I took my mother's wedding dress to a resale shop this week, in my continued effort at decluttering. Worn once, in 1947, it sat in her beautifully carved hope chest, in her living room, and then mine, for decades. I'm feeling a bit wistful now that it's gone, thinking of the promise and excitement of that day for her and my dad. The guy they'd hired to take photographs didn't show up, so all they had was memories. And isn't that all we really have? The dress itself is merely a collection of satin panels with a bit of lace at the neckline - inert, just a thing, a symbol. I'm surrounded by things as I type - some functional, some sentimental, some just taking up space. I desire the willingness to increase my level of discernment on what matters and what doesn't.
Mom's dress made me think of the "couples meeting" my husband and I held as we prepared for our wedding. In place of separate bachelor or bachelorette parties, with revelry not fitting our age, we gathered with married and partnered friends to hear experience, strength and hope about the journey we were about to undertake. One fellow said that, at his wedding, someone remarked, "This is the happiest day of your life," to which he replied, "I hope not!" Maybe "a" happiest day, but ideally the beginning of a lifetime of happy, sad, dull, educational, annoying and beautiful days ahead. One day at a time, "happy, joyous and free."
A good friend and I drove to the coast yesterday, telling and re-telling our individual versions of growing up and getting sober. We hit the Little Yellow House in Seaside before heading further south for lunch and a beach walk. There were seven of us at the meeting, reasonably distanced, with doors opened to the sea breeze. It wasn't a particularly monumental meeting, but felt good to be connected in our familiar way. Hearing new folks talk about the daily decisions that have become automatic over time, an old timer expressing gratitude for the gifts of sobriety, the ease and comfort of settling into my seat - I appreciate meetings for the spiritual connection and for the reminders of the simple joys of recovery, not to mention merely sitting still, in the company of like-minded others. (I must admit that, in online meetings, I have a tendency towards distraction, whether to the dreaded phone, or papers on my desk. In person, I'm less likely to fidget!)
I love early morning. As I walked today, sun barely up, I thought about my relationship to sunrise over the years, from sitting in the near-dark as a kid, waiting for the berry-picking bus, or a few years later, sneaking back into my room at dawn after sneaking out at midnight. Then there were hangover mornings, going to bed with one foot on the floor to stop the spins, just as the sky began to lighten. I hated that time of day in the coming years, when I needed to sleep, but the stimulants coursing through my system kept me chewing on my tongue. And then recovery, and the glories of seeing sunrise from the proper side of night. Whether driving in the dark up Haleakala on Maui to watch the sun come up, or merely heading east on my morning run here at home, sunrise has taken on spiritual symbolism where before I cursed the start of a new day.
How has your relationship to sunrise, or perhaps sunset, changed in recovery? What tangible symbols connect you to your spiritual resources? Have you shared your history with anyone lately? Is your "story" different in the telling today than it was when you first came in?
Thank you for your patience as I've clumsily navigated the new email server. I've tried to increase the font size, without screwing up the rest of it!
No comments:
Post a Comment