I woke up in a funk on Monday and had to remind myself that I get melancholy during the holidays in a good year, so a bit of the blues doesn't mean I'm doing anything "wrong." I can sometimes use the program as a weapon - the sword of striving, of "self-improvement," of trying to be better - Step 10 with a vengeance. I seem to self-flagellate more when I'm off-center, when I've forgotten my powerlessness, when I'm looking outside myself for some sort of fix.

As the stars aligned, I found myself in a meeting later that day, shared my dis-ease, and heard several others say the same. Ah yes, I am not alone, in either my grief or my joy. There again,  my off-centeredness can take me to a place of aloneness, of thinking that I'm the only one who sometimes feels lost or unmoored. We could almost call alcoholism/addiction a disease of separation - my perception of "I'm different." That feeling comes less and less the longer I'm in recovery as I'm better able to recognize its lies, and old ideas are old ideas and comfortable in their familiarity, even when not in my best interest. And then the next day I woke up in a positive frame of mind. From the previous evening's shares? From some good news on the personal and greater world fronts? After a good night's sleep? Probably all of the above.

I was honored to attend the online memorial for my husband's first sponsor over the weekend, a well respected member in the Berkeley/Oakland/Bay Area fellowship, who died after a three year journey through liver cancer. It was a moving service, with 9 speakers sharing for five minutes each, followed by smaller break-out groups for individual shares (there were over 180 attendees). Many quoted different things John said over the years, evidence of his commitment to the 12 Steps and service, as well as his grace in walking through a terminal diagnosis. I've been reflecting on one of his statements: "I don't know what's next, so I'll just do what's next." Would that I be so gracious in the face of adversity. 

In another meeting, with a generalized topic of perspective, someone shared the tool of "and," as in, I'll miss seeing our faux-family for Thanksgiving tomorrow, "and" I'm grateful we're all healthy and safe. I'm bummed that gyms are closed, "and" I'm able to get outside for my daily walks. I look forward to vaccines and healing, "and"  I've had enough to eat today, I know where I'll be sleeping tonight, I have my recovery.

I'm an introverted writer, who'd really rather be locked in my garret with candles and a cup of tea, but alas, part of getting read includes at least a modicum of self promotion. A potential opportunity to get the word out about my workbook has presented itself, and as I talked with the person involved, I could feel myself shrink. Having done the work of recovery, I recognized, for a least a few moments, I wanted to be invisible. Rather than letting those old triggers make my decisions, I was able to acknowledge that a part of me was scared, "and"  that I could move forward anyway. One day at a time, one choice at a time. Recovery doesn't mean that I'll never be triggered. What it does mean is that I can respond differently this time, or the next. 

And so, it is Thanksgiving eve here in the U.S. Last year, we shared our meal with my brother and his wife, and my first husband. In the following month, my ex was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer that had metastasized to his brain and my spouse was diagnosed with Stage 1 throat cancer. And then the pandemic and all its disruptions hit. What I've learned over this past year is that nothing is guaranteed - not health, not conferences and airfare I've paid for, not employment, not the ability to safely hang out with family or friends - nothing. What I hope I've gained is a conscious awareness of all there is to be grateful for, even on the darkest of days. I will cook a bird, mash potatoes, and bake a  cake, frosting it using my grandmother's recipe. We'll watch a few episodes of our current show, and maybe some football. We'll call our college student and our San Francisco family, and I'll ring my ex's daughter along with a couple of friends. We'll all likely remark on this strange and separate year, with hopes for better, safer days to come.

The Gratitude List is one of my favorite tools of recovery, never failing to adjust my attitude, even if just a little. I am grateful that I didn't die with a needle in my arm (Thanksgiving marks my final skid towards hitting bottom). I am grateful that I hear from many of you over the course of the weeks. I'm grateful for home and health, sobriety and (relative) sanity. And I'm grateful for connections over time.

What are you grateful for, this day and always? If you have an off day, how are you gentle with yourself in the process of coming back to center?

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).