It is strange to reconnect with people I knew in my 20's. Based on time spent, and the intensity of the relationships, it feels like we grew up together, except that some of us were only play-acting at being adult. 

As I was getting ready to meet with my old friend last week, my husband wondered if this might be an opportunity for an amends. My first reaction was, "For what?" but after re-reading Step 8 in the 12x12, and pausing to consider the tenor of the times, I realized that I owed amends for my participation in, and occasional instigation, of a whole lot of drama. 

I can't say that the amends were particularly satisfying. The friend was polishing off a beer and started another while I was there, and seemed to brush off my apology with, "It was the times we were in." Yes, to a point. The 1970's were a heady time to come of age with rapidly changing social mores. As my friend said, we did what we thought we were supposed to do - graduate high school, get a job, get married - never mind that few of us were mature enough to know what marriage really entailed while the culture was telling us to "Love the one you're with" and "If it feels good, do it," an alcoholic anthem if I ever heard one. So, for the 5 years I was married, just following high school, a varying group of 8-15 people saw each other every.single.weekend. We vacationed together, cooked in each other's kitchens, slept in each other's beds (with a few sleeping with each other's partners), stayed up all night dancing in our various living rooms. And then, our community came to a crashing end, with first my divorce, then another, a remarriage, my husband's mental illness, and addictions. I painfully know, having been on both sides of the "I'm leaving" equation, that separation is hard for the individuals, but also hard for the tribe. Only one couple was able to bridge the gap and stay friends with both me and my ex. Others chose sides (his). 

The old friend seemed to view those days as some of the best of our lives. I'd be lying if I said there weren't good times - dancing until the wee hours, piling in someone's car to go out for Chinese at 3am, toasting with the hair-of-the-dog at noon the next day - some of that was great fun. But, for me, there was the darkness of my budding alcoholism, the hangovers and regret over things said in a stupor, and the reality of an unhappy marriage. Yes, there were sweet moments, but there were a lot of arguments, a lot of conflict over basic values and differences that hadn't been visible during our dating years. Like our parents had said, we were too young.

I worked with a woman once who jokingly described her "starter marriage." I don't like the disrespect of that term, the denigration of the dream we all had with our pretty dresses and gift boxes coming in the mail. And, there is a smidgen of truth to it. Decisions I made at 19 were not decisions I would make at 30, or 50. Sobriety aside, I was not a mature 20 year old. I had a good job and moved my way up the ranks of the clerical pool, but I lacked skills to a) know my truth and b) to speak that truth rather than act out and hope someone could interpret what I was trying to say. Today I am grateful for having the emotional language to actually communicate rather than simply talking at someone.

On the other end of the memory spectrum, I threw myself a safe and distanced party this weekend to celebrate my retirement, in the park where several of us attendees drank and got high during high school. As he was leaving, one friend asked, "I wonder what we would've thought back then if we'd known we'd be here all these years later, dancing to the oldies?" I probably would've been mortified. At 15, 21 seemed old - never mind 65. Unimaginable! But the question prompted one of those psychic rearrangements regarding the somewhat morbid reflection I'd been engaged in after meeting with my old friend. I realized, as one hopes to do in the later years, that every season of life has its joys and its sorrows, proud moments and those of pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization. Life goes on, despite my obsessions on a particular person or job, my focus on the past or the future. And if you are fortunate, as I consider myself to be beyond measure, the light days outnumber the dark. 

And now, September beckons. It's been years since I've been in school, but as the cool mornings whisper of autumn, I find myself wanting to buy notebook paper and sharpen pencils. Here in Portland, late summer could extend into October, so there is no need quite yet to batten down the hatches. But I will pay attention to the subtle shifts in energy, internal and external. I will acknowledge the sense of  new beginning and possibility that come with the seasonal shift, staying open to what might be next.

What triggers your memories? Particular songs? Places? People from the past? How do you keep from going down the rabbit hole of sweet or sad recollections in order to keep at least one foot in the present?

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I will note that Clancy I, longtime AA member and founder of the Pacific Group died this week at age 94. He could be controversial, with his old-timey ideas and language, but he definitely carried the message of hope and recovery to many. He knew Chuck Chamberlain, and met Bill Wilson, and I don't think there are many of that era left. The torch has been passed, and now we are the old timers. I'm grateful for the many who paved the way and hope to carry on their work with integrity and respect for the program.

“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.