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?