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