My online home group this week was attended by a fellow in his car, driving from San Diego to Seattle. The topic of the day was how we define spirituality, or our spiritual connection, and as I watched that guy cruising down the highway, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and checking the rearview  mirror, I thought, "That's my definition of a spiritual connection - hitting the open road, singing along to an oldies mix-tape, watching the world go by." My sense of spirit shows up when I feel a spark of joy or awe, in the forest, on the road, or in a meeting. Maybe it's being awakened by the light of the full moon, or sharing a giggle with the adorable toddlers down the street on their daily adventure with grandma, or when I'm riding downhill on my bicycle. This week it showed up while sharing  moments of deep conversation with a friend I hadn't seen in-person for several years. It also appeared, in the form of tears, when I was able to schedule my husband's first covid vaccine appointment. 

Joy or awe or spirit doesn't show up on demand, or when I think I have time. It isn't something I can grab hold of, and sometimes, in the noticing, it fades. For me, joy is more of a momentary experience when I'm fully in the present. I am happy or content quite a lot of the time, defined as a general sense of well-being, and can do things to cultivate that, but the high-twinkles are like little gifts from the cosmos.

Something I recently read suggested that those flashes of joy, of feeling fully alive and engaged can be a signal, or indicator of what my next steps might be - not quite like the old hippie saying, "If it feels good, do it," because sometimes what feels good in the moment won't after a bit of reflection (I'm thinking about a chocolate chip cookie here, not the nefarious thrills of yesteryear). But I can certainly notice the difference between something that excites and something that feels flat. Years ago, as I was contemplating applying to grad school, my old fears tried to make me small. But when I got quiet, I was excited, and when I participated in my program, felt fully alive, like I was in the exact right place. Again and again, it is about paying attention.

And, obviously, much of what I do in a given day or week is simply neutral, though not much these days warrants an "ugh." I do my best to stay open to serendipity, to notice the beauty around me (which is easy to do in the Pacific Northwest during spring). In this week's NYT magazine food article, about Japanese donabe hot pot cooking, author Tejal Rao writes, "Some people want to feel happiness that's too big. But for me, every day, I just look for something small." For me, this morning, it was a lively conversation with the desk clerk at my gym, at her post after months away (it is a good sign that the owner, who's been there herself every day, feels confident enough to bring back staff). This young woman is a fellow traveler, and we've enjoyed many conversations reveling in our past, and planned, adventures - a six minute conversation that has brightly colored my day. 

How do I hold on to the feeling of expansion, excitement in the moment, or for what's ahead, without grasping? How do I stay in the "attitude of gratitude" when there is so much in the world that has me distressed? It's not about sticking my head in the sand, but I think it goes back to the hula-hoop idea, as in "stay in your own lane," and using the Serenity Prayer to determine if there is a specific action for me to take. It's also about doing my best to be in the moment (such a discipline!). And I will try to live by a good  friend's motto and blood type: B-Positive. 

When I do find myself wandering down a dark alley of upset or pessimism, I can think about a question raised by another friend in a recent meeting: "Am I truly at risk, or am I just not getting my way?" Am I in danger, or are things simply not going the way I think they should? Humbling to think of how often I can get peeved simply because people aren't following my (unspoken) directions!

What people, places, things or ideas spark your joy? What is it you're doing when you feel fully alive and engaged? How can paying attention to your inner guide bring more of those moments to your life? How do you back out of the bad neighborhood when your thinking takes a turn to the dark side? How do you celebrate the absolute miracle of long term sobriety? (It's not a given, you know. Kudos to you for continuing to show up for life and for recovery.)

* * *

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery”  -  a 78 page spiral bound workbook, 8 ½ x11, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view, processing questions, and space for writing.  (See the 11/17/20 blog entry  for a chapter sample) 

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). ( I offer a price break for locals who can pick up their copy - $15)

 My spouse is a big fan of speaker meetings, and in covid-time, can find great offerings most weekends as conferences have moved online. We've enjoyed the monthly West Hollywood Speaker Slam (next one is April 17-18) and this weekend, I caught part of Seamus O's talk, a Catholic priest with decades of sobriety. I always appreciate when religious professionals speak to their struggles with faith. If so-called experts question the meaning of life and spirituality, it makes sense that I would too. For the record, I don't believe there are experts in matters of faith. I am the expert on my journey, my path, my connection or lack thereof. I read, both secular and various faith authors, and I listen, though others' experiences can only point the way, or open a door, to my own. 

Over and over I hear, as with Seamus O, that the capital "T" truth is not somewhere outside myself, but is the "great reality deep within." I truly have all the answers, and if I don't, I have a cadre of trusted others to reason things out with. Sometimes it is simply a matter of giving voice to my uncertainties. I keep a sticky note on my desk that reads, "If you know the answer, ask a bigger question." Actually, I move that note around because it scares me just a little, as if it's a sweepstakes - ask the "right" question, and your life will expand immeasurably! I'm not sure I want my life to expand immeasurably, but here I am again, thinking a) I know the answers and b) that the universe would present me with something terrible just as a test. 

A sponsor used to share of the need to stop living from her "top three inches," instead making the oh-so-gentle effort to approach the world from her heart or her gut. So hard for me to do. I am a feeler, but the emotions start in my mind, where I've often gone to the mat with attempts to figure out or understand. As Shakti Gawain said in a talk years ago, "Life is like a beautiful bowl of fruit, but too often I can't see it because I'm face down in the bowl." These days I can tell when my face is in the bowl, when my field of vision is just past my nose. 

Which seems like Step 3 -  Making a decision to get out of my own way is an action, a deliberate choice to get my face out of the fruit bowl of my plans and designs, my ruminations or obsessions. An internal action, but nonetheless, something I do. I've lived my life both in the flow, and fighting against it - no secret which feels more serene (though struggling against the current sure felt familiar for a very long time). I used to spend a fair amount of mental energy wondering what it meant, exactly, to turn one's will and life over. To what? How??  Was I supposed to just sit on my porch, waiting for the sobriety pixie to roll up in a cab to tell me what to do that day? Not exactly. I think of this surrender as more of tuning in to my personal GPS, shaped, over time, by the principles of the program, which influence my personal ethics. That GPS was always there, buried deep within, but I usually tried to outrun it, not possessing the level of self-discipline required to live by my virtues instead of my frailties (Marieanne Williamson says that I'd better find a higher power or the lower ones will kill me) . When my main goals were to find someone to get me through the night or avoid getting caught (for any number of things), then my M.O. worked just fine: I knew how to do instant gratification. I knew how to lie. Maybe that's why I rarely set goals pre-recovery - it wasn't just because I was loaded or hung over, but because at some level I knew I couldn't handle the level of discomfort that making a decision, and then following through, required. 

These days, making a decision doesn't mean that I don't make plans. Au contraire. I make lots of plans - I buy plane tickets, make walking dates, write a grocery list. What I do surrender, and attempt to turn over to my higher self, is how I'll respond in the moment, whether the plan goes my way or not. A day at a time, I seek to strengthen my ability to pause, not just when agitated or doubtful, but just about anytime I open my mouth. Is what I'm about to say Thoughtful, Helpful, Intelligent, Necessary, or Kind? If not, Why Am I Talking? (I love our acronyms and slogans - the shorthand for times I can't think further than what's in front of me.)

I went to a new-to-me online meeting this week. I appreciate my home group, but sometimes need to mix it up. This was a small women's meeting, with several newcomers riding the rollercoaster of early recovery when the wreckage of our not-so-distant past is a daily companion. Near the end of the meeting, I had to fight my usual urge to keep moving, so did post my phone number in the chat as available for calls. I'm not much of a phone person - never have been - and sometimes, still, doing something different than the norm is what's needed for my spiritual growth. 

I also attended an in-person meeting this week at a local Alano Club - huge room, with 6 foot distance between chairs, masks, and no coffee. It felt good to be out and about, and to hear new voices. We had a sweet visit and meal out with our daughter over the weekend, and I had an indoor dining experience with a cousin too, taking those tentative and mindful steps back towards a more open way of being. On Friday, we'll drive to north to meet up with couple of good friends for a meal and a walkabout - again, slowly and gently reentering a social life. I just read an article about the anxiety inherent in this new climate after a year in relative lock-down. I'm curious how it might feel to shake someone's hand, offer a hug, or order coffee from an un-masked barista, remembering that other people's comfort level might be different than mine. Cautious is always ok. 

What do you look forward as we move safely ahead? What does the statement, "If you know the answer, ask a bigger question?" say to you? If you could wave a magic wand, what, if anything, would change about your current circumstances? If these are things you could possibly change in real life, how might the Steps help you set and reach your goals?

* * *

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery”  -  a 78 page spiral bound workbook, 8 ½ x11, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view, processing questions, and space for writing.  (See the 11/17/20 blog entry  for a chapter sample) 

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). ( I offer a price break for locals who can pick up their copy - $15)

My step-daughter will turn 21 this month. Preparing to celebrate with her, triggered reflection on my own 21st. By then, I'd already been drinking for six or seven years, and had been married for two. Attending a small party for my twin cousins' 20th, the occasion was anti-climatic. I felt older than my years, already with a bit of the "is this all there is?" syndrome. Jaded, with ten more years of debauchery before I'd hit bottom. It would definitely get worse before it got better.

I asked friends what they wish they'd known when they were 21: 

• Don't hesitate to ask questions just because you think everyone else knows the answer. They don't.
• It could be that the best years of your life are twenty years from now.
• You'll never die from a broken heart
• People will always tell you who they are. Believe them.
• Don't settle, whether that's in jobs, relationships or friendships
• Life picks up speed from here on out, so pay attention
• You are perfect just as you are

There are more, including the wish that our 21 year old selves would've found recovery sooner, or been able to practice moderation in our excesses (ha! the great quest of most alcoholics!). Could I have heard any of it, at 21? Probably not. At 21, I rather impulsively left my first job because I was bored and didn't want what would've been the next promotion. But, I got bored in our little apartment after just a few weeks, and found another position in a small office where we turned on the answering service Friday afternoons in order to share a bottle or two of wine (ah, the 1970's). Alcohol in powdered form was a few years away, but I was definitely drinking and smoking pot every day - what else would a person do? 

Roads not taken - so many. One of my best friends and I reminisced this week about our early sobriety talk of having a baby together, both single but feeling the clock tick. We got as far as discussing legalities before I met someone who wasn't at all interested in being a third party to my tentative agreement with a gay man. Do I wish I'd gone ahead with my friend instead of spending the next nine years with someone who was as ambivalent about me as he was about parenthood? One of those unanswerable questions (though if my friend and I had gone ahead, our offspring would be 29 years old).

I'll never for a moment regret taking the road (Highway 26) to treatment. There were times early on when I questioned my ability to do what was required to stay sober, but I never questioned my desire for a life different that what I'd been enduring. And what I've come to understand is that every choice leads to another, and then another. Someone who follows Christianity once said to me, "Jesus is a light unto our feet, not unto next week." Some truths are universal: the road, the path will be illuminated as I step forward, one day at a time. I may have hints, and be able to take a reasonable guess at where one path or another will lead, but until I'm there, the future is a mystery. (That used to bother me, the not- knowing, until someone pointed out how dull it would be to know the end of the story before it even began). 

I got word that one of my favorite cousins is up against the cancer he's been fighting valiantly for several years. Our parents most definitely enjoyed their highballs together, while we've enjoyed the rooms of AA. Life takes twists and turns. What I'd tell my 21 year old self, as well as reminding myself now, is to be sure to tell your loved ones that you care because you never know how much time you all have left (and be sure to ask all the questions you have about family history, because one day there will be no one left who remembers). 

After last week's post, I had a couple of comments on what we may have learned from covid time. One person suggested that it hasn't been all bad, appreciating time at home, while another expressed a wariness about jumping back to "normal" post vaccine. I think it will be a process, for me and mine anyway. According to a recent article, many of us are experiencing "covid itch," the desire to start planning. I can relate, and have some "hope-to's" on the horizon, including a couple of trips out of state and a tentative family reunion. And, the virus has first call.

I spoke with an 80 year old yesterday, who called me a "kid." It's all about perspective. What might you wish you'd known at age 21? How about at 31 or 51? What do you think your 80 year old self would advise you today?

*  *  *

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery”  -  a 78 page spiral bound workbook, 8 ½ x11, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view, processing questions, and space for writing.  (See the 11/17/20 blog entry  for a chapter sample) 

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). ( I offer a price break for locals who can pick up their copy - $15)

A friend and I, who are on the same vaccine schedule, have planned lunch out, 14 days after our second dose, prompting a little spike of joy.  On my Monday morning walk, I got choked up as I happened upon a grade school reopening, complete with balloons and the song "Celebrate" playing on a loudspeaker.  I've fared reasonably well during this pandemic - secure housing, stable finances, good health - and it's been a long year. I get teary when I think of previously normal activities, like hanging out with my bestie and our spouses to watch a basketball game on TV, or traveling to visit the in-laws. It has been a long year, and I'm so appreciating these small signs of hope.

I stopped reading a book this week, merely two chapters in. Despite being critically acclaimed, it just wasn't grabbing me, so I pushed a button and it disappeared from my Kindle. If nothing else (and actually there has been a lot "else") Covid has caused me to reevaluate how I spend my mental energy. Where I used to think I needed to finish every book I started, or watch every Oscar contender, I'm a bit more selective with how I spend my time these days. Sometimes, the pandemic has made the days seem like months, but here we are - a year in to what I could not have imagined, and now, with a light at the end of the very long tunnel.

Covid-time has honed my relationships as well. I see ( in person or online) or am in regular contact with (phone or text) a good handful of folks, which seems just about right for someone who is very familiar with spreading myself too thin. My friends bring laughter and tears, acknowledgement and inspiration. We are getting through, one day at a time. And I'm nearly always inspired in the meetings I attend, signing-on half-heartedly, only to find myself nodding in recognition with the first share, and the second, and the third. I'll  keep coming back. 

And it is March, Step 3 territory, where I make a daily decision to get out of my own way. I used to get on my knees and say the 3rd Step Prayer every morning. I don't do that anymore, but am continuing my daily focus on acknowledging my powerlessness and surrendering/accepting what is without attempting to manage, direct or change what I have no control over. Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly...

What have you learned during this pandemic time? Are there ideas or practices you've re-examined and let go of, or have you adopted new ways of being or thinking? What might you have told yourself in March, 2020 that would've helped ease your way?

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery”  -  a 78 page spiral bound workbook, 8 ½ x11, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view, processing questions, and space for writing.  (See the 11/17/20 blog entry  for a chapter sample) 

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). ( I offer a price break for locals who can pick up their copy - $15)

 One of my daily readers recently discussed the difference between "try" and "let," saying, "When we 'try' we announce that we want to be in control." That makes perfect sense. I imagine the scrunched face energy of "try" - Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the hill - versus open-palmed "let" - perhaps Buddha on a lily pad. 

We used to say, in treatment, that "trying is dying." When some guy would talk about what he was going to try to do, I'd hold a pen in my hand and ask that he "try" to take it from me. You either do or you don't. But I was completely confused when my own counselors would advise us to let go. Of what? I'd whine. "How??"  Elder stateswoman/counselor Barbara, would say, "You simply let go," as she opened her palms to the air. I didn't get it, and still sometimes don't. 

I need something concrete when it comes to letting go - something to DO. Sometimes that means picturing a stop sign in my mind, or imagining changing the channels. It may mean writing about "it" and either burning the paper or putting it in the god box. Maybe the action is picking up the phone, or emailing my sponsor. It could mean taking a breath while naming three things I see, three things I hear, and three things I can touch in order to get my brain off the obsession, or using the mantra someone gave me long ago: I can choose peace instead of this. 

Letting go is a discipline, a practice. I know how to try, to put my nose to the grindstone and hammer it out, whether that it is a written 4th Step or a half-marathon. Letting go means to release predictions about my performance in an event - as I saw on a spectator's sign: Trust the training. Letting go also means not having expectations about pay-offs when working the Steps. I open myself to the process, to the mystery of healing - sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. I do expect relief when I turn to the principles of the program, but that doesn't always look like I thought it might.

What I want to let go of today is timing for my spouse's covid vaccine, or rather, my anxiety around scheduling for the vaccine (I got my first one today - yay!). I want to trust the process, which, in this case, probably means to stop watching news stories about how my state is screwing up. I want to let go of worry and my efforts to control the uncontrollable. I want to let go of the remaining "should's" and tired old fears that lurk just below the surface of my conscious mind. I want to let go of trying to predict the future. A guy in a meeting used to say, "If things were supposed to be any other way, they'd be different." God, that used to piss me off! But.... but.... but..... I'd argue with the facts. Maybe I'm just worn down, but I do that a lot less these days. Breathing, as the world swirls around me.

What letting go means is that I want to live in peace and serenity, which is mainly noticeable in its absence. I want to continue to greet each day with hopeful anticipation, knowing that I choose the energy I bring to my endeavors. I want to continue my attention to the HALTS - just because I'm not formally working doesn't mean I can skimp on sleep or healthy meals, or, as important, connections with actual people (not just texts). Grateful, grateful, grateful for my online meeting routine, and the small group that sometimes meets around a bonfire. One day at a time, we are doing the deal.

What is it you need to release today? Worries about a loved one, or perhaps yourself? What are one or two things you can do to welcome the energy of surrender and letting go?

I’ve Been Sober a Long Time – Now What? A workbook for the Joys & Challenges of Long Term Recovery”  -  a 78 page spiral bound workbook, 8 ½ x11, with topics (such as grief, aging, sponsorship) that include a member’s view, processing questions, and space for writing.  (See the 11/17/20 blog entry  for a chapter sample) 

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). ( I offer a price break for locals who can pick up their copy - $15)