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
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