As our home group opened and I listened to the cacophony of Zoom voices reciting the Serenity Prayer, in nothing resembling unison, I was reminded of all the people around the world who were settling in to their meetings. Early morning, nooners, late evening (depending on the time zone) - there is power in the collective, if I remind myself so. I can feel marooned on my tiny self-centered island, but all it takes is a breath, and a glance at the global availability of 12 Step gatherings, to come back to reality. Alcoholism is a disease of isolation. Covid is a disease that requires isolation. Balancing the positive and negative effects of solitude is the task of the month.

It's telling that our local Sunday paper had an entire section on "Beating the Blues," describing  covid time as "boredom on steroids" (included was a full page related to online alcohol and addiction recovery). When in doubt, I find that a nap can alter my attitude, as can doing the next right thing, however mundane. Cleaning the cabinets, vacuuming the couch, thinking about that back closet, etc. can distract me from whatever longing I might be feeling for the freedoms of a coffee date, an indoor meal with friends, or a trip to the gym. Some days I simply muddle through.

And then, inspiration shows up, this week in the form of a 78 year old member of my walking group, who's fast pace shoved aside any notions of age-restrictions. Inspiration also shows up as young moms I see in meetings, balancing work and babes in arms, men who share raw emotion, or the front-line workers who just keep showing up to shelve groceries, drive the bus, or deliver packages, not to mention the healthcare professionals who demonstrate heroism every day. I see role models, not measuring sticks, learning how I want to be in the world from their examples of courage and fortitude. How can I be part of the solution today?

*  *  *

I am working on a return visit to the re-sale store, where they've expressed interest in some of the items I've been hauling around for decades - the beautiful fireplace set from a previous life (we don't have a fireplace), the three-foot tall hookah from that same previous life; an old sewing kit, some glassware - all things that have held sentimental value, sentimental value that lessens as the years go by. And, if I'm being honest, how much meaning does something have if it is crammed onto a shelf in the garage? Will I make a few dollars? Possibly. Mostly, I'm happy to have found a place that is interested in the accoutrements of my past, eager to release the cringe of  "I really should do something with that." Creating space, both in my closets and my psyche, allows the freedom of creativity. I can feel weighed down by volume, by the dust that hides behind bookshelves full of knick-knacks, by the drawers full of art supplies I've not used in eons. Letting go of items that no longer have meaning is like an exhale, and further evidence of the cycle of life (we learn, we acquire and strive, and we let go). I'm a saver, but I'm also practical. What use, really, is a hookah?  It is time to ask myself those questions about what matters, what will I actually use going forward, what would I miss the most if the house were to burn down? Eat off the special dishes, light the fancy candles, buy ink to use with those calligraphy pens! "Later" is now. 

I know about a dozen people who've received their first vaccine. For those of us still waiting, these could seem like the longest months. Have your coping strategies changed over the past year? What role do meetings or the fellowship play in your peace of mind? What is it you look forward to, once we have more (and safer) freedoms?