I'm back from October travels, one side of the country to the other, with no further trips on the docket (thus far). I love to travel and I love coming home, especially to these crisp and colorful fall days.
I was reminded of the disease of alcoholism throughout my trip, from the defeated looking fellow at the airport bar nursing a Bloody Mary at 9am, to the man in the NY subway station on that slow bend from the waist that indicates a heroin nod. I traveled in my "before" life, and remember head-splitting, stomach churning hangovers coloring or cancelling sightseeing plans. So very grateful to not be the woman walking along the waterfront path Saturday afternoon, looking like she hadn't been home from her Friday night, or here at home, the young woman perched on the curb waiting for the pot shop near my gym to open.
Every day is one to practice the principles, but I had a definite lesson in trusting the process while leaving New York. My friend had gone on, to a different airport and an earlier flight, so I killed some time with a final walkabout. When I decided to head to my airport, via subway and AirTrain, I was a bit distressed to learn that the subway line wasn't going to my stop, this day only, so was directed to the the free shuttle for the final miles. The "free shuttle" was simply a city bus, very slowly navigating block-by-block through a rough neighborhood, minutes clicking by with every red light. Forty minutes in to the ride, anxiety rising, I weaved my way up the aisle to ask the driver for instructions. She had no idea, as this wasn't her regular route. Taking a deep breath, I remembered that morning's guided meditation that spoke to both the joys and potential challenges in the day ahead. Indeed. Just as I was doing my best to turn it over, while devising a Plan B (Call a cab? Catch a later flight??) the man seated next to me, through his mask, told me what I needed to do. At the shuttle's final stop, he waited so I could follow him to the correct subway platform (which I never would've figured out on my own), then directing me when to get off and where to catch the airport train. Exhaling. In less than twenty minutes I went from a gritty, slightly scary subway station to the high-tech airport terminal and was at my gate, just as boarding began. Thank you, Subway Angel, for the good orderly directions.
It reminded me of the old AA story about the guy who is stranded in the ocean, turning away all offers of help because "I'm waiting for God to save me." When he gets to the Pearly Gates, he asks why God didn't heed his pleas, to which the angel replied, "Well, we sent you a boat and a helicopter and an air balloon!" (or whatever your version includes). I'm the one who puts the trust-muscle into play, and I need to pay attention. I could've ignored the man with the different accent that I had trouble hearing through his mask. I could've gone into fear-of-the-big-city mode and thought he was trying to steer me wrong. Instead, I trusted his apparent knowledge, since it seemed better than the alternatives (which were none). Lack of knowledge has never stopped me from having an opinion, but these days I do try to be open to another idea or way of doing the task at hand.
Which reminds me (again and again) of the spiritual axion - if I'm troubled, it has to do with me. Not to say that some things aren't troubling - missing my flight would've been a pain; job or relationship problems can feel overwhelming, and what is it in my attitude that needs adjusting? Alanon speaker, Mary Pearl, in a recent online conference, shared that her first sponsor told her to put a note on her bathroom mirror saying "You're looking at the problem." Pretty harsh, but rings true. Maybe me being the problem means I'm avoiding a difficult decision, or am expecting others to behave the way I want them to. Maybe me being the problem means that I stay too busy to hear the still, small voice, or that I insist on engaging in behaviors I know are unhealthy. The "problem" often means I've forgotten my powerlessness and am trying to control the uncontrollable. "If only they'd _____!" "If only she'd ______!" "Why won't they quit smoking/drinking/gambling/etc?" Or, my classic, "Don't they know that my way is best??"
Lila R reminds me that if I'm not the problem, there is no solution - just another way of saying (and I need all versions, depending on the day) I'd do best to get out of my own way, and out of the way of others. (Have you heard the Alanon 4 G's? Get off their back, Get out of the way, Get on with your own life, Get to a meeting)
I love the energy of New York City, the cacophony of languages and peoples - not a melting pot, but a rich stew of varied ingredients. Like our meetings, "we are normally people who would not mix." Admittedly, in 12 Step recovery we do share a common experience and language, an "AA Speak" of sorts, but even within the bubble of slogans and phrases we use to describe life on life's terms, we each have our unique perspectives. I appreciate our similarities and our differences, doing my best to learn as I go along the path. And I know that there are many paths. Years ago, my teacher and mentor told me that it was his belief that all people, however unskilled it may appear, simply want to be ok. People want to feel secure, to care for and about their families, feel comfortable in the world. Some of us treat our addictions with 12 Steps. Some find their way through spirituality, or adhering to their cultural beliefs, and yes, some people do simply quit. Not mine to say, though I know what works for me. I think I'll keep doing it, one day at a time.
When has a helper shown up unexpectedly to offer guidance, or just the answer you needed? What barriers do you sometimes erect so that you don't recognize the message or messenger? Is there a decision sitting in your internal "pending" file? What would help move you to a place of resolution?
I'm afraid I've been noting the wrong address to access the web version of this page in order to sign up for weekly email delivery, or to purchase the workbook, "I've Been Sober a Long Time, Now What?" See below to connect (2 options):
Sober Long Time - Now What? (longtermrecovery.blogspot.com)
http://soberlongtime.com/ (without the www)
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