Trust

The topic of a few recent meetings, pulled from an Alanon reader, has been on the notion of keeping my mind and body in the same place. It's said that human beings are the only species who can time-travel, with our mental journeys to the past and into the future - futile, I know, but that doesn't stop me from the "I should've" or "What if?"  Along the lines of mind/body in the same place is something else I heard in a meeting one long ago January, when a member resolved to only have conversations with people who were actually in the room! Progress, not perfection...

Along the lines of paying-attention-to-delight I mentioned a couple of posts back, a friend and colleague, out of the blue, asked if I'd come out of retirement for a temporary, part-time position while the agency figures out what to do next. Initially I said, "No thanks," but became intrigued as I learned more, which included a site visit. And so, I slept on it (via my usual afternoon nap) and told her, "I'm in."

About a year ago now, someone else asked me to consider a part-time position, and I mightily struggled with "maybe." That offer caused a fair amount of consternation, then was gratefully rescinded. I certainly wasn't looking for work now either, but I like and trust the friend who made the offer, talked with my spouse and a trusted other, and am listening to my gut, that, this time, is saying, "Go for it!" My professional credentials are good through October 2022 - might as well use them, and a bit of extra money (is money ever actually extra?) will come in handy.

I keep thinking about the still, small voice - the one that said, "Leave your husband," "If you don't go into treatment right now, you never will," "This isn't the job for you," "Just wait to see what happens next." I don't doubt that voice as much these days as I build on the experience of paying attention to the internal knowing, the gut feeling of "yay" or "nay" without throwing in a dash of self-imposed drama. Learning to trust myself is an unanticipated gift of long-term recovery. All I really wanted when I crossed the threshold into that smokey, dingy treatment program, just shy of 36 years ago, was to stop hurting. Stop hurting and win back the man who'd already married someone else. My vision was limited by my experience, which mainly revolved around romantic relationships. Sobriety, Alanon excavations, and my now long-term friends, have shown me that I'm perfectly ok as-is, with or without a partner (which, in the way of the Universe, paved the way for connecting with my spouse).

When I was negotiating my way into a few more weeks of getting high back in 1985, I told the fellow who'd married someone else that I wanted one last New Year's Eve, so would go into treatment on January 2nd. Who was I fooling? That last New Year's Eve was pitiful, with me drinking a bottle of fancy champagne, by myself (how sadly un-festive is that??) while the heroin-addicted meth cook nodded out in the bathroom. I remember the fireplace, the darkness, and people banging pans in the street at midnight. It was a snowy winter and driving across the high arc of the Fremont Bridge towards the two-lane highway that would take us to the coast was like being in a snow globe. It would've been pretty had I not been terrified of going without my substance of choice for the next 28 days and spending that time with a group of strangers - not sure which was the bigger fear. But here again, the heroin addict gave good advice, saying to me, "Jeanine, you went 29 years without methamphetamine - you can probably last a month." And, that one month turned into two, turned into a year and now decades.  

I'm glad I couldn't see the future - it would've scared me. As much as I sometimes fight it, I am grateful for One Day at a Time, which applies to just about everything I encounter, not just staying sober. Cleaning house, feeding the aging cats, training for a walking event, eating healthy, meditating, employing the WAIT (Why Am I Talking?) - it's all one day at a time, one choice at a time.

My husband and I enjoyed a sweet and mostly quiet Christmas weekend - a meal with my brother one day, with a good friend's family another, and with our daughter the day after that. Past-Jeanine would've scheduled ten things in one day, cramming as much into each 24 hours as possible, not wanting to miss a thing. That's an old, old tape - the desire for experience and activity, probably born from the quiet of a depressed household, along with feeling I needed to grab hold NOW before "it" went away (whatever "it" of the moment may have been.). Today I can appreciate life incrementally. There isn't a time limit on enjoyment, and if it's a good idea today, it will be a good idea tomorrow. Sure, sometimes I miss out on seeing a movie on the big screen, or the perfect weather for a hike, but friendship doesn't expire. And as one friend reminds me, "If things were supposed to be any other way, they'd be different." One day at a time, I'll suit up and show up and see what's next on the Road of Happy Destiny.

Happy New Year, friends near and far, and those I haven't met in person. What is your internal compass whispering to you today? How do you cultivate stillness so that you can hear your inner wisdom? How do you make decisions about how to spend your one-day-at-a-time's? 

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For your new year's inventory, consider my workbook, "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" covering such topics as Aging, Sponsorship, Relationships, and Grief & Loss covered in a narrative, a member's view, and processing questions, with space for writing. Perfect for sharing with a sponsor, trusted other, or in a small group.

If you're not seeing the links in the upper right corner of this post, you can go to the WEB VERSION  to sign up for weekly email deliveries, or to purchase the workbook.   See below to connect (2 options - look for in small print "Web Version" at the bottom of the page and click): 

(you can shoot me an email at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions about the workbook or how to purchase)

 Sober Long Time - Now What? (longtermrecovery.blogspot.com)

http://soberlongtime.com/     

Loss and change

Yesterday we marked Winter Solstice here in the north, the annual change of seasons. I sometimes need to remind myself that it is in my animal nature to slow down and draw within this time of year, just like expansion and energy are signals of spring and summer. As I've recently read, in our modern world of electricity and temperature-controlled environments, we can lose our connection to the natural world. That's one of the reasons I like to run and walk outdoors, feeling the season change as much as seeing it. 

This week also marked the third anniversary of my ex's passing - the man who put me through treatment and helped me get on my feet during that all-important first year of sobriety. He was kinder to me than I deserved at the time (and am I ever grateful now that I didn't get what I "deserved."). I am forever struck by the irony that while I was running a half-marathon in 2018, he was dying from the effects of alcoholism. The other ex from those days, the meth cook who suggested that going to treatment might not be a bad idea, also died from his disease, of an overdose, in the fall of 1988, which just goes to show that one doesn't need to be clean and sober to encourage another addict. Ebby T. is a case in point - he led Bill Wilson to sobriety but struggled himself. 

Sometimes I think of what we say at the end of meetings, holding a moment of silence for the alcoholic who still suffers. Were they saying that back in 1985? Did the collective energy of the fellowship help draw my psyche into the rooms? AA wasn't as visible in those days. I'd heard of it, of course. My dad had gotten sober, but wasn't a joiner, so all I knew was that AA was like the buddy-system, where you called somebody if you wanted a drink. Decades later, when clearing out my mom's house after she died, I found an old meeting schedule, and a Twenty-Four Hours a Day reader, with a note from someone named Laveeda. She wrote, "With a day at a time, we can live happy and useful lives, people our kids can be proud of." I don't recognize her name, or the names of others written in the back of the book and in the margins of the schedule. The Portland Area meeting booklet was from 1978, which tells me Dad tried to sober up with AA after he relapsed upon learning his cancer was terminal. I am so sad that the fellowship wasn't something he could connect with (he'd had his larynx removed, so had a hard time communicating at that point, and was very much an introvert). I'm beyond sad that I was in the depths of my own addiction at the time and couldn't be a support. All he asked is that I take care of my mother. I wish I'd been able to do more. 

What does this stream of consciousness have to do with Solstice, you ask? Not much, other than a vague tie-in to seasons and cycles and learning from the past. When my dad was dying, we retreated to our corners, not having words to handle the grief (this was before hospice). What I learned, through the very painful process that took years to unravel, was to show up for my aunt and my mother, and to talk with family members as we prepared for those losses. I was also able to show up for my first husband, with doctor's visits and conversations around "what if?" I learned that when someone is dying, allow them to lead the conversations, despite my inclination to dig into emotions and fears. 

AA in Portland lost an icon this past week, a woman who reached hundreds with her story and her service. In April 1986, at the noon meeting I attended daily, she shared of getting word that her son had just been shot and killed, and instead of reaching for a drink, she reached for the phone. At just ninety days sober, her strength struck me like a lightning bolt. In my own introverted manner, I didn't actually talk to too many people in the meetings, but I paid attention. I paid attention to how others were walking through their own darkest days without picking up. I paid attention to how others celebrated, sober. I paid attention to how others got jobs and lost them, found love and lost it, learned to either be part of their family or detach from it - in other words, you all showed me how to live, one day at a time, without the aid of mind-altering substances. Today, that is simply the way I live, but it is helpful to remember that there was a time when I had to consciously make the decision for sobriety every single day.

Last night, a small group of women gathered on zoom to celebrate Solstice with our now 17-year ritual of reviewing the old year and welcoming the new. I was in tears by the end of the sharing with these women, ranging in age from 60 to 75, that I'm growing old with. I am so very grateful for the safe spaces where we can share freely, vulnerably, and triumphantly. While we're all extremely tired of the virus, the ability to stay connected online has been a lifesaver.

How do you walk through grief differently today than in the past, recognizing that there are many layers to loss? What is it you can do to honor changed circumstances, whether of your choosing or not? As we move towards Christmas weekend and on to the new year, what lessons have you learned in 2021? What do you look forward to in 2022, internally or externally? Are there rituals or traditions that you've carried forward through these past two years of disruptions? If that hasn't been feasible, how can you conjure positive energy to help provide seasonal comfort and connection as we move forward? 

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For your new year's inventory, consider my workbook, "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" covering such topics as Aging, Sponsorship, Relationships, and Grief & Loss with a narrative, a member's view, and processing questions, with space for writing. Perfect for sharing with a sponsor, trusted other, or in a small group.

If you're not seeing the links in the upper right corner of this post, you can go to the WEB VERSION  to sign up for weekly email deliveries, or to purchase the workbook.   See below to connect (2 options - look for in small print "Web Version" at the bottom of the page and click): 

(you can shoot me an email at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions about the workbook or how to purchase)

 Sober Long Time - Now What? (longtermrecovery.blogspot.com)

http://soberlongtime.com/     

Delight...

 A few years ago, I chatted up an older gent stocking shelves at the grocery store. "Do you mind my asking - are you retired?" "Yes," he said, telling me he'd been a teacher. He needed a bit of income, but after all his years in the classroom, wanted to do something that didn't involve people. I thought of him last week as I raked leaves off the trails in Forest Park, something I've now done twice. I got to be outdoors in the largest park within city limits in the country, with a handful of like-minded others, long stretches of solitude, and only the sound of the rake and the rain to orchestrate a delightful, soggy, strenuous day.

And then, this week, I got together with friends, one of whom I've only known via social media. Online, he's felt like a kindred spirit, with enough of an overlapping history and an eloquent way of describing his youth that hooks me. So, rather than the vague, "We should have coffee sometime," I said, "How about next week?" It was a delightful visit.

I'm learning to follow delight these days, one choice at a time. One day at a time, I can pay attention when the constricting energy of "should" shows up, shifting to what makes my heart sing when that's realistic (some things just need to be done, joyfully or not). Whether a walk on a clear day, an overdue coffee date, or balancing holiday "have to's" with "want to's, I strive to be mindful of my heart.

In December of 2019 we held a holiday gathering, an outgrowth of a home group that none of us share anymore. The very next day, my spouse received an unexpected cancer diagnosis, and ended his chemo and radiation just as the pandemic was ramping up. On Sunday, we reconvened the same small group, this time vaccinated and boosted, with the air purifier humming, a window open, and masks optional. And the next day, my husband had his two-year checkup, with the glorious "all clear!" It was wonderful to laugh with old friends, and extra wonderful to receive one more clean bill of health in the ongoing monitoring process. I'm learning to take nothing for granted - not health, not the ability to see friends, not life itself.

I'm not alone in hoping that 2022 will be gentler on all of us, though I recently saw a funny on the internet: Don't anyone claim 2022 as "their year." Let's just ease in, real quiet so as not to be noticed, and maybe, just maybe, we'll all be ok.

My cousins and I used to skulk around the house, hugging the walls, doing our best not to be noticed as we went from one floor to another while the parental units chatted at the kitchen table. Might we sneak a cookie or two from the jar? Might we rap my younger brother on the noggin as we passed? We aspired to be secret agents, given the influence of the era's TV shows (Honey West, Get Smart, I Spy...), though our giggling often gave us away. "You girls settle down!" we'd hear, though within moments, the clink of ice cubes and the strike of a match would indicate that another telling of family lore was underway. 

Today I can look forward, not back, appreciating what is, in the here and now, and all that brought me to this moment, from childhood antics to those who've passed on; love lost and love found, some trudging and some skipping along the road of happy desitiny. That doesn't mean everything is rosy every minute of every day, but I'm better able to ride the wave of acceptance when keeping my eye out for delightful moments, practicing self-care and staying realistic about my expectations. 

I am noticing a bit of the doldrums with my regular meetings. What are my expectations? Am I attending because I both benefit and bring something to the group, or simply because it's a habit? Not a bad habit to have, and, when I mentally check out more than I check in, it could be time to mix it up. As wonderful as online meetings have been, they simply don't generate the same energy I feel when we're in the rooms together.  Of course, there should probably be a recovery rule about not making any major decisions this time of year, when feelings and grievings and time pressures feel ramped up.  Like was said, everybody just hold your breath for a few more minutes while we tiptoe towards January. 

What brings you either small "d" or full-blown DELIGHT? In looking at your December calendar, what is the balance between obligation and things that bring you joy? If the "have to's" outweigh what you'd rather do, is there something you can add, or subtract?

*  *  *  *  *

For year-end inventory, consider my workbook, "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" covering such topics as Aging, Sponsorship, Relationships, and Grief & Loss with a narrative, a member's view, and processing questions, with space for writing. Perfect for sharing with a sponsor, trusted other, or in a small group.

If you're not seeing the links in the upper right corner of this post, you can go to the WEB VERSION  to sign up for weekly email deliveries, or to purchase the workbook.  See below to connect (2 options - look for small print Web Version at the bottom of the page and click): 

(you can shoot me an email at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions about the workbook or how to purchase)

 Sober Long Time - Now What? (longtermrecovery.blogspot.com)

http://soberlongtime.com/     

Inspired and reflecting

 The other day I sat in on an online presentation about Motown, its founding, artists and songs - the soundtrack of my life. Besides sadness that the AA International in Detroit was cancelled last year due to covid, I was upset at missing the chance to visit Hitsville, USA, though a planned family visit may put us in the vicinity next year. 

I didn't hear too much I didn't already know in the lecture but was upset by the moderator's description of one of the artists, who died young from an overdose, as being "unable to control himself when it came to his vices." I will email my feedback. In 2021, we're still talking about addiction as a vice, an inability to control oneself?  Please. It makes me think of the physician who, twenty years ago, suggested I use my "common sense," with a Vicodin prescription when I told him that as a person in recovery, I didn't need thirty pills. Please. Wake up, people. How long will we have to fight the "addiction is a disease" battle?

There is still much misconception regarding alcoholism and addiction. "If a mere code of moral values," the pleading of family, or our ability to control ourselves were enough, AA wouldn't need to exist, nor would treatment programs or drug courts. There is a certain amount of will power involved ("the proper use of the will") once I am abstinent, to get to meetings for example, but in the thick of it, I could no more have thought myself out of going to the dealer's house than I could've stopped the sun from coming up (though I self-centeredly wondered how it still could shine, with my life in such shambles). Today, I can educate, and break my anonymity as a person in long-term recovery, when called for.

I attended my monthly Step group this past weekend, reinspired (1st in person since March 2020). As often happens, just when I think I've wrung all the juice I can possibly get from the Steps, I hear something that triggers an insight, or am reminded of the miracle working in others' lives. The beauty of the Steps, our program for living, is that it isn't one-dimensional. Sometimes I do hover at the level of plug-in-the-jug, but when I'm paying attention, I have the opportunity to go deeper, to hear the still, small voice of wisdom, whether that is from my own inner knowing or what I hear in the voices of others.

This is the time of year to reflect on how I might have changed over the preceding 12 months, and what I look forward to. Yes, dates are arbitrary markers, and, I like the symmetry of 1/1 as a possible jumping off point. Not for often-failed new year's resolutions, but as a time to consciously re-center.

I've collected different questions over the years that help jump start my process, which can include writing what I want to release on slips of paper, then burning them, smudging, or lighting candles while I write. I do my best to let this be a heart experience rather than from my top three inches (brain). A processing question I ran across in a recent article stopped me cold - "Who are you jealous of?" I read that as, not just envious of someone's superficial characteristics (though that was my focus for too long), but as a pointer towards how I'd like to be in the world. If I'm jealous of someone's accomplishments, what is it that I would like to do but have been afraid to try? Other areas to ponder include: What do I want more of in my life? How have I contributed this year, and what might that look like going forward? What do I want to learn? What do I want to practice? What do I want to complete/end/release? What do I want to experience?

The idea, for me, is to take time during the seasonal darkness (or perhaps the longest days for those of you in the southern part of the world) to get still - not just quiet, but that inner stillness that allows my true desires to make themselves known. What I "hear" isn't always earth shattering, like it might've been in earlier recovery, but I sometimes get a nudge that leads me to the next right thing. As I am frequently reminded, I only need to know what I need to know today. 

I am grateful that the power of the "we" continues to show up in my life. Last week I was beside myself with agitation over an internet outage. As luck, or the fates, would have it, I ended up with one planned and two unplanned sponsee contacts that day, so instead of tearing my hair out over something I had little control over, I was able to be of service, even when that simply meant answering the phone. Funny how focusing on someone or something else for even a few moments can put my problems in their true perspective.

Which of the Steps are speaking to you today? If you do a year-end review, what are the areas that seem to want your attention? How do you step outside yourself when tangled up in your own thoughts?

*  *  *  *  *

Just in time for the holidays, or your year-end inventory, consider my workbook, "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" covering such topics as Aging, Sponsorship, Relationships, and Grief & Loss with a narrative, a member's view, and processing questions, with space for writing. Perfect for sharing with a sponsor, trusted other, or in a small group.

If you're not seeing the links in the upper right corner of this post, you can go to the WEB VERSION  to sign up for weekly email deliveries, or to purchase the workbook.   See below to connect (2 options - look for in small print Web Version at the bottom of the page and click): 

(you can shoot me an email at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions about the workbook or how to purchase)

 Sober Long Time - Now What? (longtermrecovery.blogspot.com)

http://soberlongtime.com/     

Contentment

 I attend an online speaker-discussion meeting out of San Fransico most weeks. It is a good group, and one where we've developed friendships over the years of walking over the hill to the meeting place when we're there.  They may eventually return to in-person  but for now, we get to be in the Hollywood Squares. I'm part of a couple of other smaller groups that are cross-country in make-up, able to visit with friends old and new in various time zones. While no one would ever say the pandemic is good, there have been some unanticipated benefits, online meetings being one.

This last week's speaker shared from As Bill Sees It, p. 306, Is Happiness the Goal? Bill thinks not, saying, "I don't think happiness or unhappiness is the point. How do we meet the problems we face? ... In my view, we of this world are pupils in a great school of life." It was Bill's birthday (Nov 26) this past week. Mind-boggling that one simple life (not uncomplicated, but simple), one life of a hopeless alcoholic, could access the formula of one drunk reaching out to another that has saved us so many years of pain and misery.

I don't know that I consciously sought happiness in my own before-times. I sought excitement, sensation - sensation that helped me feel alive, whether the warm glow from booze, the tuning fork energy of cocaine, the buzz of methamphetamine, or the twitterpation of an attraction. Initially, drinking helped me to have feelings, gave me an avenue to escape what felt like the doldrums of a quiet, depressed household. But nearly always, with whatever substance, I overshot the sweet spot. The very few times that I said to myself, "I'll never do that again," I wasn't referring to drinking itself, but to the excess. Maintaining the perfect high was the goal, which could've been the search for mellow or blotto, depending on the occasion.

In these years of recovery, happiness has been a by-product of right-living. When I'm doing my best to live with integrity, there is little remorse and way more contentment. And, my definition of contentment and happiness has shifted over time. Contented used to have more of a zing! connected to doing/seeing/count me in! These days it is quieter - I realized, on Thanksgiving, that the reason I was in a hurry to get going to our two family stops was in order to come back home. I completely enjoyed love and laughter with my brother, and my "sister-from-another-mother," and was very happy to get home to pj's and a turkey sandwich, enjoying a movie with my spouse. Simple pleasures are good.

And now it is Christmas, Hannukah, Solstice, Kwanza - all the various celebrations of light and community and survival (as the northern hemisphere ancients might've noted, we're making it through another darkening of the skies). The pandemic has definitely shifted the focus from outward to interior, though this year I do feel a slight relaxing with vaccines and boosters (fingers crossed the new variant will be mild). I'll do one more year of a particular online celebration, but will open a window and turn on the air purifier for a small in-person gathering as well. Similar to early recovery, when every daybreak was a miracle, coming out of lockdown makes even the simplest interactions seem beautiful and chock full of emotion.

Our internet is kaput this week,  with a technician expected tomorrow.  I get very flustered and frustrated with technology issues I barely understand.  But, once I was reminded this is a luxury problem, I relaxed into being a wee bit disconnected (other than typing on my phone's tiny keyboard,  and no Netflix!). Please excuse any typos these old eyes may have missed on this little screen. 

What is on your heart this week? How do you define happiness or contentment? If we truly are "pupils in the great school of life," what lessons do you want to learn,  and which have you mastered? How will you pace yourself in what is often a busy time of year?

Just in time for a year-end inventory,  consider my 78 page workbook,  "I've Been Sober a Long Time- Now What?" with chapters including aging, grief, and sponsorship. Go to the WEB VERSION of this page to access PayPal & credit card link. Happy trails!  http://soberlongtime.com