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).