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 

Miracles

 A topic in a meeting this past week was "miracles of sobriety," big or small, past or present. Small or big, depending on your perspective, I get to drive cross-country with a friend this week, riding along for their move to Washington DC. Road trip! 

Planning the drive brought back a memory of my meth-cook boyfriend, Richard, and a trip he'd planned with a couple of friends. I don't recall exactly where they were headed - Michigan? New York? In any event, after a day and a half, he called from a truck stop, practically begging me to send him a bus ticket home. He said his pals left him. My guess is that he was dope-sick. It was sad, and reinforces the miracle of freedom to pick up and go without worrying if I have enough pills (or whatever) to make the journey.

Earlier in recovery, when I was a church-goer, I participated in a weekly discussion group before service, usually related to a reading or topic. One morning, we were on the topic of miracles, with one of the members, an attorney if I remember correctly, disputing the idea of miracles, believing that word was limited to loaves and fishes, or walking on water. In this guy's opinion, things like childbirth, medical cures, and yes, sobriety, were simply facts of nature, as in, there is nothing special about natural events, or doing what should've been done all along. 

On a strictly factual basis, sure, I can see what he meant. Long ago I read the book, "When Bad Things Happen to Good People," (H. Kushner) with the premise that there are natural laws in the world - as in, like our animal brethren, we humans are born and die, sometimes tragically or seemingly too soon, but life is random.

But, anyone who has watched a newcomer go from shivering denizen to health and productivity would call that a miracle of sorts. And think of our own stories - is it an actual miracle that I stopped drinking and using in time? That I didn't die at the end of a syringe? It sure felt like it to me, and to my mother.

No reason to quibble over semantics. Big "M" or small "m" miracles are in the eye of the beholder. Sometimes the sun coming up on a summer morning, or watching a flower turn into a tomato feels like a miracle, but maybe that's just me noticing the wonders of nature. Sometimes listening to music in a park with old friends feels like a little miracle, given all those from our school days who've died from the drink or the drugs. And sometimes, still, simply waking up clear-headed and alive feels something close to miraculous.

And here we are in August, with the slightest hint of fall in the air. Some of my friends don't like June's summer solstice as it signals the beginning of shorter days, but I rather like the shifts and changes, with ripening gardens and a morning chill. I haven't been in school for a long time now, but still feel the end of summer urge to stock up on desk supplies and maybe buy a new outfit or two (though being retired, I've made the decision to only wear comfortable shoes and pants with pockets). 

The eighth month equals the 8th Step - amends. According to a workshop by Lila R, at this point, the only amends due are probably to myself. If I'm diligent with Step 10, there likely aren't a bunch of unresolved conflicts lurking in the wings. And if there are any pesky characteristics bouncing around that cause problems with my loved ones (or strangers, for that matter), I can use this opportunity to clean my side of the street. What a gift, this program of recovery. I've had recent conversations with friends who are butting heads with people not in AA or Alanon, recognizing that those friends most often simply do not have the tools we do - the tools to stay current with our own emotions as well as a template for correction/amends as the need arises.

What "M" or "m" miracles do you recognize today, whether tangible or perhaps a change in thinking? How do you perceive the change of seasons in the world, or in your own life? How does program help you navigate uncharted territory? Are there any amends, to yourself or others, that you can address this month?

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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