Memories...

 On Labor Day, I joined friends at Art in the Pearl, a covid-modified gathering of artists and artisans. Sometimes I purchase, but mostly just wander, enjoying our end-of-summer ritual. There are already leaves on the ground here, which makes it feel like autumn, but those are residual damage from the heat dome (115 degrees) in June. It's been a strange year (again, or still?).

In 1976, three friends and I rode the bus downtown to Artquake - precursor to the current offering, with art, music and beer, lots of beer. We were 21, and this was the first time we girls had gone out on our own. All but one of our husbands spent the day fretting about what we were doing and whether we "should" be out at all (the one dissenter reminding them we were grown women and they should relax their grip). As silly as it sounds now, it was a big deal. I'd met my husband when I was just 15, well into my fearful and insecure phase, overly concerned with what others might think of defective-me. I was great at work, getting promotions and kudos, but in my personal life, felt small and like I didn't fit, like I didn't know quite what I was supposed to do. Those few hours at Artquake were the beginning of my growing up, realizing that there was a world outside our immature marriage. 

Younger Jeanine sometimes feels like a stranger, like those experiences happened in a dream, or to someone else. I reflect on choices, both those overtly made and those made by not choosing, and I wonder at what motivated me. It feels like I was a different person because I was a different person, with years into recovery before consistently feeling comfortable, like the "me" I was supposed to be. The foundations were there, with internal values (that I routinely violated) and basic traits, but the ability, even the desire, to live a congruent life, didn't take hold until well into my thirties. I never thought I'd be grateful to be in my 60's, but I surely am.

It is September, month of Step 9 focus, the making of amends, i.e. changing behaviors. In reviewing the 12x12,  Step 9 seems to be a "one and done," the direct amends made in relation to my actions while under the influence - those I recognized immediately, and those that have revealed themselves over time. I'd like to think that process is complete, but experience has shown me that sometimes the smallest shift in perspective can move me from victim to perpetrator - I strive to be open to where the process leads.  

I do think that, over time, Step 9 dovetails into Step 10 where we do our best to right our wrongs in the present. A few jobs back I worked for an agency that was described as being in the process of changing tires on a moving vehicle. That's a bit how early recovery felt - trying to catch up, repair and grow all at once. These days are gentler, with rarely an error that prompts the fireworks of earlier choices. "We are not saints," but as being stone-cold sober has morphed into a life of recovery, the path is not only narrower, but, for the most part, smoother. (And I'll remind myself of that the next time the s**t hits the fan!)

I will say that I'm feeling a bit off-kilter today. It is the anniversary of a favorite cousin's passing, as well as the day the first husband and I got married. A friend's mother just passed, which triggers thoughts of my own mom's death, coming up on nine years next month. I love this time of year, and, it is the time of loss on my personal calendar. The good news is that I more easily recognize the tendrils of grief and am better able to breathe in to the memories, knowing that my emotions flow through when I don't try to outrun them, or avoid the feelings all together. So much boils down to one day at a time, whether missing those no longer here, contemplating an overdue amends, or making peace with the woman I once was.

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An apology regarding last week's post: When writing, I usually jot notes during the week, then edit down as Wednesday nears. The processing questions I pose at the end of the entry are meant to be related to topics I covered that week. Last week, I removed a long paragraph about items on the bookshelf in our guest room (where I slept during my covid week). So, if you were wondering what the question about your belongings had to do with the blog, they didn't. At least not the in essay that you saw.

My lesson, of course, is to slow down just a bit, and be very sure before hitting send - whether that is this weekly post, an emotionally charged email or text, or the urge to comment on social media. I can't say that every time I'm in a hurry I make a mistake, but nearly every mistake I've ever made, whether in relationships, jobs or related to a household mishap, was when I was in a hurry. Ah well, lessons learned. And re-learned. And learned again.

That being said, here are this week's points to ponder: In what ways have you become more of the person you were intended to be before alcoholism and other traumas took over? On days when you might feel uncomfortable in your own skin, how do you re-center? Where are you with the amends process? Are there people or situations that feel unsettled? If so, how might you apply what you know today to these old events? And what about grief and loss? What do you do when those inevitable feelings of sadness or longing arise? 

You are invited to add your comments on this, or any other post. Some of you do send emails or texts - much appreciated, and you are very welcome to join the conversation on this public page (which you can do anonymously), if you so choose. Going to the web version of www.soberlongtime.com lets you leave comments,  access the email sign-up, or purchase my workbook, "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?"