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