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?
* * *
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 comments:
Post a Comment