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
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