At the end of a blue, grief-memory filled day last week, I zoomed into a good friend's 28th sobriety anniversary meeting (I twelve-stepped her all those years ago) and was reminded of the positive anniversaries and memories from this time of year: meeting my dear husband, several friends' sober dates, hired at the job I retired from, marathons, near and far - many more good memories than sad. After a good night's sleep, I was greeted by an iridescent sunrise, remembering that I have a choice in where to steer my attention. Yes, sad memories are worthy of notice, and I can temper those with the positives that accompany them (for isn't it because I loved that the absences hurt?).
I've started to attend a new-to-me meeting, a women's 10+ years gathering online. While I appreciate meetings with a range of sobriety (the above mentioned 28 year celebration also had an attendee with one day), I need to be with other people who have long term sobriety at least some of the time - my peers. The plug-in-the-jug has been habit for years now, which doesn't mean I'm immune, but does mean I have an established sober life (i.e. I don't have to think about every decision). It is important to carry the message, but sometimes I need the message carried to me. As we often say at a meeting's close, "Let's have a moment of silence for the alcoholic who still suffers," and sometimes that's the person in the room with the most time. Putting aside any notion that I "should" be more recovered after all this time, I can open my mouth to say that I'm hurting, or annoyed, or whatever may be going on, grateful for the safe spaces that continue to hold whatever I bring that particular day.
Sunday I'll walk my first marathon. No doubt it will hurt less than the 10 I've run, but my feet will probably ache! Why do I do this? I feel fortunate to have found my "thing." I used to think running was stupid, which was my response to nearly everything I didn't think I could do. Then I started to jog, prompted by a PE class as part of my undergrad work. At the time I was living with a marathoner - now that was stupid. 26.2 miles? Why would anyone want to do that? And then I did, crying with gratitude as I crossed the finish line. I did it! I set a goal and put in the miles and proved to myself that I am more of an athlete than I ever imagined. I used to think that if I wasn't fast/skilled/perfect, why bother, because there's nothing worse than being embarrassed. Yes there is - it's not trying something I'd like to do simply because I might not do it right the first time.
So I completed that first marathon. My goal had been to beat Oprah, which I didn't. (It was Oprah, middle aged and chubby, who was my inspiration, not the gazelle I lived with). But the gauntlet was thrown (in my mind). My thought, moments after the finish, was "I could do better next time." I've never beat Oprah (came within a few minutes once), but I kept running and striving and hitting the streets. I probably will just do the one walking 26.2. The training takes a really long time. But, I've learned to never say never. For today, I will suit up and show up.
I've learned a lot from the marathon, about setting a goal, making a plan, sticking with it even on rainy days I'd rather stay in bed. Marathoning (like other distances and other sports) takes a certain measure of discipline, kind of like recovery. Yes there is some indefinable grace involved in sobering up (why me and not that other guy?) but there is also a good dose of discipline, "the proper use of the will" required - to pick up the phone, go to a meeting, to make a different choice.
But back to the marathon. I took a seven year break between numbers eight and nine, deciding to give it another go for my 60th birthday, then one more to make an even ten. Covid got in the way of number eleven last year, and in that time frame, I've become a walker. That was a challenging decision. Being a runner was part of my identity, but over time, running also meant injury and pain. And so, over a six month period, I came to embrace the walk. And as a (slightly) older friend reminds me, there will come a time when I take my last walk, my last airplane trip, my last bike ride, read my last book.
Do we humans always know that? Does the understanding that life as we know it will end lurk dormant in our subconscious until we turn forty or fifty, or sixty? Aging is an interesting experience. Jack Kornfield, in his book No Time Like the Present, says that the sensation of surprise at seeing an old person in the mirror is to be expected, because our bodies age, but we are eternal (our essence, our spirit). I don't know about that, but I'm increasingly aware of the range of life and death questions as I approach another birthday, now closer to 70 than to anything else. (How crazy is that, for an alcoholic addict who probably should've died with a needle in her arm, or behind the wheel of a car?)
How will I use the program to process feelings around aging and mortality? The same way I use the tools for any other emotional dilemma - inventory, share with a trusted other(s), let it go, with the understanding that while I can influence my health positively or negatively, I really am not in control. We often hear, "Listen to your body." I will do my best to pay attention - to the HALTS and also to what calls to me, as well as what simply doesn't make sense anymore. Some pursuits I choose to stop and some to modify - it really is one day at a time, one choice at a time.
As time and circumstances change, have you needed to modify or stop something you used to enjoy? How did you adjust to the new reality, whether that was aching knees or a new job schedule? Looking forward, are there other things (material, emotional or spiritual) that you are feeling drawn to let go of? What about those things you'd like to try at this stage of life/recovery? What might be holding you back? Do you have at least one place (meeting, trusted other, good friend) where you can talk about how you're feeling, the ups and the downs?
* * * Heading towards autumn could be a good time for a mid-year check up. See the 11/17/20 blog entry for an excerpt from I'VE BEEN SOBER A LONG TIME - NOW WHAT?, a 78 page workbook on the joys and challenges of long term 12 Step recovery. Go to the WEB VERSION of this page at www.soberlongtime.com to peruse past entries, and to order the workbook via a link at the top right of the page. Thanks for your support!
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