Through no conscious intent, three of my regular meetings are now Step groups: Bring Your Own Big Book (Tues 7pm PDT online), Beacon Group (noon EDT Mon-Fri online) and the monthly group I've participated in for several years where we talk about how we've applied the "Step of the month".
Both the zoom meetings simply review the Steps, again and again, with a different speaker each time. My first thought was "How much can one say??" thinking I had a handle on how they work in my life. After all, I've been sober a long time - the program has, to a certain extent, become internalized. But alas, I was wrong. Each time I hear someone speak to their interpretation of a particular Step, I come away with a "Hmmm. I hadn't thought of it in that way," or validation that I'm not too far off the beam in how I practice the principles.
As an example, in a share on Step 2, I was enlightened to the fact that 2 isn't where we are restored to sanity - we just "came to believe" that we could be. The continuation of that process comes in 10 where we read, "...by this time sanity will have returned." I had no problem believing that my behavior while under the influence was absolutely nuts (whether that was getting loaded, being loaded or recovering from) and I hoped to hell that the people in the rooms could help me come back to earth. Looking back, it is obvious that the return to sanity didn't involve a magic wand, but a gradual process of trial and error, of silly decisions giving way to more rational thought. Again, something I hadn't really thought about before hearing the speaker, which reminds me of something my first sponsor used to advise: Remain teachable.
And Step 2 isn't just about the insanity of the drink. In my recent mental gymnastics about employment, I bounced my ideas, some of them crazy, past a trusted other. Not saying this, or any, person is a higher power, but I was taught that the "power greater than myself" can be another member, or the magic in the rooms when I have the courage of vulnerability. Sometimes in a meeting, I say what it is I need to hear, or I hear my story/need reflected in another's share.
I've been in a familiar melancholy place this week, a bit on the blue side despite a string of sunny days. Is it my mom reaching out, or others who've passed in recent years? Maybe it's related to the upcoming class reunion, thinking of who won't be there - my cousin, my former sister-in-law and her cousin, a friend from the park days and too many others (we were a class of 500). I'm also feeling the fact that I last saw many classmates 50 years ago, when we were 17 years old. We've lived lifetimes since then, whether the traditional routes of college/career, marriage, kids, grandkids, or the more circuitous route that some of us took (i.e. the detour of addiction). However it's turned out, we're now old, we who were the beneficiaries of the 60's social revolution and had plans for a new world order. We're gray and moving slower, perhaps reflecting on "It might have been," or "Damn, it's been a good run." The whole passage of time thing sometimes freaks me out, especially when I'm talking with someone I've known since I was 9 years old. And, here we are.
As I dug in the garden, I was reminded that life will go on long after me and mine are gone. I live in Portland, on the path of a pre-historic riverbed - the Missoula Flood Plain (as in, Montana). Even digging just a few inches uncovers handfuls of river rock, from potato to finger size stones. I appreciate this tie to the history of the land as I traverse various streets near where I grew up, noticing what's changed in the human realm (high rise apartments) and what hasn't (the public stairs where we smoked as kids).
Life moves on, and on, and on. When I think of the past, I sometimes wish I'd paid closer attention, that I'd asked mom and other elders more questions, that I'd spent more time in the moment instead of wishing and hoping for what was next. Being closer to the end of the story than the beginning has the advantage of perspective - what I once thought of as big deals I now see as mere blips, or even gifts in disguise. Since there is absolutely no turning back the clock, how do I move from a vague sadness for what was to hopeful anticipation of the future? In The Seeker's Guide, Elizabeth Lesser writes that "the secret in life is enjoying the passage of time versus efforts to clutch onto the past or anticipate or fear the future." She further suggests that we "Experiment with letting go into the mystery, curious," instead of afraid. The unknown can be terrifying or exciting. I sometimes need to remind myself that I've never been this many years old, with this much sobriety, this long married, and so on. I don't know what's next because I don't know what's next. Making peace with that fact is the focus of my spiritual quest these days, one day at a time.
How do you view the future? Is it something to look forward to, or dread (or maybe a bit of both)? How can the 12 Steps guide you over life's varying terrain? Is there an area today that could benefit from a return to sanity? How do you check in with yourself to be sure you are remaining teachable rather than having all the answers?
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See the Feb 4 post for a sample of the 78-page workbook, "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" available as hard copy (mailed) or PDF (emailed - ideal for those of you outside the U.S.). Portland Area Intergroup also has a supply available. Go to the WEB VERSION of this page, if you don't see the purchase link in the upper right corner
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