, I, too need people. Maybe in smaller doses, but when I examine my off-kiltered-ness, it is often related to isolation (which doesn't necessarily mean alone).

One of my closest friends was here from out-of-town this past week, and went with me to a show that my husband bought tickets for, pre-illness. During the course of our conversations, he asked who I was spending time with, as in hanging-out pals. Nobody? That's not exactly true, and I do have to frame my current experience through the cancer treatment lens, but the question and resulting reflection has had me questioning what I do for "fun." I write fun in quotations because these days it is more "enjoyment" than out-and-out fun, which used to mean dancing for two or three hours straight, or giggling through an overnight at the coast with a group of women.  I'm realizing as I write, that in earlier recovery, fun was attached to groups - two handfuls of us going to lunch every Saturday after the nooner, or dinner on Friday night after Trust the Process, howling at each other's jokes that maybe only we found funny. Fun was a group trip to Hawaii or three of us to Spain. Fun was an AA picnic with silly games. Fun was discovering a social life without chemical enhancements.  Enjoyment is usually quieter - a good book, a walk in the woods, attending the symphony, a cozy movie while on the couch. But, or and, my sense of connection is enhanced by people - in person, not merely via text or on the not-very-social media world of likes and smiley faces. 

What I've also realized, is that I've been gritting my teeth as I try to run the show, taking internal responsibility for whether or not my spouse eats, or whether or not my friend takes his meds. I've taken responsibility for everything being ok, when it is completely outside my power to do so. It was only after talking with a young women who has come to the edge of her "I've got this!" cliff that I realized I've been doing the same thing. I shared that in my home group and within minutes, a friend handed me a medallion that reads: "When you come to the edge of all you know, you must believe in one of two things - there will be earth upon which to stand, or you will be given wings." I started to cry with a breath of surrender. It's ok that I can't fix this. It's ok that I'm tired of this particular part of the journey. It's ok that I want my husband and my friend to be ok, and it is ok that I’m not the one who can make that happen. With that breath of surrender, I may not be flying, but I do feel the solid earth beneath my feet. And with that tiny medallion, I can remember that every single time I've thought I would be overwhelmed by life-on-life's terms, I was caught and carried over the divide of "I can't" to "Yes. I am here and I am alright.," whether that was via a reading, a conversation or simply noticing the sunrise. 

The week, the ground beneath me is directly tied to my husband's final radiation treatment. There is a process involved in his return to robust health, but the daily appointments are over. It has been a long 7 weeks. And, one day at a time, one breath at a time, we're coming out the other side. Thank goodness for community and those dear friends who've been there for rides or simply reassurance. 

Where do you find community today? How do you release the reins of control when you find yourself "in charge?" How do the Steps help you re-frame your perspective?

NOTE: “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.   Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com if you’d like more information