Motivation

At the doctor's office last week, I engaged in conversation with the assistant whose name badge indicated he worked in the Pain Clinic. The talk turned towards addiction treatment which turned in to him telling me he'd just celebrated 9 years clean and sober. I love sharing recovery moments in unexpected places with unexpected people, whether the kid sporting NA key tags at the grocery store or sharing a moment over someone's bumper sticker.

This week I'm thinking about motivation, or as we call it in 12 Step, willingness. Am I willing to go to any length for my recovery? Am I Honest, Open-Minded and Willing?  Do I suit up, show up and just sit, or am I motivated to take some sort of action?

Maybe the action is as simple as reading the literature or putting pen to paper. Maybe it's picking up the phone or writing that long over-due amends letter, which doesn't get any easier with time. Maybe willingness shows up when I impulsively raise my hand to take on a service commitment, or when I say "yes" to a new sponsee (Someone recently shared that if sponsoring isn't inconvenient, you aren't doing it right - not sure I agree with that, though being of service sometimes feels like a stretch).

Motivation comes and goes. Most (many?) days I'm motivated to skip the cookies or ice cream. Most days I'm willing to attend a meeting, because that's what I do. I generally walk and visit the gym as planned. But where does that come from? Is it intrinsic, or developed over time from do and repeat, do and repeat? Every time I hear a new person say, "I just didn't feel like going to a meeting," I think, "Nobody said I had a choice," telling me, over and over, that there are two times to go to a meeting - when you want to, and when you don't.  Admittedly, I can be a bit rigid, and sometimes I do take a breather, but especially when I first got sober, meetings weren't optional. Did I have the "want power" that old Leonard talked about? Then I'd get myself to my regular groups. (Seen on the wall at a meeting in Antigua, West Indies - "Don't plan your meeting around your day. Plan your day around your meeting.") This necessity is very different at 36 years than at 3, but I do try to keep the maintenance of my spiritual condition in mind every day. I don't meditate once and float off to nirvana or walk around the block one day and do a marathon the next. My serenity meter requires regular attention.

And... motivation waxes and wanes, even with the best of intentions. Sometimes I have an extra slice of pizza, or let the rain convince me to stay inside. But, the motivation, born of pain, to maintain the gift of sobriety (including that from tobacco) has never wavered, thus far at least. Fully conceding, then doing what small tasks it takes to remember that admission, keeps me on this side of the chasm, one day at a time.

While driving and switching the radio dial from 60's oldies to 80's to jazz to classical and back, a chorale rendition of "Oh Shenandoah" came on the air. As I sang along, lyrics etched in my mind from music class in grade school, I felt a twinge of melancholy sadness, thinking of the girl who loved to sing, whether it was show tunes and classics in school, on family road trips, or huddled around the piano with my cousins while mom played WWI and II era songs. Sadness, because I didn't have the confidence to pursue choir in high school, or much of anything really. Puberty did a number on my already shaky self-esteem, and I retreated, making choices that seemed safer at the time.

I've heard several long-time women speak recently about the slow process of letting themselves off the hook for poor decisions, for deciding that you mattered more than me. It has been a slow process, and I can still chastise my inner 12, 14 or 16 year old (or 20, 23, 25 year old) for doing whatever it was I did or didn't do. My first sponsor would tell me, "If you'd known better, you would've done better." Well, I often did know better, and I was cursed with the disease of "more," the trait of "make hay while the sun shines" and damn the consequences. 

I very rarely say "damn the consequences" these days. Not for a long time have I said "stay" when I should've said, "go" or booked a flight when I should've checked with my boss first. Maybe it's part of getting older, this smoothing of the impulse-meter. Maybe it's having been around the block quite a few times now, learning sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, that all my actions have consequences, positive or not so much. Am I only thinking of myself when I strike out to greet the day, or do I consider how I might impact another? 

This week mark's my 36th Alanon anniversary. I went to my first meeting about a month out of treatment, hoping to save my heroin-addicted lover from his fate, and stayed because I realized I had work to do around the relationship with my father. I keep coming back because I got married nearly 11 years ago, and I strive to keep my side of the street clean. Ours is not a perfect relationship (is anyone's?) but before tying the knot, we talked about the whole "'til death do you part," thing, neither of us wanting a second divorce. I am grateful for the tools, no matter how heavy they sometimes feel, that guide us in the tough conversations as well as the joyous celebrations. Thank you, Alanon. 

What motivates you, today, to do what is needed for your sanity and serenity? Do you hold yourself accountable, or are you better off with a helper? If you find yourself regretting the past, how do you intentionally return to gratitude for today?

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See my post from 2/4 for information on the Now What? workbook, now available for $12.95 as a PDF I send you via email, or $19.95 for a spiral bound copy I mail to you.