And...

 I have a notebook I kept in high school, with articles (Vietnam War, Nixon's demise, Women's Liberation, Black Power - topics of the day) along with poetry and quotes that struck my sixteen-year-old self as moving or important. I sometimes attributed the quotes to "unknown" either out of laziness or perhaps I'd written it down without noting the author. Here is one that still feels right today:

"Perhaps all stories should begin with the word 'and.' Perhaps they should end with the word 'and' too. It would remind us that no experience every begins; there was always something that preceded it. What really began, for us, was our awareness of something going on. At the end the word "and' would remind us that no story every really ends - something more will happen after."

Yes, yes and more yes. I sometimes think in terms of "the next phase of my development," or a new chapter, which each imply transit or transition, but sometimes I behave as if one thing stops and another starts abruptly, like jobs or relationships or vacations. I need to remember there is always a backstory and an epilogue. And those times of transition (which seems to be nearly constant) are so important to acknowledge, whether a change of season, a favorite shop or restaurant closing, or a meeting that no longer serves. As I may have written before, but need reminding myself, a therapist once described it as being on the monkey bars where I've let go of one rung but haven't quite grabbed on to the next - that momentary suspension in mid-air, neither here nor there. 

I'm in that place of pause as I complete my 90-day job assignment, remembering the "and" on both ends, signifying what went before and what will go on after (whether I know what that is or not).  I'm also thinking a lot about the "and" as I'm in contact with old classmates via reunion planning, some after literal decades: We crossed paths, interacting intensely when we were fifteen and... life went on. It can be funny, or a bit odd, to do the "how have you been?" routine after so long. I kind of care, but I'm more interested in seeing whether the person I knew back then is still in there - are you still funny? Did you ever take that trip you used to talk about? Did life turn out the way you thought it might?

Along those lines, I just learned of the recent passing of one of those people - a funny, delightful sixteen-year-old that I hadn't seen since. To me, he's frozen in time, "and" the reality is that he married and had kids, divorced and was ill. My experience, my knowing him, is very limited to a specific time and place, as are so many memories, whether of someone I used to sit next to in meetings, or a friend from decades ago. As time passes, on the planet and in recovery, I'm both more and less attached to the stories, the memories, my version(s) of what was. I read somewhere that when we get really old, and less out in the world, it will be our memories that nourish us. Goodness knows, I have a deep well to drink from.

And the beat goes on, one day at a time, one chapter at a time, one story at a time. Have you made peace with your stories? Are there those you've released as less-than-true? If you met someone you cared about when you were a kid, or a teenager, what would you want them to know about you today?

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Check out the post from Feb 4 for a sample of the 78-page workbook, "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" now available in PDF or hard copy. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with any questions.