We held the memorial for my first husband this weekend, near the year anniversary of his passing. It  was good to hear family and friends share about what a good guy he was, both past and in his later years. He was so much more than his mental illness: father, grandfather, cousin, friend; lover of cars and good barbeque, a man with a history.

We are the sum of what we've been through and what we've done, but not just that. I remember my heroin-addicted boyfriend, after I'd been through treatment, telling me in anger one day that he was "more than just a junkie!" I had a hard time seeing that. From where I sat, he appeared consumed with getting his next fix, taking it, being loaded, then starting the cycle anew. I couldn't see him under the veil of addiction, though he was a father, a son, a philosopher. Like we told clients in treatment, "You are more than the worst thing you've done," hoping to create space for redemption, for change. What is recovery but change? I am so grateful that I didn't get what I deserved, and that someone saw "me" apart from my self-destructive actions.

And, it can be hard to see past the outer shell - the psychosis, the addiction, the anger, the many walls we consciously or unconsciously erect. It is challenging to see past politics, opinions; all the ways we find to divide ourselves from the "other," whether in a family member, a friend, or the guy camped on the street corner.

How amazing was AA as it worked through the growing pains of exclusion - I'm a member if I say I am, even if a "prisoner, queer, plain crackpot, (or) fallen woman" (12x12 p.140). We are definitely people who would not mix, bound by a common goal. I can take that into the rest of the world, assuming that most people share common goals of wanting safety and community and a place to sleep at night. As much as I may think otherwise, I don't have to "approve" of your beliefs, how you voted, or the way you eat a bowl of soup. I am not the judge of the universe! 

I am not the judge of the universe, and, I have my own beliefs and boundaries and bottom lines. The challenge for me as a certified Alanonic is to navigate the Bermuda Triangle of support/ control/ detachment; caring without controlling, detaching without ignoring. Ah, this human journey! As a friend once asked, "How do I tell which of my feelings are simply mine to absorb and which are mine to address?" Where do I find the "wisdom to know the difference?" My old ideas are MY ideas, presenting themselves as facts. Again and again, this is where the "pause" comes in, as well as asking, "How important is it?" How important is it, really? As I work in my new garden I can keep my hands and my head in the soil, or let my mind wander to either Shangri-La or my latest rant. Choices. Choices and awareness, and the ability to pay attention to what is actually in front of me.

I spent a lovely week away, helping a good friend get settled in her new place. I love the mossy greens of my city, but am consistently spellbound by the wide open spaces and big skies of northern New Mexico whenever I visit. It was good to get away, and, as always, so good to come home.

How do you catch yourself in the act of judgement? What tools do you use to see beyond the annoying to get to the humanity in each of us? How does acceptance play in to your daily practice, whether that is people, places or things? 

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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)

 I'm posting early this week as I'll be away and not certain about computer access on Wednesday...

"If the path you're on is clear, you're probably on someone else's."  Carl Jung

I've been thinking a lot about purpose, or rather, attempting to feel my way into what a sense of purpose means at this stage of life and recovery. I had a strong calling for the work I participated in for 30 years, but what now? In a talk geared towards professional fulfillment, author Martha Beck shared steps for getting in touch with what excites us. What stuck with me, and what I've heard elsewhere, was a version of "follow your bliss." She believes that the body knows, so suggests bringing to mind whatever task, person or idea is on your mental agenda, then paying attention to how it feels physically. Does thinking of so-and-so feel expansive or contracting? Do I experience an internal "ugh?" or a "yes!"

Years ago, my therapist suggested waiting for an "unequivocal yes!" when contemplating a romantic relationship. I was leery. Unequivocal? OK, I'll try and hold still long enough to see what happens (vs chasing rainbows or wanting an answer NOW!) and here I am, coming up on a very happy 10th wedding anniversary. That same criteria could apply to just about anything. Like I wrote a few weeks ago, much of what I do, I simply do, like the laundry, but I've started a list of things that make my heart sing, or that enthralled me as a kid before puberty and alcoholism skewed my perceptions of "joy." And I'm recognizing how much my sense of purpose is tied to doing, or being productive. AA speaks on the necessity of service, while universal wisdom might say that our purpose on this earth is to love, with love being an action. How do I balance getting out of myself with the sometimes elusive practice of self-care? 

I'm enclosing a link to an article about how the English language lacks in describing various emotional states, with the premise being that improving our emotional vocabulary can help us walk through the tough ones. I remember being nervous in early meetings when the topic was emotional honesty. I really wasn't sure what that meant, and looked to people in the rooms to help me define how I felt. I knew sad, and happy, impatience, fear and embarrassment. Eventually, I learned to identify anxiety, grief and longing, along with the HALTS. Hope and gratitude showed up early on, as did wonder. I learned to distinguish between shame and guilt, and to pay attention when my gut signaled a need for Step 10. Part of listening to my heart, in regards to purpose or otherwise, has to do with paying attention, as mentioned above. What am I feeling, not just in my brain but in my body? That is a discipline, given our culture's emphasis on intellect. If I'm truly being mindful, I can almost feel it when an idea or emotion moves from my head to my heart. Conscious breathing is part of it, with the welcome relief of a deep exhale.

Knowing myself is an on-going process. In April, my Step group members do a yearly inventory/Step 4. I believe in that process, and, from experience, also believe that if I'm open and willing, the inventory will more or less write itself. I don't need to dig under rocks or come at myself with a magnifying glass. Sometimes our program(s) can feel like an ongoing self-flagellation exercise. Having time is not a tool, but I do have experience in not picking up, one day at a time. I also have hard-earned experience with emotional regulation - some areas better than others. So whether it is defining a sense of purpose (for today, not next month) or writing inventory, how do I practice self-acceptance while being mindful of lurking denial?

How indeed? I will think of these things as I get on a plane, vaccinated and double-masked. I will think of these things as I ponder the remarks I'll share at my ex-husband's memorial next week. I will think of these things as I take a brief break from the day-to-day with a good friend, grateful for all that has brought me to this place of reflection.

If you do a formal or informal yearly inventory, what is coming up for you? Same-old, same-old, or a new set of concerns or circumstance? If nothing changes until we first accept it, where would it help to be more gentle with yourself, or others? 

The ‘untranslatable’ emotions you never knew you had - BBC Future

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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)

 I'm planning my first husband's online memorial, coinciding with the year anniversary of his death. Last April, Covid had just struck with a vengeance, with the world fully shutting down, so when he passed, alone in the hospital, we were all in shock, from the quickness of his decline as well as the strange new world we'd woken up in.

There is something to be said about knowing your time is approaching. Because we had the prognosis, he was able to make arrangements, including pre-paying his cremation expense. When we met a cousin at the funeral home used by his family, the discussion came around to what type of service he might want (this was pre-pandemic). His reply, whispered in my ear, was "Tell them I don't give a fuck because I'll be dead." My mother shared a similar sentiment when I asked if she was ok that I was taking a quick trip to New Mexico while she was on hospice. Her reply was that she'd either be there when I got back, or not, and if not, she wouldn't know the difference. 

So, to the person facing their demise, it may not matter what happens after (though the pyramids are evidence of otherwise for some). But, I have come to understand the importance of ritual to those of us left behind. Not all traditions are worth carrying forward, but there are reasons we humans have rites and ceremonies attached to life's big events, whether birth, marriage or death. (Where we fall short in western culture is a rite of passage to adulthood). Ritual helps bridge the gap between what was and what lies ahead. In the case of death, ceremony helps provide a sense of closure, a formal farewell, shared with members of the community, however that is defined.

I think of the times we've come together as a recovery community, whether in traditional church funerals, with a large 12-Step meeting, or maybe a smudge ceremony with a small group of women after a death, or the ending of an important relationship. Sometimes the ritual is personal, lighting candles and writing, alone on my bench. 

I learned the importance of ritual the hard way when my dad died. He was adamant about not wanting any sort of service, and we followed his wishes. One day my dad was alive, though barely, in the hospital, and then he was gone. For three years, I dreamt of him nightly, always afraid he'd realize he was dead and stop talking to me. Finally, I started seeing a counselor for depression, after bursting into tears while driving to the store. Within a few sessions, she led me through an empty chair exercise, where I imagined saying good-bye to my father. I stopped dreaming about him immediately. 

Good-byes matter. Letting go matters. It's not that the grieving stops with farewells, but there is a psychic admission of the finality that comes with ceremony. Life goes on. My heart still aches. And, I am comforted by words and tears shared.

I'm honored to be an active participant in the planning of this memorial, having known the man since I was fifteen, for at least 10 years before his psychotic break, and having spent the last few years going out to eat and to doctor appointments, dragging him to reunions and over for Thanksgiving dinner. It is a gift of healing that I can write his tribute/obituary, having gone from teenage romance to difficult parting, to strong friendship. Once family, always family. In this process, I strive to balance out my desire to "do it right" with my own feelings of loss. I miss him.

I recently saw this on social media: "What happens after you die? Lots of things - you just won't be here to see them."  A good reminder to live fully, today.

What are the losses you've experienced during this time of social distancing? How can you honor and acknowledge your grief, either formally or on your own? Where have you experienced healing in old relationships? Is there any unfinished business in that department?

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)

"I'm always thinking that if I could just eliminate this obstacle or that problem, THEN I could get on with my life. Now I know that my problems and the obstacles in my life ARE life"                                      Twenty-Five Years of Listening - Life Lessons and Inspiration...From the Collective Wisdom of People in Recovery, by Glenn Palmer-Smith, p. 125

I was recently reminded of my habit of thinking that my circumstances are "the" problem - that if this, that, or the other thing would change, all would be well. It's fine now, but it would be really great after x,y,z happens, or q,r,s is done and off my plate. Always, the illusion of a little patch of serenity, out there somewhere. 

Truthfully, life is good. I have a safe home, hot running water, a loving spouse, good friends, my health. And, I occasionally engage in the "stinking thinking" of over-the-rainbow. How many times do I hear that thinking is not a Step, that nowhere in the literature does it say we should think more about what troubles us? Take inventory, work with others, get into action - these are the prescriptions for peace of mind. Someone recently quoted a take on Step 3 as making a decision to enter a harmonious relationship with reality. Exactly!

I ran into a former co-worker at the grocery store - he retired a few months after I did. Both homebodies at heart (as long as I can get on a plane every once in awhile), we marveled at the timing of our choice to leave the workforce during the pandemic. For months - ok, maybe a year - we'd email our countdowns and various frustrations. Though each essentially liking our jobs, and both very task oriented, we were ready to go, talking about all the projects we wanted to get done, along with the joy of waking up without anywhere we had to be. Ah, retirement, we'd sigh. Once I'm retired, all will be well. Once I'm retired life will calm down... I'll have more time to myself... I'll be happier/calmer/more relaxed.

Most of that is true. I definitely have more time to myself (if I so choose, and hold back from filling the calendar). But, or rather, and wherever I go, here I am, which has been true whether or not a relationship ended, or I found a new place to live, or took a trip to someplace far away. The difference with leaving the workforce, however, is that I have the opportunity to truly settle in to myself, and like a spinning top coming to a wobbly halt, it is taking time - a process, not an event. Can I be content to allow rather than pursue? Sit rather than chase?

As I shared in a meeting about my encounter with the co-worker, I felt myself tear up, emotional on some level, though not sure why. Delayed grieving for workplace friendships? The excitement/ fear of a new identity? The understanding that retirement equals, if not the last, a definite step towards the last stages of this life? The internal seismic shift from do-ing to be-ing? Not sure. I'll see what comes up as I get still, whether that is in my designated chair, or on a long walk. I do know, from years of experience in the program, that emotional intensity can be a portal, a doorway to insight, preparation for an aha moment. Or, simply a flash of feeling. More will be revealed. 

In this week's New York Times, in an opinion piece titled, "You Can Be Different" (post-pandemic), Olga Khazan writes, "Researchers have found that adults can change the five traits that make up personality — extroversion, openness to experience, emotional stability, agreeableness and conscientiousness — within just a few months" with the premise being that anyone and everyone has the opportunity to reevaluate who they are and how they interact with the world as we come out of this year-plus shut down. She writes that introverts can become extroverted, tardy people can learn to be on time, etc. It's about being conscious of our choices, rather than blindly jumping back to the old "normal." I don't know that a psychic rearrangement is calling to me. I do know that I am mostly content with the quieter life (and wholly recognize that this is a privilege). Again, more will be revealed.

So much of what I'm experiencing is about transition, about letting life unfold while acknowledging that while my circumstances may have changed, my heart may not have. I'm reminded of the metaphor of the kid on the monkey bars, having let go of one rung but not quite having hold of the next. In between is ok. In between is a step in the process, and as soon as I've "arrived," there will be another step to take, another decision to make, another challenge, big or small, to walk through.

I know so many people in various forms of transition right now. A friend has just purchased their first house, going from years of semi-rural living to a neighborhood. An acquaintance has recently moved on to hospice after a long struggle. Another is facing lifestyle changes related to health issues. And another is letting go of a parent, while getting the kids ready to return to in-person school, while being hit with a schedule change at work. And, I am learning how to be retired. I can further my commitment to being gentle with myself, as gentle as I would be with a friend, paying attention to my inner guide that some days says "Wait," and some days, "Let's go!"

Where are you in a transition, whether from unvaccinated to vaccinated, maybe a new sponsor or sponsee, a different living situation, or even adjusting to the change of seasons? How do you practice  quieting the internal critic while adjusting to new circumstances?

*  *  *

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)