I attended a great meeting this week where a friend pointed out that, while this time last year we had no idea what was coming, in reality, we never truly know what's coming. A global pandemic, a diagnosis, a forest fire, fender-bender, falling in or out of love, losing a pet-companion - we just never know. 

Residing in that place of not-knowing, of daily surrender, is a prime challenge of my recovery. It's that sage advice of keeping my head and my butt in the same place vs time traveling to some distant experience (what I imagine that experience to be). This is similar to a new year's resolution I once heard in a meeting - the vow to only talk to someone who is actually in the room. Right here, right now, is all we really have.

Old thinking tells me that life will be better/smoother/easier when...  things calm down, I leave that job (or start a new one), I get back from vacation (or leave the country), this or that person changes (which they don't), I finish the Christmas candy, the rain stops (or starts) - you get the idea. And, I'm probably not alone in bringing this mindset to the pandemic, as in "life will get back to normal (define as you will) when everyone is vaccinated, when everyone wears masks, when we can leave home without a plan (mask in pocket? where are the bathrooms? who will be there?). The truth is, this looking forward to post-pandemic time is really just a variation on the theme of my life, sober and pre-recovery - looking ahead to the mirage of smooth sailing.  

And it is a mirage. Life is life. I had a wonderful holiday, and spent some time sobbing over those no longer here. I don't really mind "stay home, stay safe," and I mourn the mountain of loss we've all experienced - so many lives lost, plans cancelled, businesses closed, people in line for food boxes, racial reckoning, unfathomable destruction from wildfires, social unrest that still scars my city... this has been hard. Much harder on others than on me, and it is important to acknowledge my own sense of grief.

Which brings me back to my seemingly innate desire to predict, while at the same time, looking to the horizon for better days. These are the better days. I'm sober and healthy, as are my family members. And even when me and mine are up against it, I have the foundations of recovery to walk me through. Even when the world seems to be untethered from sanity, I can choose to focus on the kindness of strangers coming together in times of need, the beauty of one hand reaching out to another. 

Today, I am at peace. Sunshine helps, as does the glimmer of hope leading to the new year. I'm coming up on 35 years recovery, and am looking forward to various zoom shares. I'm looking forward to the incremental return of the light, and re-starting my walking group. I'm looking forward to my appointment with the resale shop, to see how much of my former office-wear they'll be interested in. I look forward to the fresh pages of a new journal and calendars as I create space, psychically as well as physically.

When I was nine or ten years old, Mom put us to bed on New Year's Eve saying, "I'll see you next year!" I started to cry, thinking she was going away, struggling with the concept of one year becoming another while I slept. I can still get in a place of either wanting to stop time, or hurry it up, while amazed that in the blink of an eye, I'm 66 with long term recovery. My challenge in the coming days is to be here, and not put too much emphasis on our arbitrary markers of time passing.

I fully expect to be asleep before midnight on December 31, much preferring early mornings to late nights. How will you spend New Year's Eve or New Year's Day? Do you have a special ritual to help release the old and welcome the new? What do you look forward to in the coming winter months?               ~Thank you, for riding out 2020 with me. Here's to 2021!

~ Just in time for your year-end inventory  (See the 11/17/20 blog entry  for a chapter sample)

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).