Listening...

 There's a house I pass a few times a week on my morning walks where I spent time one summer. It may have been a month or a week, in those days when time expanded or contracted depending on my state of intoxication. In any event, it was my meth cook lover's ex's home, where he'd been asked to house-sit while she was away caring for a family member. I'm fairly certain she told him "No monkey business," but within hours of her departure, a pop-up lab was taking shape in the basement. 

What I remember is a darkened living room, attempting to read Tarot by candlelight (I say "attempted" as I definitely read into the cards what I wanted to see - pain, separation, loss.) What I remember most of all, though, is the sound of bamboo leaves in the summer breeze. The house was surrounded by a lush screen of tall bamboo that made a peaceful, rustling sound with even the slightest wind. Those plants are long gone, but if I pause and close my eyes, I can almost hear them, all these years later.

Which is to say that there were beautiful moments even in the darkest of times. Even in the midst of mayhem, of (metaphorical) knock-down-drag-outs, the tiny part of me that was on the verge of being snuffed out completely, still, weakly, reached for life's beauty, whether in nature, a genuine smile, or that very quiet moment right before falling asleep when my soul whispered, "Maybe there is a better way." I will be forever grateful for that still, small voice that answered the phone and said, "OK" when my ex (the one who's death anniversary I just marked) called and said, "You need help, Jeanine."

Boy, did I need help. What I needed was you - not a lecture, not a scolding or a pleading, but you showing me the way, offering to take my hand. And, the idea that "our experience can benefit others" continues to show up, whether in a conversation with a newcomer, or life-on-life-terms stuff where something I've walked through loses its sting by sharing with another on a similar part of the path.

The women I gather with at Solstice have been meeting now for 19 years, so there is a continuity in what we share. This year we ranged in age from 48 to 77, with most in our 60's. What I noticed is that, when we talked about what we'd like to manifest or bring into the new year, nearly all of us simply expounded on "one day at a time." By this stage of the game, we've all had piles of evidence that we cannot see the future, that our plans and designs don't amount to much, that we cannot control another person or situation. I can be chagrined that it's taken so long to get to the point of acceptance, or I can simply say, "Thank you" for all the lessons along the way.

And one of the biggest lessons is, "You just never know." The son of a grade school acquaintance was killed in a car wreck a few weeks ago. I never met him and don't know her very well, but that shook me. Number one, I can't even imagine the heartbreak of losing a child to an accident, and two, the awful reminder that we and our loved ones leave the house, take a trip, go to work with absolutely no guarantee that we'll come safely home. I don't want to morbidly live as if each day is my last, but damn it, I also don't want to pretend any longer that my chapter in the story will go on forever. I will continue to tell people I love them, will pause in gratitude for another day sober, will continue my efforts to live from the heart.

Thinking of time left on the planet, I will say I'm not exactly ready for "Swedish Death Cleaning," and 'tis the season to declutter, to decide what of my possessions are important, which do I actually use, and what can I release? Are there lingering mindsets I can release or expand? How do I want to enter the new year, the calendar year in which I'll turn 70? (!) 

Are there poignant moments you can recall from when you hit bottom? If you could hear it, what did the still, small voice have to say? What does it say now? How do you listen to your heart, especially amidst the clamor and chatter of the world? What might you release, actually or emotionally, as the new year begins?

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Thinking of a year-end inventory or a holiday gift for a sponsee? I've restocked my supply of the workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?"  with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Time marching on

 I probably say this every December, but man, this year has flown by. OK, 2020 dragged on and on, but these last few have felt like hyper-speed. Wasn't it just June? Wasn't it just 1990 (etc etc)?

As I've heard, sometimes the days go by slowly (especially while watching the clock when I was working), but the months and years fly by. I'm not a scholar but have been interested in how the concept of time evolved, initially with different hours depending on the village where you lived. Yes, measuring time is a human construct, and... the sun comes up and the sun goes down, with a semi-predictable pattern over time. Which means we're approaching the shortest day here in the northern hemisphere, the longest in the south, and like people (in and out of the rooms) it feels like time to pause, review, and think about what may be ahead. 

In December 1985 I knew I was going into treatment at the turn of the calendar, but I had absolutely no idea what to expect. I didn't know anyone who'd been to treatment. I'd never heard of 12 Step recovery (I only "knew" that AA was based on the buddy system.) I could not imagine a life without some sort of chemical, whether liquid, powdered or pill. That can be helpful to remember - I made the biggest decision of my life without knowing what was next.

If I think about what I'd like to leave behind as I enter the new year, part of it has to do with leaving the crystal ball, or rather the malfunctioning crystal ball that never worked very well to begin with, along with the idea that if I know what's ahead, I can handle it better, a classic adult-child of alcoholic trait.  As the ball dropped in Times Square at midnight December 31, 2022/January 1, 2023, I had no clue I'd be diagnosed with breast cancer a month later. I am very fortunate that my course of treatment was fairly simple, but those first couple of months of uncertainty really tested my program. Trust? Let go? I don't know... And I've been reminded that "I don't know" is one of the most spiritual things I can say, which has played out time and time again in the past decades.

The 9th Step Promises were read as the lead for a meeting this week, and instead of tuning out (omg, how many times have I heard this?) I really listened to the words. Right before the promises, we're told that "The spiritual life is not a theory - we have to live it." I will assume that the italics are Bill's way of saying, "I'm serious about this bit." A theory is just words and ideas unless I put it to practice. I can think about cutting out sugar, I can imagine adding push-ups or squats to my regimen, I can wonder about a regular meditation practice, but until I live it, the ideas are merely fantasies. 

A novel I enjoyed and appreciated had me in tears at the end, when the protagonist acknowledges the hold an early, obsessive love affair had on her, as well as her certain knowledge that her life, now, is exactly where she wants to be. I hadn't realized it, but I finished the book at the 5th anniversary of an important ex's passing - the ex who went above and beyond what I deserved at the time and put me through treatment and helped me get on my feet that first, crucial year of sobriety. How ironic that he died from the effects of alcoholism. How many of us have been helped along the way by people who never got it themselves? Recovery is a mystery, the whole "who gets it and who doesn't" bit as well as the magic of willingness and no matter what, which looks different for each of us. Today I'm grateful for the whole of it - the tears and the laughter, the joys and the sorrows that contribute to who I am today.

Part of the "who I am today" piece has to do with growing up in a particular neighborhood at a particular time, with particular people, several of whom I'm still in contact with. A handful of us took a holiday lights walk last night, which took us through the park where we did so much of our early drinking. I mentioned to one of our group that it was with her I smoked my first joint in December, 1968. She didn't remember, which verified another friend's theory that it is only we alcoholic-addicts who clearly recall our first drink, hit or snort. 

Tomorrow I will gather with a small group of women, in person for the first time since 2019, to mark the shortest day of the year. I'm big on ritual and tradition, whether newly introduced or repeats. With so much upheaval in the world, the steadiness of listening to How it Works in a meeting can help ground me. Seeing friends I've known since grade school grounds me. Particular music grounds me (and makes my heart soar) Right here, right now, everything is ok. I know where I'll sleep tonight and I've had enough to eat today (and I'm very, very aware that not everyone can say that).

When you've been certain you knew what was next, what happened to remind you that you are not in charge? Whether positive or not so much, what are some surprises this year brought? Besides plans and calendar appointments, what do you want in the new year? What or who do you want to be?  How will the 12 Steps of recovery manifest in your life?

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Thinking of a year-end inventory or holiday gift for a sponsee? Check out my workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?"  with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Resentments

 I attended a good speaker/discussion meeting this past week - Beacon Group out of Boston (online, noon EST, with a speaker archive available) on the topic of Step 4 Resentments. The speaker shared helpful instructions, taken from the Big Book, on how we can address our inner demons, the part of us that plays the tape of "wrongs" over and over in our minds. The speaker said something similar to what Lila R says, basically, that if I'm not the problem, there is no solution because as much as I'd like to think differently, I cannot control you (or whatever/whoever I'm resenting). All I can really do is change my attitude, which can feel like a tall order.

I've long held to the personal truth that I'm not an angry person, so resentments aren't really my issue. But I recognized myself in much of what the speaker talked about - ruminating, the focus on "me, me, me" and my comforts, as well as how I give my power to someone else when I focus on how I think I've been mistreated in some way, shape or form, real or imagined.

In the breakout room after the main speaker I heard something that has me re-thinking my relationship to resentments. What this member said was, "I'm not an angry person, but I'm scared." Zing! Yes, that's me in a nutshell (emphasis on "nut"). My fear is that, like the literature says, I'll lose something I have, or not get something I want, and if I drill down on that, the core fear is that I'm not enough - not funny enough, cute enough, smart enough, etc etc etc.. My "mistakes" as it says in discussion of Step 4 (or "my part") is that I sometimes conflate facts, misinterpret information, and ruminate on the "what if's." What if, instead, I took a deep breath and changed my perspective? What if I looked at my "problem" from all angles, in the cold light of day?

The "isms" are so much more subtle these days. My sometimes-dysfunctional characteristics don't come marching up the front stairs yelling, "Hey! Let's screw everything up by being selfish and self-centered!" Nor do other people's defenses necessarily announce themselves. I need to be very careful to stay in my own inventory, not someone else's (ah, the temptation...) as in when I think I know their motives or backstory. When I am in a crunchy place with myself or someone else, how do I stay on my side of the street? How do I drill down to what is really bothering me vs what's dressed up as someone else's stuff?

This can definitely be a time of year for both joy and irritation. Where did all these cars come from?!? I would say that I don't buy into holiday madness, and it can be hard to avoid completely. It's my choice to inwardly snarl at the delivery driver who's racing along on my walking route at 7am, or I can simply say, "Good morning," knowing that they are working a lot harder than I am. Food can be a trigger for me, as in cookies and cheese trays and candies, oh my! There again, I have choices, one of which is to put down the battering ram. Richard Rohr recently wrote that Spirit saves us in our bodies, not from our bodies. Ah, I need not be my own enemy, at least not today.

Especially this time of year, how do you cut yourself some slack from internal or external expectations? How do you stay open to lessons about the Steps and learning more about yourself, if you might be thinking, "I've got this"? How do fear and/or anger show up for you today and what do you do to get back to center when they do?

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Thinking of a year-end inventory or a holiday gift for a sponsee? I've restocked my supply of the workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?"  with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

What is it you really want?

 One of my daily readers asks the question, "What is it you really want?" versus what you think you're supposed to want, or what I'd add, what you may have wanted in the past but now aren't so sure?

What initially came to mind is the standard "health and well-being for me and my loved ones," but then I wondered if the question is really more about "what do you want to do?" Sure, I want world peace and prosperity for myself and others, but those are more generalized and not things I have much control over. But "what do you want to do?" gets into the grit of how I live my life. 

I think of sober habits, picked up in treatment and now simply a part of who I am - make the bed each morning, time with daily readers, which have changed several times over the years - small morning habits that set the stage for practicing the principles in all my affairs. Meetings are part of my recovery habit - yes, still.  I like "us" and I appreciate hearing how others live life on life's terms, or as a friend recently said, life on spiritual terms. I'm not a church-goer, and haven't had much formal religious education. I think of meetings as my spiritual home. Meetings and walking in the woods, as well as on the beach when I can get there. 

And then there is the whole deal of practicing the principles in all my affairs, the focus of December Step 12 work specifically, but really, the focus always. Something came up this week that I didn't want to talk about with my sponsor. I will acknowledge that at 37+ years sober, I do sometimes consult a couple of trusted others in lieu of my sponsor, seeing as how they've lived the back story with me. But this was sponsor material and I resisted out of fear around judgement, out of not wanting to be told what to do (neither of which my sponsor does). I realized that it was ego, the thinking I should have it all figured out by now, not wanting to appear less than perfect. Fortunately, another of the long-term sober habits I have is picking up the phone, no matter how heavy (or the email or the text). I know I'm as sick as my secrets, so I made the contact. And as I was reminded in a speaker meeting this week, I'm practicing Step 2 anytime I get out of my own head and reach out to another person in the program. 

I continue to be presented with serendipity as I'm relaxing into opening to the mystery. Just yesterday I got a call from someone I've known professionally for many years. In the course of the conversation, "one day at a time" came out, with his asking, "Is there a part of your story I don't know?" Well, yes, quite a lot of it actually. It turns out that I was his first phone call after learning that an alcoholic family member had attempted taking their own life. I heard his voice crack as he expressed gratitude to know that there are happy endings. Coincidence? Maybe. 

So what is it I really want? I want to travel and spend time out of doors. I want to continue growing in our program, which, to me, means deepening my spiritual connections. I want to grow old with my spouse (oh wait, we already are old!), knowing there are no guarantees. I want my brother to be content, and his wife to further settle in to her memory-care foster home. I want to enjoy and appreciate my stepdaughter growing into a happy adulthood. I want to keep up my distance-walking and contribute to my overall health (again, no guarantees). I want to read good books and watch good movies. I want to gather with friends, actually or virtually (thank you zoom!) And, one day at a time, I want to continue living in gratitude for this life I'd never imagined.

What is it that you really want, and/or really want to do? If time and money were no object, where would the journey take you, whether that is related to job, home or adventure? Has serendipity visited you this week?

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Thinking of a year-end inventory? I've restocked my supply of the workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?"  with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Bermuda Triangle

 We've entered what's often called the Bermuda Triangle for those of us impacted by the disease of alcoholism - Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year (for those with food issues, that would be extended to Halloween). Holidays can be a mixed bag - for me, this time of year is fun (food! friends! lights!) and fraught with bittersweet memories of holidays-past, as well as missing those no longer here.

I remember the early years, when simply getting through the holidays sober was a big deal (still is). For several years (5?) I threw a big New Year's Eve party, with dancing in the breakfast nook (minus table) and a meeting at midnight. Since my sober date is January 3rd, it felt good to reclaim the holiday and to add recovery events to my memory bank. One year, our local Alano Club's annual party was cancelled, and I quickly realized that many of those folks were now packed into my living room. That's about when I stopped the tradition, a bit uncomfortable that I didn't know half the people there!

Over the years, my holiday traditions have changed - what started as an "after-Thanksgiving" dinner for those who didn't have family turned in to a funny gift exchange with the home group which morphed into a small gathering of friends old and new. After my mother died, we stumbled along with deciding what traditions to keep and what to discard (though the first few years were tough - Christmas was her holiday), and for years now, my husband and I have gone to my bestie's home for a big and boisterous creole feast. 

We do like to go to the Year-End Roundup in Seaside, OR - for me, it's about the beach, and the chance to hit a meeting in the town where I got sober, while my spouse is there for the speakers. I'm a morning person - would much prefer an early walk New Year's Day to staying up until midnight (years ago, a friend suggested "New Year in New York" which is 9pm here on the west coast - brilliant!). I'm grateful to know my rhythms these days, rather than the years I tried to fit others' internal preferences. 

I do tend to think of the new year in spiritual terms, much like Solstice, which for twenty years now, I've marked with a women's meeting. I know that the calendar is simply an arbitrary marker of time, but I appreciate the deep breath of reviewing months just passing, and anticipating what is ahead. Always present is the memory of Christmas 1985, knowing I'd be going to treatment in a few days - scared, with the tiniest bit of hope that my life could be different. Even though that was a long time ago now, I can still feel the trepidation as well as the relief when the spinning top that was my addiction finally came to a stop.

Other than a few late-in-the-year early birds, my school classmates and I will turn70 in 2024. How very strange that sounds. There is a small handful I see regularly, and we have walked the gauntlet together and separately over the years. I've been contemplating a proper marker for this milestone year, and in a somewhat random conversation on another topic, recognized a fellow traveler who mentioned something I've long wanted to do myself. Nothing written in stone yet, but I'm appreciating the serendipity of being in the right place at the right time with a rightly opened mind. Like when I picked up the community college schedule that had been sitting on my desk for weeks, and it randomly opened to a writing class that seems right up my alley (zoom, 5 weeks, hopefully just enough to start my motivation engine). Suit up and show up and pay attention, remembering that messages rarely show up as skywriting or megaphone JEANINE THIS IS FOR YOU. Wouldn't that be nice??  

And so, December fast approaches. Our outdoor lights are up, but I'm a traditionalist and won't turn them on until the first. I've had a few things cancel this week so am exhaling into the empty space, if not hibernating in the darkness, at least allowing the slow-down in a time when media pushes frenzy. I have choices today, to go with the flow and step off the escalator when the opportunity presents itself, or jump into the fray and then wonder why I feel stressed. Today I choose peace.

What holiday traditions feed your soul? If you are in a place of transition, how will you honor your heart while finding safe places to simply "be"? Where is serendipity showing up in your life today, via a random conversation, something you read, or a chance meeting?

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Thinking of a year-end inventory or a holiday gift for a sponsee? I've restocked my supply of the workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?"  with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Open to serendipity

 It struck me, as I've listened to others talk about their on-going ins-and-outs of the spiritual experience that maybe, perhaps, all that god-shot stuff I say I miss, happens when I'm vulnerable, open, and less invested in "my ideas," old or new. I think of times in early recovery when the right person showed up, or the letter came in the mail or the check appeared just when I needed it. I think of when my mother died, and there was her physician in the grocery store parking lot, sharing kind words (and never seen since), or when an important ex died and he was in my dream saying goodbye before I was told he'd passed. I think of the time I was out of work, withdrawing my application from one position but thinking about another, and the phone call that came just days later with the offer to apply for that job that I ended up retiring from. 

Maybe this stuff happens often and I just don't notice, or chalk it up to coincidence. Maybe it's only when I'm grieving or scared or otherwise hammered down by life that I'm more receptive to serendipity, to viewing seemingly random events as Spirit saying, "Yeah, I'm here." 

I do not pretend to be any sort of Christian, but I think of Teresa of Avila, who is reported to have levitated on more than one occasion. I think, "Well of course she did." Without television or radio or books or social media, etc etc etc to distract her, it makes sense that the spiritual energy she felt could lift her off the ground. Our world is so busy, with the near constant onslaught of information (if I so choose) that it makes sense that a bird's morning song, or the sand dollar on my beach path, or the phone call that comes just when I was thinking of my friend are barely noticed. 

I am reminded again and again that "the spiritual life is not a theory." OK, so what does that mean in the course of my life? Paying attention, yes. Pausing when agitated, definitely. Many of my peers talk in meetings about their daily prayer to be of service. I have to admit I rarely say that prayer, for fear that it would inconvenience me. Yes, selfish and self-centered, with a bit of magical thinking thrown in. Think "la la la" with eyes closed and ears plugged. What I've learned over time is that if the universe wants my attention, it will get it, whether that is a service opportunity, or, say, losing a job that didn't fit anyway. And the truth is that I am of service in several different areas, but along with the "No!" voice is the whisper that it's never enough, that I should be doing more, that I should be more. Just for today, I can say, "Thanks for the input, but no thanks." Funny (as in odd, not ha ha) that the not-enough voice is still there. Not loud, and not always, but those tracks were laid early and deep.

The Big Book tells me that "lack of power" was my dilemma. Lack of power wasn't my dilemma, at least not by my thinking. My dilemma was that I needed to get high every minute of every day and a small handful of people told me I should stop. The thing is, all they said was "stop" without giving me an alternative. That's where you people come in. You didn't even tell me to stop, but said, "If you want to stop hurting, this is what I did." You offered a way out, and a way of life after the stopping. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

And thank you to the several who shared their appreciation for these weekly posts after last week's message about gratitude. These musings are a "must do" not a "have to."  I'm happy to have an avenue for my feelings and opinions. Wishing you a pleasant and peaceful Thanksgiving.

What are your thoughts about the spiritual experience(s)? How do you make space so that you can notice the unexplainable? If the spiritual life is not a theory, how do you put that into practice? What do you do to acknowledge old ideas without giving them power?  Again with the gratitude on this Thanksgiving eve (here in the US), what is on your list? 

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Thinking of a year-end inventory or a holiday gift for a sponsee? I've just restocked my supply of the workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?"  with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Gratitude month

 In AA, November is designated "Gratitude Month," likely related to Thanksgiving and maybe Step 11. Sometimes thinking of something to be grateful for is easy - other times a push, but always good to remember that gratitude is described as a spiritual elevator. Even if I'm faking it 'till I make it, the exercise helps me remember what it was like and what it's like now. I did not die at the end of a needle or behind the wheel of a car, which means that each day truly is a gift. 

Someone in a meeting once said that when they're having a hard time falling asleep, they go through the alphabet, naming something they're grateful for with each letter. Sometimes that flows, other times a struggle (Q? ok, quiet morning time with my journal, but K? U?). Years ago, I found myself classicly scrawling out things that upset me - the spouse, the job, the x,y,z with just a week later, those same exact things on my gratitude list. Perception. Perception and my being centered, or not. Sometimes the directive to write a gratitude list can feel Pollyanna-ish, head in the sand. And, even on the dark days, there is much to be thankful for - a warm bed, food in the fridge, gas in the car, and oh yeah, sobriety.

A memory came up recently, of a time that my good friend, Ruth, and I went to Seaside for our aftercare. Ruth was a character - my mother's age, funny, and very committed to her sobriety, having lost a son in an alcohol related car accident. She and I, and our other housemate (and still best friend), a decade younger than me, shared coffee and daily meditations in the kitchen each morning, laughing and crying over our individual drunk-a-logs. Those were magical times. 

On the particular day I'm thinking of, we finished aftercare and then hit the evening meeting at the Little Yellow House. The proverbial dark and stormy night, we were nervous about the 90-minute drive home, when one of the treatment staff invited us to sleep on the fold-out couch at his place and head home in the morning. His wife greeted us when we got there, with a look that said this wasn't the first time Joe had brought home a stray or two. Ruth and I were so grateful, so in awe of this AA thing that showed us service and fellowship in action. 

Maybe 10 years later, I was working on the locked psychiatric unit at a local hospital, and who was being admitted, incoherent and drunk? Joe. I was heartbroken. Heartbroken and confused. How could anyone as serious as he'd been about sobriety be sitting here slurring his words? Once you've fully conceded to your innermost self that you're alcoholic, how do you un-concede?

That same best friend/early roommate told me that people forget. People forget the pitiful, incomprehensible, demoralization. They forget that they have a disease, that it's alcoholism not alcohol-wasm. I don't walk around in fear of being struck drunk, but I am acutely aware of the danger of forgetting I'm an alcoholic. I hear too many stories of those who drank after decades sober and have a hard time getting back, or those who "slipped" only to suffer a terrible fall or car accident or blow to the head. I feel solid in my recovery, and I am not immune. 

Recently I read a quote attributed to Marcus Aurelius - Understand that your time has a limit set to it. Use it then, to your enlightenment or it will be gone and never in your power again.  As I age, I'm noticing more, paying attention more to reminders that I'll only pass this way once (as far as we know). Where is my attention today? 

And, where do I acknowledge my age without throwing up my hands in defeat? An example - this week I volunteered for leaf-raking detail up in Forest Park, a three-hour stint with twelve other people, getting fallen leaves off the trails. In years past, I would've gotten up early to go for a run or walk before heading out, but this time, had a little talk with myself. "Jeanine, you're not 49. You're not even 59! It's ok to enjoy your morning coffee and then drive up to the woods." Trust me, my legs and torso are feeling it. Could I have squeezed in three or four miles on the pavement beforehand? Sure, but why? "Motion is lotion" for the joints, I'm told, and I've really got nothing to prove (though I must admit to enjoying sharing my past trail running experiences with a couple of younger runners on the crew. I know, I know - I don't look like my story, either the before or the after).

And so, today, on a gloriously colorful November morning, I am grateful for all my senses, for this body that takes me outdoors or to the computer for zoom meetings. I am grateful for a strong marriage, for good, solid friendships, for memories old and new. And yes, for sobriety and that I've not un-conceded to my innermost self the true nature of alcoholism. I'm also always grateful for Bill and Bob, and that Bob said "OK" when Bill came over to talk. One alcoholic to another., sharing experience, strength and hope.

What is on your gratitude list today? How do you keep the memory of your own pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization fresh without it being morbid reflection? What will you do for your sobriety today? 

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Thinking of a year-end inventory? I've restocked my supply of the workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?"  with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Spiritual Experience

 How does one describe a spiritual experience? According to Bill W, quoted in the Daily Reflections for August 24, you can't. You can tell the story, but you cannot adequately describe the actual experience, which is part of the mystery of recovery for each of us.

I sometimes describe my "psychic rearrangement" as feeling like an internal pencil snapped in two. There is the before, and the after - the need to alter my consciousness with drugs or alcohol every single day, and the seemingly instant release of that need/want. How to explain that? Can't, really, other than to say it was the magical confluence of pain and longing, that place where desperation and hope meet. As we hear in the rooms, "I was sick and tired of being sick and tired," though I didn't have that language at the time. I was shattered, full to the brim with the pain of loss and grief, of disappointment (in myself) and a tiny, tiny spark of hoping life could be different. 

Sometimes I long for the dramatic shifts and awarenesses I experienced in those first heady years of recovery. Speaker Lila R. talks about wanting more of everything, and that includes the spiritual connection. Logically I know, of course, that I can't recreate or expect the same level of "wow" as when the connection (to you, to HP, to program) was brand new. Like any convert, the excitement, the novelty of this new life, was part of the attraction. A wise friend once described the ongoing process as moving from infatuation to a deep, though quieter, appreciation. She described it related to our Pacific Northwest Mt. Hood - the first time someone sees her in the distance, they feel awe, but over time, may barely notice her framing our view east - notable still, but not in the excited way we may have at first. That is the normal, logical and mature progression. I still experience awe and wonder, but farther and further between, dependent on how trapped I am in my brain. I'm thinking of my visit to Point Reyes on the northern California coast last spring with a friend. An amazing viewpoint, but my mind was caught up in my new cancer diagnosis, so my internal response was flat. Pretty. Yeah. When do we eat?

So always, for me, is the awareness that, while I can't conjure up a spiritual experience, I can make myself ready. I can slow the "f" down, write my To-Do list then stop thinking about it, PAY ATTENTION to my surroundings, especially when walking in the neighborhood or in nature, give myself the luxury of an afternoon reading break (is it luxury or necessity?). Again, I can't think, "OK, it's Wednesday - I've got an hour between 1:00-2:00 so let's have that spiritual awakening!" and I can start my days with intention to remain as receptive at 3:00pm as I am during my early morning rituals.

Again and again, I'm reminded by your example that the principles of the program can help me/us walk through anything. Death, diagnosis, money woes or successes, moving or deciding to stay put - there is nothing that someone else hasn't already experienced. I am on my particular path, with emotions specific to my situation and temperament, but I so appreciate the markers left by those who've been there before me.

What is the story of your spiritual awakening, either the first time or those since? Can you still feel the surrender? 

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Thinking of a year-end inventory or a holiday gift for a sponsee? I've just restocked my supply of the workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?"  with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

To-Do vs Want To

 Prompted by friends talking about pending retirement and what they hope to do once untethered from the 9 to 5, I'm thinking about my own life in the moment. Now three-plus years into the freedom I so craved, most weeks go by in a blur of chores, errands and appointments, time at my desk and neighborhood walks. I have a volunteer gig with the American Cancer Society, perfect in that I choose when and where to participate. I have my meetings and service, though less friend-time than I might like (oh our busy lives). What has felt missing for a while now is creativity, the discipline needed to get into the drawers full of art supplies, or to write fiction. It seems funny to use "discipline" and "creativity" in the same sentence, but creativity requires willingness, a commitment to keeping open spaces in the day or week in order to see what arises.

I kept a specific retirement journal during the three years leading up to the actual date, full of musings and hopes, feeling, at times, like I couldn't work another day (when there were 700 left to go), falling back in love with my job, imagining the perfect day post-retirement. The process was good, and helpful to hone-in on what I wanted to do before leaving my profession, like replacing my 10-year-old car while I still had a regular paycheck. Everything I read about planning for retirement though, suggested that it wasn't just about how much money to save, but about how I wanted to spend my time. Not just reading the paper in an easy chair, like the fellow in the Big Book who then drank, but what activities I might like to try, or get back to. Have I done all I projected? Some, not all (the pandemic curtailed a few plans), which has me, today, wondering if it is time to re-evaluate.

And this is pretty funny - in looking at the pre-retirement stuff I'd printed out (I should've been a Boy Scout - always prepared!) is a checklist, including: Recall all the things you loved doing in your teens or twenties and make a plan to bring the joy of those experiences back into your life. I don't know that I should list sitting under a tree smoking a joint, or snorting lines in the disco's bathroom, but that was my idea of "joy" back then. What a trip, from there to here.

I think about the statement "it's the journey, not the destination." For so long, it was the destination I focused on - the degree, the next marathon, the position at work, the mortgage, the wedding, the retirement date - but then what? The events themselves are simply markers along the way. After the wedding comes the daily-ness of married life. After the promotion, the actual work. So, retirement is both a journey and a destination - a destination without actual completion (unless that's death, which has its own, vast, psychic baggage to explore!).

I do tend to be focused on destinations, the end point, primarily as a place to take a breath and move on to the next thing, because there always is a next thing. Once the trees in the backyard were cut down, there was a new garden to plan; once the to-do list is complete, more will present itself; once this walking event is done, there is another to prepare for, and fill-in-the-blank with your project or plan. One day at a time, can I strive for more comfort with the process? If early sobriety was about the plug-in-the-jug, the middle chunk about causes and conditions, and these later years about spiritual fitness, how do I relax into the flow - always an important question for me, even more so when most of my deadlines are self-imposed. 

I do appreciate that I'm able to get to the gist of what's bugging me sooner these days. Where in the past I might've gotten lost in the woods, flailing about until the spinning top of my emotions settled, today I can put pen to paper and listen to my heart. Oh yeah, it's been too long since I had a friend date. When is the last time I played with my box of colored markers? (I will admit to still carrying a voice from grade school that deemed this girl and that one as the artists, that girl as the smart one. I think I was the troublemaker!)

So, yes, pen to paper, and always pay attention to the HALTS. I'm rarely hungry (not for long anyway), and anger isn't my thing. Tired, definitely, as I awaken too often during the night. Lonely can be tricky to recognize, but if 95% of my interactions in a week are in or around errands and appointments, I start to feel disconnected without knowing what's missing. Just for today I can pick up the phone, make a plan, schedule a hike or a walk or a movie. 

How do you notice when you're restless, irritable or discontent? How do you unravel those emotions in order to do a 10th Step on yourself? When is the last time you had fun with friends? What is on your list of "someday I will..."? and can you take a small step towards that goal today?

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Thinking of a year-end inventory? I've just restocked my supply of the workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?"  with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Staying present

 I've found myself in a spiral of existential angst coupled with happy, joyous and free. Interesting how my mood can shift from one to the other, sometimes in the space of hours. 

I'm realizing, after inopportune tears triggered by a song from 1972, whether conscious of it or not, I'm picking up the psychic vibration of fear and frustration so prevalent today: the horrific wars in the Middle East and Eastern Europe, hate crimes, warnings of lone-wolf terrorists, not to mention the dysfunctions in the American congress are like background noise - not always noticeable, but there. Add to that, concerns for my sister-in-law, who has struggled to settle in to her new living situation, and I'm vacillating between fear and faith (having worked on a hospital geriatric-psych unit years ago, I know firsthand that finding proper placement can be challenging). I meditate on peace, for my family and for the world.

And, have been reminded again and again that I can't do anything concrete for worldwide situations (other than send money, and my little drop in the bucket won't solve the problem), The best I can do is sow kindness in my corner of the world, whether that is a sweet interaction with a houseless person at the coffee shop, conversation with a Syrian Uber driver, calling my brother each day, or simply sharing a smile with a neighbor as we pass on the street (I'm constantly amazed at how many people don't say "hello" back, even when not wearing earbuds). I need to be conscious of the hoola-hoop, staying appropriately aware of what's going on in the world (with the knowledge that bad news gets more attention than good), but not over-indulging.

And, reminder to self that moods do shift, with a phone call, the sun coming out after a foggy morning, a much needed hug. One of my daily readers points out that I have choices in where to spend my mental energy. I can forget that when caught up in current events, or my own stories.

For much of my recovery, I've participated in small, in-home groups, whether a monthly Step group, friends who go through a particular recovery-related book, and now, a small group of women who gather to talk about spirituality - connections, disruptions, intentions. Our reading this month was about the cosmic beauty we notice - sunrise, red leaves on the sidewalk, a friend's smile - and how quickly we revert to affairs of the day. As I took an early walk on Sunday, just before dawn with a light misty rain, I caught myself over-thinking, barely aware of my surroundings. I reined it back in, like I imagine roping a wild horse, which worked for a few moments before I was off and running again. OK, so I can't live in a place of total rapt attention to the now - breakfast needs making, calendar needs attending to, etc, and... if I live in my top two inches, I'm less likely to notice the sweet moments when they appear. 

What strikes me, again and again, is the absolute honor of bearing witness to the details of each others' lives, whether sordid, joyous, happy or sad, and how we move from a place of wonder (how did I get here?) to gratitude for the experiences, all of them, painful and sublime. Maybe other people get that depth other places with other people, but AA and Alanon are where I feel at home, in the best sense of the word.

Where do you find peace when affairs of the world are so distressing? How do you interact with kindness in your own corner of the universe? Where do you feel "home?"

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Thinking of a year-end inventory? I've just restocked my supply of the workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?"  with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Predictions...

 I don't recall where I came upon the idea, but on my birthday in 2018, I wrote a letter to myself, five years in the future, which means that I just opened the envelope to an interesting future-trip of hopes and dreams. I knew I'd have been retired for about three years, wondering about how I'd adjust. I also wondered about my relationships with two important ex's, both now deceased. I rightly hoped my spouse and I would continue to be laughing and loving as we near the 14th anniversary of our first date.

I did not predict cancer - my husband's or my own. I didn't foresee my sister-in-law's dementia. I did not predict covid and the global pandemic. I didn't know I'd be walking rather than running for fitness, or the particular travels and trips I've taken. I rightly warned myself to beware of the "calendar fillers," with over-scheduling being a trait I've written about for years. (Part of hitting bottom with my addictions was seeing my calendar with months and months of blank spaces. Re-engaging with the world has been part of my recovery, but as with all things, balance is key.) I thought I'd be spending much of my time with two friends I rarely see.  In other words, I do not have a crystal ball!!  

This was a fun exercise and one I might repeat, maybe for my 75th birthday, six years away, though I am now acutely aware of the fickle nature of time and happenings. A future letter could be focused on spiritual growth perhaps, intentions for seeking serenity.

Along those lines, I listened in in a talk from Sister Bea, a long time AA speaker (I believe I still have one of her cassettes from the '80's!). Now 89 years old, and living back in Ireland, her topic was "Living in the Solution." I appreciated hearing that she is very human and needs reminding to reach out to power(s) greater than herself, still. I think I move along believing that asking for help and living in the moment would become automatic by this stage of the game, but, alas, I also need the daily reminders that I am not in charge. 

Sister Bea did describe the relief in (finally) not caring what others think. That one is easier as time passes - maybe because fewer people are paying attention to me (ha ha). But the whole deal of living within my hoola-hoop, increasing concern for my own danged self while decreasing my concern/directions/ideas for other people can still be a challenge. I have so many good ideas! I'm reminded of what a friend once said - "I'll have lots of feelings (and ideas) during the day. I just don't have to attach a sentence to every one."

I'm part of a running/walking group that meets Saturday mornings. This weekend I had conversations with two newer women, independently of the other, speaking to "if not now, when?" in regard to physical health and fitness. Both in their early 50's, they talked about a vision for the future - on the couch or active in the world? That 50-year milestone is now almost twenty years in the rearview mirror for me. First of all, how strange, and secondly, a good reminder of the opportunity to make decisions along the way. At 50, I had no idea I'd meet my husband in a few years, or that I'd finally complete and publish my novel (Shadows and Veins, available at Multnomah County library or online retailers), or complete more marathons. My mom was reasonably healthy then, with the ravages of long-term cigarette smoking catching up.  Again, I did not have a crystal ball. 

And so, my experience, should I choose to remember, shows me again and again that I can do footwork, but the results are out of my hands. I can have a five-year plan, make reservations, sign up for a race, etc, etc. and the Universe has the final call.

Funny enough, this was the first year that I wasn't consciously aware of the anniversary of my mother's passing, now 11 years ago. While at the symphony over the weekend, a certain musical passage had me in tears, thinking of how much pain I was in while waiting for her to pass. I'd thought an anticipated goodbye would be easier than a sudden departure. Not so. And, over time, the empty space fills with fond memories. I now get together regularly with a group of paternal cousins, sisters plus one. Our parents are all gone, and it is both fun and bittersweet to share stories and fill in gaps I didn't know were there.

What might you say to your five-years-older self? What about to yourself five or ten years ago, when you likely didn't know what was ahead? How does the daily reprieve play out in your life today? What do you do to maintain or increase your spiritual fitness?

Unpredictable

 My sister-in-law moved into adult foster care this week - one of those family homes converted to house four or five people with various needs. My brother and his adult stepdaughter had been talking about this move as the dementia progressed - they met with the facilitator, talked with the necessary people, and with an unexpected opening (vs a long wait list), made the move. He isn't supposed to have any contact for a time period, to help his wife settle in, though he says sometimes she didn't know that she lived in their home. Such a very sad thing - for her, most definitely, but also for him, now suddenly living alone for the first time in over 40 years. This life and where it takes us is so very unpredictable.

And then, we spent a few days in the Bay Area, celebrating my husband's stepfather turning 94, physically frail, but mentally sharp. This life and where it takes us is so very unpredictable. 

We also got to connect with program friends - a friend from my husband's old days, and from our before-times meetings, both in SF and in Oakland, hitting great meetings both places. I so appreciate how we come together, in person, in zoom, and in person again. (I got a hug from a friend I've only every known on zoom - what a treat!) Again, where life takes us can be unpredictable - who knew, pre and post zoom, that we'd have built a community 600 miles away from home - the beauty of our fellowship. 

I need to remember the unpredictability of life, not just when crisis hits, but "on the daily." That doesn't mean walking on thin ice, waiting for the other shoe to drop (which is where I've spent too much time) but rather, seeking that place of gratitude for one more day, for my loved ones, for the ability to walk up and down stairs, read a book, cook a healthy meal.

A long-timer recently used a phrase that used to irk me to no end: "You're right where you're supposed to be." Dear god that used to annoy me, thinking, like many newcomers, that my situation was unique. In retrospect, though, it was also reassuring to know that what I was feeling at 30, 60, 90 days, a year, 18 months, etc didn't mean I was crazy, and that others had been on the same roller coaster and survived.

I can apply "You're right where you're supposed to be" to today as well as well as the early years Right where I'm supposed to be as I've acclimated to retired life, hitting another trip-around-the-sun birthday this week, paying attention to what makes my heart sing, enjoying a routine that works for me. "You're right where you're supposed to be" can mean being flexible, relaxing into the reality that what worked at 10, 20 or even 30 years sober isn't necessarily what is needed today. People often say, "Portland has changed!" Well, cities are supposed to change. People change. What fills my spirit changes. Everything changes, and getting comfortable with that is the whole point of growing older (in sobriety, or simply in general).

And, some changes are definitely harder than others. I had a good talk with my sometimes-curmudgeon brother, who noted that he's felt a bit teary. Of course you do! Your partner of 40+ years is fading away with cognitive decline. You are living alone for the first time in your adult life. You are not the most social of beings to begin with. Things go bump in the night that you hope is the cat but aren't sure at 3am. Of course you are teary. I can't fix this, but I can show up. He's not mushy, but I am, and the good news is that I like him. More will be revealed, but today, I will sit with acceptance and love, hoping for a smooth transition for both him and his wife.

How do you roll with the punches when life-on-life's-terms hits unexpectedly? What does "You're right where you're supposed to be?" mean at this stage of your recovery?

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See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Suit up

  A quote from writer Matt Haig offers the following: To stop time, kiss. To travel in time, read. To escape time, listen to music. To feel time, write. To release time, breathe. 

I'd add, to speed up time, change plans abruptly! I was scheduled to share at a daily speaker/discussion Step meeting last Friday, but at five-of meeting time on Thursday, got a panicked call asking if I could do it then instead. I wasn't as dolled up as I might've been on Friday, but my hair was combed and I was out of my pj's so said, "Uh, maybe??"

I don't always react so serenely to change. Of course, it depends on what it is, and the proposed difference. But usually, if I take a breath, I can go with the flow. When I got the last-minute call, I told the meeting secretary I had a volunteer commitment immediately after the group. With my initial vision, I didn't see how I could possibly speak, but she asked, "Can you share for the allotted 30 minutes and then leave?" Well, sure, now that you put it that way - a small example of me not always seeing the bigger picture. 

Or should I say, rarely seeing the bigger picture. I can't possibly know that if I turn that particular corner, I'll see an old friend I hadn't seen in years, like running into a high school pal in the far reaches of the local grocery where I didn't find what I was looking for. This friend is newly retired and hating it, describing her formerly cushy office and workmates. I've heard us described as FIP, or "Formerly Important Persons." There were perks, of course, like the regular paycheck, but I do not miss either the office or the responsibilities. I wish her well on the journey. 

Which, again and always, makes me grateful for the fellowship. With both in-person and online meeting options galore I need never feel alone. I was reminded this week that how we come together is no accident, like my taking a service commitment with a 10+ group of women just as I was diagnosed with breast cancer, drawing on the experience, strength and hope of members who'd walked the same path. A chance encounter, reading something that triggers an ah-ha, making a lifelong friend in the four days our treatment experience overlapped - none of these can be predicted. 

I just read Matthew McConnaughey's book, Green Lights, one of many I've picked up from the little lending library kiosks throughout the neighborhood. He is definitely a character, with a unique way of telling his story, but I really like how he ended: "Life is our resume. It is our story to tell, and the choices we make write the chapters. Can we live in a way where we look forward to looking back?"

Can I live in such a way that I look forward to looking back? Every day is not a breathtaking adventure, but even the quiet times can leave me satisfied and at peace, which is one of the many gifts of long-term recovery. Years and years ago a woman shared at my home group how all she really wanted was to stop drinking, but instead got so much more - true friends she could count on, a solid partner, work she enjoyed, a sense of self that didn't depend on substances or what others thought. I wanted what she had, realizing on some level that obtaining any of it meant continuing to keep the plug in the jug while doing my best to apply the principles of the Steps, one decision at a time. 

I watched a moving documentary, "26.2 to Life" about the running club inside San Quentin prison. The fastest guy spoke about being sober for the 18 years of his incarceration, dropping AA hints like "one day at a time." He was granted parole by the end of the film, but not before he'd run 107 laps around the exercise yard to reach 26.2 miles (6 weeks after his release, he ran the Boston marathon). I will never again bemoan my privileged life. As the outside coach who trains the incarcerated runners said, he doesn't want to be judged by the worst thing he's ever done and hopes there is room for redemption and change. I hoped the same for myself, and my experience in AA shows that to be true as I got so very much more than I would've deserved at the time. 

This weekend I attended the memorial for a local long-timer, who died just a week before his 41st AA anniversary. He'd known he was on the way out, so was able to plan his service in the remaining days, asking that it be held like an AA meeting. We should all be so fortunate, to be remembered as a kind person, dedicated to fun and service and passing it on.

The following day, I walked the Portland Half Marathon - a great experience on a great course, with lots of fun neighborhood support. I did well - 29th out of 61 in my age group - but the best parts were the connections, brief but touching. As I shared my "F*** Cancer" theme for walking, the woman I was conversing with shared about her bilateral mastectomy a year earlier. A little further on, I passed an old guy who let me know he was 81 years old (!). A mile ahead I saw a young woman in a tutu, with a sign pinned to her back that read, "Clean & Sober 9 months!"  I caught up, letting her know I'd been sober longer that she'd been alive, suggesting she keep putting one foot in front of the other because it just keeps getting better. 

Suiting up and showing up - for my community, my family, my friends and myself. What a difference from the days I'd make promises only to break them, make dates and appointments only to be late if I showed up at all. I like being responsible and accountable. What used to take conscious effort is now simply who I am. Thank you for showing me how it's done.

How do you feel when plans change? How do you calm yourself in order to go with the flow? What about the McConnaughey quote? Are you living in such a way that your memories are overall positive? (even when looking back at the tough times?)  If you planned your own memorial or celebration of life, what music or readings would you choose? (It's never too soon to plan). How do you suit up and show up these days?

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It might be time to start thinking about a year-end inventory. See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Just for Today

 Ah, the autumn equinox (here in the northern hemisphere - spring for you in the south). Some of my friends prefer the sultry summer, but I am a fall-lover through and through - cool mornings, with maybe a sweater in the evening and the nourishing rains. I love nothing more than sitting on my backyard bench or cozy couch with a hot beverage and a book or my journal, watching Mother Nature do her thing. I don't change my walking routine much this time of year. As we say here in (usually) rainy Portland, there is no poor weather, just poor gear.

I am a Libra, which may have something to do with the internal leaning towards balance - day and night, active and resting, quiet and conversant. I don't mind the shorter days that lead to winter - all part of the cycle. I did read a poem years ago where the author both celebrated and mourned the coming of spring as a joyous season, yet also one less turning of the calendar as he aged. As I've written, a friend noted that if she lives to be 85, she now has X number of months left. I don't like to think in those stark terms, which can throw me into "not enough time!" mode, but it is more and more sobering to contemplate this finite life as the calendar turns.

A recent meeting quoted from the "Just For Today" pamphlet, of which AA and Alanon each have versions. The primary message of both is that, just for today, I will live in this moment and accept what is, I will have a program and follow it, I will, essentially, strive to be part of the solution rather than part of the problem. Alanon also has a Just for Tonight bookmark, with the reminder that I've done the best I could, and that I can rest without trying to solve tomorrow's problems. 

We probably all hear, and have maybe said ourselves, that our 12 Step sayings and slogans are trite and simplistic. Sure, at first glance, though I find that even the simplest - one day at a time, easy does it, for example - can be a reminder to pause, take a breath, remember what really matters (which isn't the person blocking the grocery aisle with their cart). Today, in this moment, I have all that I need, including all the time I need to get done what truly needs doing.

I'm also thinking about discipline this week. I had my second physical therapy appointment yesterday, learning the technique for lymphatic massage to go along with specific stretches for residual range of motion issues following surgery and radiation. I'm to do both daily, as in every day, whether I feel like it or not, or forget or not. 

Self-discipline is a funny thing. For decades I woke up at 4:15am to hammer out a 5-6 mile run before work. Even now, I rarely skip a scheduled walk. But stretching? Limiting caffeine or sugar? Adding in some core work to the walking routine? Spend time with my writing? Not as motivated.  

The Big Book tells me that "HP gave us brains to use," and Lila R speaks to the willingness needed to get to a meeting, pick up the book, or answer the phone. Can I utilize the same positive aspect of self-will to do what is recommended for my health? Later is now, not some far away time when I'll magically be able to touch my toes while eating six servings of vegetables each day.

So, just for today I will do what is recommended. I've already gone for my walk and stretched afterwards. I will keep my commitment to be fill-in Secretary for tonight's meeting. I will switch to water after this so-very-tasty cup of coffee. I will pause during my day to look out the window or play with the kittens. Just for today, I will be present with what is.

How do you view the changing of seasons? If fall and winter aren't your thing, how can you find peace and acceptance in the darker days? How do you stay, or get, motivated for all those big and little self-care activities on your list? Is there a small move you can do today that will take you closer to one of your "I really should... (fill in the blank - get more sleep, take a walk, read my Big Book)"? 

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See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Self-acceptance

 We entertained this month - on Sunday a group of friends who generally gather at the holidays, followed by a ladies lunch with friends from grade school, one I've known since I was 18, and another friend of at least 20 years. I like to group my parties, kind of like synchronizing driving errands - the house is already clean, there might be dessert leftovers, so let's schedule twice!

As we ate, I teared up as I mentioned my tendency to reach for the phone to call my mom. All of our mothers are gone, some decades ago and others more recent, but all agreed that the longing to connect never really leaves. That's why these relationships are so important to me - those who've known me over time, who know to phone to make sure I'm doing ok after the previous day's tears. Yeah, I'm ok. If grieving is a sign of love, then I have deeply, deeply loved.

And I was reminded that grief isn't reserved for death - far from it. I know a big handful of people who are going through the pain of break-ups, which is its own hell of mourning - for what was, what could've been, what will not be. In hindsight, I know that my painful endings always lead to joyful beginnings, but don't try to tell me that while I'm in the middle of the descent. 

I was told, after Mom died, that the body knows how to grieve, and that I should treat myself as if I had a bad flu. I see that, in retrospect, and have tried to apply that to other losses - gentleness vs the internal "aren't you over this yet?!"

Why is it that we seem to struggle with being kind to ourselves? That is a consistent response to many of my posts - that we can forgive others, be gentle and accepting of friends, but seem to hold ourselves to nearly impossibly high standards. What I'm realizing is that the acceptance called for on the old page 449 (current 417) includes acceptance of myself and my foibles. We're told that "what we resist persists." If I'm focused on the defect, the "don't do x,y,z," guess what - the x,y,z is what I'm thinking about. It is more helpful to relax into what is -accept myself as being exactly as I am in the moment and then decide if there is a different way of being I want to head towards (sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, never perfectly).

I've felt a bit off recently - is it too busy, or not busy enough? This frustration or that? What I do know (because you remind me) is that when my mind is cluttered, I can't hear the still, small voice. I do know that being still is very different than being quiet (in other words, meditation doesn't really count if all I'm doing is sitting with my eyes closed while reviewing my grocery list). I can tell myself that "things will calm down when.." but in reality, there's always something, so what is my choice to be?

Something else I hear a lot of in meetings with my peers is this whole aging thing - health fears, all the unknowns, etc etc etc. It's one thing to be aware of other's aging, for example, watching my mother and other elders grow frail over time. I can "know" that aging happens to us all, but it's a different internal conversation when it's my hands that are stiff with arthritis, my breath that comes harder walking up stairs. Can I view this time of life as simply the next adventure, with curiosity rather than dread? Depends on the day, but acceptance feels better than fear.

I will note a passing - Jimmy C, long time member here in Portland and a fan of "Now What?" He encouraged me to write and submit another member's story for the next edition of the Big Book. No word yet on whether we made the cut, but I'll be forever grateful to Jim for his suggestion that helped me come to know a fellow traveler better than I would have. We are normally people who would  not mix, but I'm so glad we do.

How can you show kindness to yourself today? Is there an area where you can cut yourself some slack, while still practicing the principle of accountability? How can you make friends with all of it - grief, aging, character aspects that are simply part of who you are? Is there anyone who might like to hear from you this week or anyone you'd like to get to know better?

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See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Serenity Prayer

The Serenity Prayer was the topic in a recent meeting, which I must admit to often reciting absentmindedly, when in line at the grocery store, or in traffic. As with all the tools of the program, the Serenity Prayer is just words unless I'm willing to actually apply myself to the meaning.

Someone in the group described the "acceptance" called for as often being a trigger for grief. Ah yes. If I'm in a place of not accepting something, it's usually because I can't make peace with my powerlessness. True acceptance means releasing the illusion of control, of acknowledging the reality of a loss, whether a person or a dream, or simply not getting my way. Acceptance, at its core, is a spiritual mountain to climb.

Others spoke to the dichotomy inherent in "the serenity to accept the things I cannot change," in that sometimes, the quest for serenity can mask people-pleasing, or the tendency to not make waves. Damn, truly practicing the principles calls for SO much self-awareness and accountability. Are there places I use the principles to hide from myself, an excuse of sorts? I'm less able to ignore my motives these days - the whole "road gets narrower" bit, but sometimes, still, need the conversation with my internal committee around what I can and cannot change, or if I'm simply trying to avoid conflict.

And what about the "courage to change the things I can?" which, in reality, is me and my attitudes. I can change my shoes, I can go to different meetings, I can elect to see or not see certain people, but mostly, the" thing" I can change is me, and even that isn't necessarily possible on my own. If I could've changed myself, I would've, decades ago. That's why our 12-Step programs are called "mutual-aid" groups, not self-help. How many books did I read back in the day ("I'm OK, You're OK", etc) in my misguided efforts to "improve?" In my dear father's belongings, I came across "The Power of Positive Thinking," along with some info from a local Episcopal church. It makes me sad to think of how he struggled for answers, of how his psychiatrist believed that "curing" his depression (shock treatment, medication) would stop the drinking. Turns out it was the other way around. 

And then we ask for the "wisdom to know the difference" between what I can impact and what I can't. In my opinion, wisdom isn't granted, it's earned. Earned and learned, sometimes the hard way, so that my history won't keep repeating itself. I'd say that wisdom is the ability to learn from experience. When I was younger in sobriety and in life, so much of what I went through was new - new to me anyway. Navigating jobs (to stay or to go), interviews, school, relationships, (again, to stay or to go). to accept myself as ok, whether or not I have a romantic partner, understanding I can't change another person's mind - all took effort - effort, Step work, some outside help, and watching how you did it. Wisdom means paying attention, filing away what works while releasing what doesn't.

And wisdom means letting go of my formerly rigid ideas of what constitutes recovery. In earlier years, I would've been aghast when someone stopped going to meetings - and maybe rightly so: early recovery is not the time to dink around with what works. But now? Now I'm less invested in what others are doing or not doing, especially those who are already an arm's length away. It can be harder to detach from those near and dear - I'm grateful for Alanon and the reminder that we are all on our own path.

Today is the 6-month mark since my surgery for breast cancer. All is well, and it's been a ride of acceptance, courage, and growing wisdom, and current serenity (in that department anyway!). Thank you to all who reached out to share your, or your loved ones, experience, strength and hope.

How do you utilize the principles of the Serenity Prayer? Do you struggle more with acceptance, wisdom, change or serenity? How do you apply the concept of detachment in those relationships closest to you?

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See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Old ideas, old times

 I had a bit of a jolt this weekend. I'm training for a half marathon on October 1 - 13.1 miles, yes, all at once. Halfway into my 12-mile walk, I realized it's been well over a year since I did that distance. OK,  I have a few more weeks to train, but the jolt came in recognizing that while I think of myself as an endurance athlete, the truth is, I've recently limited myself to the 10k (6.2 miles) - still respectable for an old broad, but not how I envision myself. So, which do I adjust - my weekly mileage, or my story?  I'm not sure yet, but definitely something to think about.

Where else might my ideas about myself and reality not match up? That would've been easy to describe when talking about the before-times, but now it takes a fair amount of self-searching. I remember my hurt feelings when a former boss described me as an excellent manager, but that "director" wasn't my strong suit (which was the title I held!) I agree - I don't have that kind of creativity, drive, or willingness to put in 50 or 60 hours a week, but at the time, it stung. The old idea was that I could do anything, with the new idea/reality being that I was good at certain things, but not others (which I kind of knew, but didn't want to admit to myself or anyone else). Today, I can pay attention to the places where I feel a rub. Like with shoes that don't fit quite right, it's eventually obvious when old ideas no longer apply to who I am today.

I've been thinking of early sobriety - the fun and the tears and everything in between. In a recent meeting, someone spoke to the intensity of early recovery relationships, the deep and often enmeshed connections we made at the beginning. Yes. Early recovery was a bit like high school, like high school could've been were I not getting stoned every day and sequestered with my boyfriend. In early sobriety we were roommates or spent the night at each other's houses; we had slumber parties and traveled in packs to ball games and movies and out dancing. It was awesome, and often full of drama as we worked through minute details of each other's psyches, and the imagined psyches of our crushes and bosses. Life, and my friendships, are both more and less intense these days - more, because of the deep knowing that can only come over time, and less because there is less drama overall in our lives. I sometimes miss those early days, and am very grateful for the opportunity to grow up with a group of peers, however off schedule it may have been. There is a bond with those I got sober with, even if we rarely connect these days.

I was fortunate enough to spend the night at a funky, literary-themed hotel on the central Oregon coast this week, managed by a good friend. It was a needed mini-retreat - just me and my journal and plenty of reading material. I went into the journey with hopeful anticipation of renewal, but with little idea of how emotional I would feel driving south on Highway 101, aka "Memory Lane." I started with a walk at Cannon Beach, to the spot where I dispersed of my parents' cremains, 30 years apart, then passing the house my ex owned, site of all night cocaine binges, as well as recovery sleepovers. I worked my way south, having breakfast with my first sponsor, and another walk on the beach in the town where my Step-pop had a place, as did my meth cook lover's folks. Further south still, I passed the motel where the family stayed when I was a kid, including a raucous weekend with our grandpa, mothers and cousins. Realizing I was on a nostalgic journey, I made a U-turn further on, with another beach walk at a park where we'd been as kids, and as a teenager with my boyfriend, his cousin and mine, then further south still, past the little town where my mom finished high school, and another where my folks were married. I have roots here. This is home, both physically and spiritually. Today I can let myself cry just a bit, thinking of all the people I've loved who are now gone (all of the above, save most cousins and my sponsor!). I no longer view grief as a failing, something to "get over." Love is love and loss is loss, and sometimes the sadness feels like an old friend.

This starts the time of year when I feel a bit tender, with anniversaries of people's passing, as well as memories of the extended hitting bottom that landed me in treatment in January. I've finally reached an understanding that I can be sad and grateful at the same time, happy and a wee bit melancholy. As my former sponsor and I discussed, getting older has so many gifts, gifts I would've missed out on, and that I wouldn't have imagined watching family members age - the gift of stability, of (finally!) learning to let go of expectations, the gift of going with the flow (not perfectly, but with less of a grip on what I think should be). I keep hearing the reminder that aging is a process denied many. I truly know that, and thus catch myself when tempted to go down the "woe is me" rabbit hole (not often, and not generally related to creaky knees).

So, here we are, into beautiful September, ninth month, 9th Step, seasonal changes afoot. Where do you feel most at home - whether a place or with particular people? Depending on how old you were when you got sober, what has it been like to grow up and mature into the age you are now? Are there any old ideas about yourself that no longer fit, or new ideas that you can befriend?

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See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Tools of the program

When there is a new person present, some Alanon meetings ask a member to share what they've gotten from the program. I sometimes offer to do that, though how does one distill decades of experience, strength and hope? When I first attended Alanon, listening at the bathroom door to make sure my heroin-addicted boyfriend hadn't overdosed, the only tools I wanted were those that would convince him to get clean and sober. But in your shares, you described an internal journey - that my problem was myself and my attitude towards others, as in thinking I was supposed to fix what was wrong for someone else. Such a journey.

Whether AA or Alanon, I was very confused by the Steps when I first got to the rooms. OK, they're on the wall, but what exactly does it mean to work the Steps? What I came to see over time is that the Steps are a gateway to healing my relationships with others and myself, and with my history. I can't undo my mistakes, I can't go back to age six or twelve and make different decisions about who I am in the world, but I can use the tools of the program to make peace with the past. Kind of like a Swiss army knife, the Steps, Traditions, meetings, sponsorship, fellowship - all provide a way in, a means of getting my murky emotions and memories on to paper or into a conversation with a trusted other. 

With years of practice, the process is usually fairly automatic these days. I experience a flare - annoyance, anger, envy, insecurity - I take a breath and ask myself what's going on, really, and if I'm in top form, can choose to change the channel/keep my mouth shut/talk it out in a meeting or with a friend. If I'm off kilter to begin with (hungry, angry, lonely, tired) I'll probably spew my emotions onto someone else - only when the words are leaving my mouth thinking, "Dang it. Here I go again." I'm so glad that it is "progress not perfection.'' Indeed, there has been a great deal of progress over time, and... I'm a very fallible human being. That is less distressing than it used to be.

I was fortunate enough to spend a long weekend in Taos for a friend's milestone birthday. As much as I love home, the mossy green of the Pacific Northwest, northern New Mexico is stunning, with awe inspiring sky-scapes and wide-open spaces. Like my road trip friend from earlier in the month, these are relationships I would've never had were it not for recovery. All I wanted, when I stumbled over the threshold into treatment all those years ago, was to stop hurting, and to get my boyfriend back. Little did I know that life wasn't over, but just beginning. 

Just beginning, and every expanding - sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, sometimes triggered by outer circumstance, sometimes via an internal nudge. I'm better at paying attention these days, to the joy-meter, the sense of certainty that accompanies some ideas. Not everything - doubt is still a companion, but I'm better at "If you don't know what to do, don't do anything." I do sometimes say "yes" automatically, but since I hate to back-pedal, I practice saying, "Let me think about that and get back to you." One day at a time, one situation at a time.

When you review your years in recovery, do you see your forward movement, however haltingly? How have the Steps, or other tools, become an automatic response to life on life's terms? Are you able to cut yourself some slack when your humanness shows itself?

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See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

 In a meeting this week, a member shared a definition of freedom that was passed on to them: Freedom isn't doing what you want, when you want. Freedom is doing what's necessary when called upon. 

Doing what's necessary when called upon, not having to wade through hangover fog, or first make a stop at the dealer. Doing what's necessary even if it's hard, especially if it's hard. Doing what's necessary as in, showing up.

I hear that a lot in the rooms, that we suit up and show up, not just to meetings, but for our families, for our jobs, for each other. I had the idea that I was a solid person, a stand-up guy, but in reality, I was a self-centered flake, often late for appointments or friends, with maybe a last-minute call (this was before cell phones). An incident comes to mind when my step-pop was in hospital across town for heart bypass surgery, back when that was a rare procedure. My mother was an anxious driver, so it was my job to get her to his room to send him off with a friendly face. And I was late, maybe because I felt the need to shoot up one more time before leaving, maybe because I was so disorganized in my addiction. I did pick her up, likely driving erratically in my own pre-google maps anxiety, amplifying her discomfort and fear. We got there, he survived many years after, and I didn't help the situation any. 

We show up and tell the truth, even when it isn't pretty. As immersed as I am in 12-Step life, I sometimes forget that not everyone has the tools or the structure we do. Which doesn't mean that AA/Alanon members utilize those tools in every instance ("Relieve me of the bondage of self, please oh please") but the framework is there. 

Hopefully this isn't in the "TMI" category, but I've had some on-going swelling near my surgical site. "Dr Google" tells me that is to be expected, but I made an appointment with the surgeon's office for a hands on opinion. My surgeon has retired, so I was seen by an intern. Nothing against interns, but this person felt a bit dismissive, seeming to discount my awareness of my body. The good news is that, after consulting with their supervisor, an ultrasound was ordered - as I said, I think all is well, but I want to be sure.

But, my active mind kept going over the interaction, with a "coulda, shoulda, woulda" routine of what I might've said at the time. Enough already! So on my long walk, a few days later, I told myself to either contact my provider with a complaint or stop thinking about it as ruminating won't change anything. The ironic thing is that the post-visit notes do validate my concerns, so maybe it's the bedside-manner that this person needs to grow into. I wish her well.

Early this week, I had three plans cancelled for various reasons. I generally appreciate the opportunity to clear my calendar almost as much as I enjoy making plans in the first place but found myself almost immediately looking at filling the empty space. Breathe, Jeanine, just breathe. Lila R, in her talk on Step 8 that I'm listening to this month, reminds me of the importance of holding still, the spiritual discipline of doing nothing, of waiting for clear direction. I say, over and over again, that I tend towards too-busy, that I crave open spaces, and then when that appears, I move to fill it. Interesting... and perhaps part of the inventory process I'm being led to?

In the department of characteristics on the continuum from helpful to not, I can take a look at the fine line I ride between boredom and busy. Where is the peaceful center of engaged enough, with just the right amount of down time? The thing is, that balance shifts and changes from week to week which just goes to validate what it tells us in the 12x12 Step 10, that self-reflection is a necessity, a regular habit, not in the navel-gazing sense of self-absorption, but in the quest to stay current with my motives. I am reminded that the Steps are a tool, not a weapon.

How do you stop the noise when you find yourself ruminating? How do you define "freedom?" What are ways you show up today, for yourself or others? How do people show up for you? Has self-reflection become a regular habit? If yes, is that a formal written 10th Step, or more based on your gut reactions?

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See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

No crystal ball

 When my treatment peer and I drove from Portland to Seaside for our weekly aftercare, we'd never have imagined that 37+ years later, we'd be driving together cross-country for his career-move job in DC. As our treatment Director used to say, "You don't get here from there."  Neither of us, at the time, would've imagined all the twists and turns - jobs, college, relationships, losses and joys - that the years have brought thus far, along with our now life-long friendship. 

Reflecting on that had me thinking about my limited vision, the very small world I imagined sobriety to be. If my crystal ball malfunctioned back then, might that still be true? Maybe my ability to predict the future isn't any better today than it was in 1986. I can remember that when I'm trying to see around corners.

A big difference is that today I don't need to know what's next. For too long, I've been uncomfortable with ambiguity, with uncertainty. I'm still not crazy about it, but that anxiety about what might be next has softened over time. Maybe it has to do with getting older, or maybe the pandemic that pulled the rug out from under everyone pointed out that I really don't know what's next. I do the footwork - brush my teeth, keep air in the tires, water the garden, and... I don't believe the people in Lahaina knew on Aug 7 that on Aug 8 their entire lives would be upended, or lost - a painful reminder of how quickly circumstances can change.

I went to an in-person meeting this week - a former home group that has been online since the pandemic, now hybrid in a member's home while awaiting word from a local hospital on renting space. It felt good to be in a room with people I hadn't seen in three years. I've also looked up a few others I may try out as I continue to straddle zoom-land vs in-person.

As I shared in the meeting, I don't know that I'm in a spiritual desert, but I am feeling a bit off. Maybe it's related to over-scheduling, a characteristic that has followed me into retired life - so much for my ideas about having "all the time in the world" to do with as I wish. I do, and I do, which, for me, tends to involve filling my calendar. That's ok, and, when it's too full, I find that I crave solo time. I consider myself more a writer than a tactile artist, but I have several drawers of art supplies in the "When I have time" category. What does that even mean, "When I have time?" "When I make time" is more like it.

I took myself to Forest Park this weekend, the largest urban park in the country with 30+ miles of trails. As I walked my favorite path, I was reminded of an exercise on values that I did over the years with families and clients. Values aren't mere words but show in how we spend our time and our money. I contribute to Forest Park each year, I extol its beauty, but how much time do I spend there? I used to run the trails weekly, and in 2015 did a 20-mile fundraiser, but these days it is more of a wistful longing. No one is keeping me from going. So what is it exactly?

I wonder if part of it has to do with re-prioritizing now that I'm fully relaxed into retirement. Do I have another novel, or maybe "Now What Part II" in me? What about all that calligraphy ink, or the drawer full of collage supplies? What about my professed love of the outdoors? How much of what I've always thought of as my desires have shifted and changed? Am I today who I was ten years ago, or even ten months ago? How might I use the inventory process to get in touch with my core wants and needs as they are today?

No answers, but the questions themselves are a first step. But, all that being said, I don't know that in the midst of ennui triggered by an uncharacteristic triple-digit heat wave here in the Pacific Northwest is the best time to question the meaning of life. I'll ponder my questions, but get back to you when the temps have dropped!

We adopted two kittens this week, one of whom is splayed across my desk as I type. Our previous two were 16 and 17 years old when they died, so it's been a long time since there were kittens in the house. Oh, what energy! Watching them cavort is a reminder to stay in the moment. They certainly do, from rough and tumble, to eating, to cuddling to snoozing. It is fun watching them explore.

What is your relationship with ambiguity? If not-knowing is stressful, how do you move to a place of acceptance? If you have animals in your life, what can they teach you about mindfulness? Knowing that there are absolutely no guarantees, what are you grateful for today, and how do you show that?

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See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Packing lightly

 I'm back from my road trip - both tedious and fun, of good conversation and many miles on Interstate 40. We drove through nine states, 2469 miles, many Starbucks, and then in DC hit three amazing museums, two really good AA meetings, and avoided the potential tornado (that didn't happen).

I'd made this cross-country trip before, a different route there and back, with a fellow it turns out I didn't like all that much. Nothing like a zillion hours in the cab of a small pickup to clarify a relationship. In any event, he stopped in Orlando to attend a fantasy baseball camp, while I jumped on a bus to get to Miami where I spent time with a family from my "before time," a lovely Palestinian/Iraqi couple and their four delightful kids. I hadn't realized that my recent ex, the one who'd left the country to marry someone else, was there with the someone else. I was heartbroken, the wounds of my betrayals and his departure still very fresh. I did get to see him alone, but all I could do was weep. The next day, I borrowed my friend's car and drove myself to an AA meeting in South Beach, where I cried my eyes out. 

And that's one of the things I absolutely love about our fellowship - that I can walk into a room full of strangers in a strange city and maybe share my spiel, or the joys of travel, or open my heart and cry out my grief, with some old duffer coming up afterwards to say, "You'll be OK, kid. Glad you're here," and I believe that to be true - that even though it hurts (even now, all these years later), I'll be OK. I am OK, no matter what, and I learned that from you.

Packing for this trip, which included two flights, I was very mindful of keeping it light - how much does one really need for two and a half days in a car? I was reminded of a trip I took with two friends, many years ago, to Puerta Vallarta, Mexico. I packed fairly light for that trip too, and it's a good thing, because my bag was stolen at the airport after we arrived. My friend loaned me a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and another for sleeping in. I bought a swimsuit and a couple pair of undies, and I was good for the week, which showed me just how little I actually needed. 

I try to keep that lesson in mind whenever I pack for a trip. In my younger days, I'd take along a pair of shoes for each outfit, and perhaps a different outfit for each day away. It finally dawned on me that no one I'd see on the streets of Paris, or Boise, Idaho, cared much about what I was wearing, and that it was doubtful that hotel staff, or my friends, would say, "Didn't she have that on yesterday?" Ah, the joys of getting older, as in "Who cares!?!" And besides, I learned long ago to never take along more than I myself can carry. (An aside - in 2015 I traveled to Maine to run my 10th marathon. In the Boston subway station, a young college student type offered to carry my bag up the stairs. I was offended - didn't he know I was there to run a marathon, which meant I was in decent shape for an old broad? Ah, the ego. Today, I'd let him.)

Stretching the metaphor, how much emotional baggage am I carrying that could just as simply be laid down? Much less than when I entered recovery, that's for sure. For example, I spent too many years seeing the deficits in my upbringing, the places where I would've liked more support and direction. I needed to do that often painful work, some of it on "rinse and repeat" until the past simply didn't have the hold on me it once did. I'd mostly made my peace with my mother, and with my deceased father, but that letting go and acceptance increased after Mom died. Reading old letters between her and her dad, where he referenced that Mom's siblings weren't in favor of her marriage (presumably due to Dad's drinking) helped humanize them both. They weren't doing anything to me - merely living out their own stories, from their own pasts. Even in the depths of my adult-child work, I knew in my heart that my parents loved me. And, I needed to identify and feel the feelings in order to let them go.

What else do I need to let go? My husband and I often joke that we're both the eldest of two siblings, and therefore, usually right, and accustomed to being in charge. How much of that internalized identification can I release? How can I truly live the concept of "one day at a time," of mindfulness, of releasing the illusion of control?

Something to ponder as I reacclimate to home, and increase my efforts at finding an in-person AA meeting that fits (my Alanon meeting is in-person). As much as I enjoy zoom meetings, with friends attending from around the country, there is something magical about being in an actual room, with actual people, having a side conversation or two, saying the Serenity Prayer in unison. 

How can you be mindful to "pack lightly" these days? As your length of sobriety increases, how might your clutching on to old ideas decrease?

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See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th