As I've been noting on these pages, my intended last day of work is June 15, capping off a 30+ year career and 10 years at my current employer. I had grand plans for my departure, including two work parties and a big celebration with friends, as well as traveling to the AA International Convention in Detroit, plus lots of free concerts in the parks over the summer. Cancelled, cancelled, cancelled. Zilch, nada, never mind.

Because of the virus, we are down two staff  and are limited to the services we do provide based on our Governor's order of no more than 10 people in a room. This has made for some creative finagling of space and time, while wearing masks and gloves. Never a dull moment as we try to recreate a program after 49 days of "stay home, stay safe," and I'm busier on the front lines than I've been in years.

To that end, I've twice offered to stay a little longer, or come back part time. They haven't yet chosen my replacement, and I hate to leave my co-workers in the lurch. The first time I offered, my supervisor said, "That's ok" and the second time, she ignored my question. I'm taking the hint that it is time for me to go.

I realized, over the weekend, that I have a case of separation anxiety. Saying "good bye" is not something I'm very good at, be it a job or a relationship that no longer fits. Heck, I hang on to cardboard boxes, and houseplants that are way past their prime. I attach, which can be a nice thing in the long run, but not always in the short. Sometimes, you just have to let go.

I naturally find myself reflecting on my career as I clean out files at the office and think about the journey from frightened and self-conscious trainee to competent professional. The funny thing is, on paper, I didn't qualify for the last 3 jobs I've had, but was in the right place at the right time. I can use that as an example of getting what I need, when I need it during these bouts of insecurity.

And so, my lesson, in these final months, continues to be about letting go - of what I think I need, of how I think things will work out, of what is next. Those would be lessons of a major life change on a good day - even more so during this time of covid when what we know shifts from one day to the next. Suit up and show up - those early instructions continue to apply, despite my efforts to complicate matters.

So much of what I've done since getting sober has felt like a calling, something my psyche pressed me to do: my long career in addictions treatment, pursuing a Master's Degree, completing my novel, writing the Now What? workbook... That also applies to certain jobs and relationships, whether getting in or getting out. When I get still, I know what to do - which doesn't mean I don't then question my decisions. I'm coming to understand that doubt is part of the process.

I suppose, then, that a bit of separation anxiety is to be expected. What do I do with those feelings? Today I wrote a recommendation for the person I hope gets my job, and started to cry - for me, for him, for the next phase of both our journeys. I was alone in my office, and let the tears flow, anticipating that there will be more in the coming weeks. I can remember that "being human is not a character defect" and that sadness and grieving is a reflection of love. I've loved my career, and I've been good at it. I can celebrate that as I step away, knowing that the good work I started will continue, one person at a time, one day at a time.

When I stumbled through the steps of a smoke-filled treatment program in 1986, I had absolutely no idea where the path would lead. It was not my intention that my decision to take a break would turn into a lifetime of abstinence and recovery. I could not have imagined the wonderful and tragic places the journey has taken me thus far. I wonder what's next?

What do you do when faced with the need to make a decision, big or small? How do you handle any creeping doubts? What helps you trust the process?


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