Experience, strength and hope

 I recently read an article describing "ambient demand," all those tiny and annoying tasks, often related to computers and technology that are supposed to be helpful, for example, calling a company with a problem, navigating to a chat-bot, jumping through hoops to get to an actual person, hearing "wait times are longer than usual," and maybe, maybe eventually getting to someone who can help. None of these steps are overtly difficult, but there goes 30 minutes, if you're lucky. Seems to be the way of the world these days, but that doesn't mean I like it.

What it does mean is that I can intentionally create, or allow, quiet space, doing my best to balance busy with not, keeping my phone in my pocket when standing in line, staring out the window at the stars or the rain. That can be a challenge for this alcoholic - I like a full calendar, though more and more am appreciating afternoons of open time. And while not a luddite, I can do my best to get/be reasonably tech aware while staying true to my old-fashioned paper and pencil roots. 

A slight adjustment to the route I take to walk to my gym has me passing the apartment where I moved after leaving my first husband, a little shotgun affair in the corner of a small complex. That was a strange and murky time, filled with too much drinking, hangover mornings downing a piece of toast and a glass instant breakfast after hitting the "snooze" button one too many times, then walking to work at the insurance company a mile or two away (I didn't learn to drive until the marriage ended). Drunk dialing old friends at night, bringing a couple of strangers home from the dance clubs, trying to discern if I my soon to be long-term boyfriend was coming back to Portland or staying oversees with his clan and obligations. I was definitely in an in-between state. and at 23-24, barely scratching the surface of emotional maturity. How could it have been any other way, having started drinking alcoholically at 13, moving from my parents' home to the attempt at being grown-ups with my husband, and very soon, staying with the new boyfriend, leaving the little apartment as no more than a closet until I officially moved in with him. 

Sometimes I wonder what I might've done differently, especially on these cold, dark and wet days when memories of hitting bottom seep from every song I listen to, the holiday decorations I've had for decades, walking with women I've known forever.   Of course, all that transpired in the past brought me to today - every hangover, every argument, every bit of my cheating heart, every ounce of laughter along the way, and yes, each and every bottle of cheap wine or vodka-7, every gram of cocaine, every syringe full of meth. 

What is it that keeps us alive, oh we who coulda/shoulda/woulda died behind the wheel or with the wrong stranger? Luck? An innate sense of self care that said turn right instead of left? That seems to be the unanswered question of nearly every alcoholic - why me? Why did I get it and not that person over there who I know hurt just as bad as I did? A sponsor once shared her philosophy that, often, those of us who make it have a functional work ethic that keeps us coming back. What I might add to that, from my years working in treatment as well as listening in meetings, is that many of us simply cannot accept the idea of personal powerlessness - the old "I've got this" syndrome. Who knows? What I do know is that I've been walking this spiritual path for a lot of years now. It is my way of life, not something I have to think about each day like in the beginning.

I love December - the quiet, the dark, the reminder that in essence, I'm a mammal that benefits from slowing down. Not hibernating exactly, but December feels like a time of hearth and home (here in the Northern Hemisphere anyway - happy summer to those in another place). I love holiday lights and burning a candle as I sit with my daily readers and journal in the morning. Each season has its gifts.

 I've read several articles about keeping our joy alive in this time that can feel uncertain. What do I have power over? My attitude, which means choosing to focus on the positive rather than all that could or might be "wrong." I have power over how much news I ingest (just enough to stay informed), and the kinds of conversations I participate in. Not in a Pollyanna kind of way, but I know from experience that grousing over the state of the world, or my age (which I see as a gift), or so much else in the world that feels big and sad, does no one any good.  Do I have time or money to donate? Can I brighten someone's day? Can I cultivate the "attitude of gratitude?" one day at a time? Just for today, which is all I really have, I'll remember what it was like and celebrate what it is like now.

How do you allow space in your days for quiet contemplation? What are ways you can keep, or stoke the fires of joy, for yourself and those you come in contact with? How can you contribute to making the world, or your little corner of it, a better place today?

* * *

Is it time for a year-end inventory or planning for the new year?

The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

As the year winds down...

 Recently I've heard several people speak in meetings about sponsorship, including early sponsors who "ordered" them to call every day at a specific time, or required an appointment. Some people read the Big Book with their sponsors, with or without a 1930's era dictionary handy. None of these were my experience.  It took nearly a year to get an actual sponsor (vs in name only), and while I would've loved to be told what to do, mine would often say, in reply to my dilemma of the day, "What do you think, Jeanine?" Cue eyeroll. If I knew what I thought, I wouldn't have called you! In retrospect, which is when most of my wisdom shows up, I understand that I needed to learn to make my own decisions, not simply wait and see which way the wind was blowing. Sometimes "waiting is an action," to quote from Courage to Change, but sometimes it is a way of making you responsible for how a situation turns out for me. 

Today, I use sponsorship, and more often or in conjunction, trusted others, when I need a different perspective, or just need to hear myself say out loud what I already know inside. I did recently ask one of my trusted others to call me out if I ever start saying that I'm not an alcoholic. I am, truly, thoroughly, without question. Those holding-each-other-accountable calls are never easy, but isn't that what we do for each other? I'm not talking about some random person in a meeting taking my inventory, but about those close relationships where we know each other on a deeper level and can see when our friend might be wandering down the path of rationalization. Of course, that assumes I'm talking about my wandering mind, which may or may not be the case, and may not be evident unless I tell you. Which is why, for me, having that trusted other is so important - a consistent person who sees or hears me in action.

And, I have sponsees who call me as needed, are working through the Steps, or have a set time to check in. All of my sponsees have over ten years in program, which seems fitting for this long-timer. I have definite memories of what it was like at 30 days but having lived through life on life's terms for decades now, I feel I'm more useful to those who've got the sobriety habit down (though no guarantees!) and are learning to apply the principles in all their affairs, or simply want support along the path. 

On another note, 2024 is quickly drawing to a close. Yes, the calendar is arbitrary, but I do like the sense of review and looking ahead that arises this time of year. I came across a list of questions for a year-end inventory of sorts, though could be useful anytime I'm feeling the need for a re-set. I'm sure I lifted them from somewhere, so apologies to the original author.

1. What went well this year?
2. What didn't?
3. What, if any, goals did I have for 2024, and which were completed or not?
4. Any lessons learned?
5. In looking ahead, do I have any plans or goals, perhaps related to health, finances, relationships, home, work, service, creativity?
6. What truly matters to me, and how does my life reflect that?

Number 6 feels particularly relevant, now that I'm four years into retirement, loving the ability to do what I want, when I want (more or less) but also thinking about how my values are played out beyond the day-to-day of appointments and meet-ups. As my good friend and advisor, the Tarot Card Lady reminds me, what I'm to do next will present itself, so my task/challenge is to pay attention, and leave enough space for the still, small voice to reach my heart, awareness being the gentle whisper at the door. 

Who is, or are, your trusted others - the ones who will call you on your BS, as we used to say? In thinking about the year-end review, are there things or situations you might've handled differently? If so, how can you course-correct going forward, or change the goal altogether?

* * *

Might it be time for a year-end inventory or planning for the new year?

The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

The Love Vibe of the people...

 At a past International Convention, I believe the one in Toronto, one of the old-timers who spoke was from Nova Scotia. I don't recall the details of his story, other than his saying what kept him coming back was "the love-vibe of the people." At the time I thought it was funny, coming from a fellow who looked more like a fisherman than an old hippie, but the longer I'm around, the more I agree with him. It's about the people.

Before I got sober, I might've told you, or believed myself, that I didn't like people, but the truth was, I was afraid of you - afraid you knew more than I did, that you could see I didn't quite belong, the old "you're ok and I'm not" routine. But lo and behold, when I heard people share in meetings I realized we aren't so different after all and that many of us came in with the core belief that we're not ok at some level. Thank goodness for outside help and lots of Step work, and truthfully, growing older, which seems to have smoothed out much of the angst of younger days.

And thank goodness for the love-vibe of the people. This past week I spent time with a friend from the early years who left Portland now decades ago but was in town for the holiday. Another day, I picked up a woman I've known since third grade to attend a gathering at another grade school (& program) pal's house. I saw another good friend at my in-person meeting mid-week, and was able to connect via yet another friend, with a woman who's just moving to Portland. And then Thanksgiving at my sister-from-another-mother's house where I expressed my gratitude that she (who I've known since 1972) adopted me and my husband for the holidays after Mom died. And then I made good on my professed love of nature and went on a chilly but beautiful hike with another good friend. As I said last week, I am rich beyond measure, which also included an overnight with our daughter, who hadn't slept here since pre-pandemic days.

That's a lot of people time for this introvert, so am relishing a more open (i.e. empty) schedule this week. Balance, balance, balance, especially this time of year when I can feel torn between enjoying festivities and being drawn to the quiet darkness of pre-solstice. 

And in the quiet of a wonderfully unstructured day, I attacked a particular shelf in my office/guest room where I have a habit of simply piling papers upon papers until they threaten to slide onto the floor. Some of it is printed blog pages, which go into a notebook. Some are printed out poems or articles, most, these days, dealing with aging, death or grief. And then there is the folder of obituaries - flyers from memorials attended, obits from the local paper, newspaper articles about well-known people who've died. It's long felt important to keep these mementos - reminders of lives lived, long or too brief. There is Rodney K, a stellar man of enthusiasm and laughter, Mark H, an early AIDS activist I met at the acupuncture clinic, and dear Walt, who fought kidney disease for decades with a positive attitude I could only hope to emulate. I've heard it said that no one is actually dead until there's no one left to remember them. I do remember - Peggy and Leonard, Ila, biker Kelly, Kathleen. Norm B, Jimmy C - .so many examples of going out with their boots on, staying sober through it all. 

At a Flexibility class at my gym the other day, I asked one of the women how old she is. "Coming up on 89!" she said, along with "It's important to keep moving." Indeed. And so, I will keep moving, through the Steps, through life on life's terms, through the memories, through the lessons, through the ups and the downs, the annoyances and the joys - one day at a time. 

How do you experience the "love vibe of the people," in or out of the rooms? How can you be mindful of balance in these potentially busy holiday weeks? Who is in your memory file of people who've gone on? Is there anything left unsaid in your friendships and relationships today?

* * *

Might it be time for a year-end inventory or planning for the new year?

The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

Change is inevitable

 I was reminded in a meeting this week that nothing stays the same. Nothing. Not relationships or cities, the garden or the cats. Another way to put it is that the only thing constant is change. Damn it. 

I'd Like guarantees - that you'll love me forever, that those I care about will always be healthy and whole, that my peers and I will stay sober. I'm realizing that I hold implicit expectations of my friends - that you won't try to seduce my partner, that you won't steal from my home or my purse, that you'll be generally honest with me, that I can come to you with both joys and sorrows. Pre-recovery I came home one day to find that the meth cook's friends had rearranged my living room, so I might add that to the list: thou shalt not move furniture unless asked. 

"Implied" is only good if both parties are on the same page. I learned this the hard way when a long-term partner, in the throes of our breakup, let me know they'd been drinking for the past couple of years. Ouch. That hurt almost as much as the emotional infidelity. But we'd never talked about that aspect of life - we'd met in AA, so it was my assumption that sobriety held the same importance for both of us. When my husband and I got together, I brought it up - knowing that life happens and there are no guarantees, my commitment, desire and expectation is that we'd have a sober relationship. It felt important to say the words, though I've not had a "this is what I expect" conversation with a friend. 

So, what happens when a friend breaks the unwritten, unspoken contract? Some things would be non-negotiable, like sleeping with my spouse or stealing from my wallet. But what if it is a more subtle shift, like having a drink now and then? Is that on the same level as no longer willing or able to go on a hike, or a political shift? 

That is something I've been pondering. Can a friendship survive and thrive based on shared history alone? Friendships need attention, whether it's a regular coffee date or seeing each other every few years when we're both in the same city at the same time. How much attention does a friendship need to stay solid? And how much can a person change and still be a confidante? I do have friends who don't go to meetings, a couple on the opposite side of the political aisle, and know people who returned to drinking, and each of those cases have triggered a certain amount of grieving. A question that sometimes comes up is, never mind the past - "If I met you today, would we be friends?" 

And, this is coming from someone who has friends I've known since grade school. History does have meaning for me, along with shared values and at least some shared interests. One day at a time, there is nothing for me to figure out or decide today, other than practicing the principles in all my affairs. I don't have a crystal ball, as much as I sometimes wish I did. 

I've shared my conflicted feelings about my friend drinking in several meetings, including a zoom group I attend with women who have over ten years sober, with most over twenty or thirty. It wasn't the topic of the meeting, but after my share, several women spoke of their own heartbreak and confusion when a close friend decided to drink again. One more time (again and again) I realize I am not alone, in either my sorrows or my joys. 

As Gratitude Month draws to a close (with noting Bill Wilson's natal birthday yesterday), I think of all I can be thankful for - my sobriety, good health, a strong marriage, good friends and so much more. I often say a "thank you" for hot running water, for growing up in the era I did, for a warm home. I am rich beyond measure, in all the ways that really matter. 

What is on your gratitude list today? How does Step 10 (and 11 and 12) inform your relationships today, along with any expectations that might need to be released? How does the concept of "acceptance" play out in your daily life? How will you be gentle with yourself and others over this holiday season that can be emotionally triggering?

* * *

It might be time for a year-end inventory or planning for the new year. 

The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

Different strokes for different folks

 A couple of years ago while on vacation, we visited the Intergroup office in Vancouver, BC, where I was gifted the book, Pioneers in Skirts: The Women's Stories of the BC/Yukon Area, full of experience, strength and hope from women who came into AA at a time when female members were the exception, not the norm. 

The final piece in the book is by a woman named Winnie, sharing what it was like, and how she works the program with long term recovery. She says, "the most important thing for long-term sobriety is remembering where you came from. Remembering what steps you took to get to where you are now and doing them on a constant basis. Not saying "Oh, I don't need that part."  I might amend that slightly to doing what I need to do on a consistent basis rather than constant. I don't go to a meeting a day anymore, nor a daily written 10th Step for example. What is consistent, at the moment, is my quiet time with daily readers and journal, and a couple of zoom secretary positions. I'm in a Step group, and while I'm woefully lax on the "homework," I am able to see where the practice of the Steps has become internalized over the years.

Winnie goes on to say, "We are looking for a balanced life," stating that she's known people who went to 10 meetings a week and relapsed. I could say the same, recognizing that it is quality, not quantity that keeps me on an even keel. I have my spiritual go-to's, but even that is liable to shift and change over time. I say that nature is part of what brings me peace of mind, but when was the last time I was in the woods? What probably matters is discernment between what I've long believed about myself and what is true today. I was told long ago that my values show in how I spend my time and my money - anything else is just lip service, or a signal to re-evaluate.

A long-term friend recently disclosed to me that she has a drink now and then. When she first told me she didn't consider herself an alcoholic anymore, I was surprised, though truthfully, it's probably been 20 years since she attended meetings, so her recent decision wasn't all that shocking. And now to hear about a beer now and then is more interesting than anything else. 

Life marches on. There was a time in earlier recovery that her disclosure would've sent me into a panic, with images of an immediate fall to daily drunkenness, or would've made me fearful for my own sobriety. I'm more open to the nuances of the disease as well as our various drinking histories these days. I've known a couple of people now who were heavy cocaine addicts, but have the occasional drink of alcohol. I know someone else who quit cocaine but drank themselves to death. I know that I fully conceded to my innermost self that I am alcoholic, that I was addicted to a powder greater than myself (a couple of them), that for me, it is alcoholism, not alcoholwasm.  But today, another's decisions are not a threat to my sobriety. I might feel differently if this were in my home, but it's not, and not someone I see with any regularity. And, I know that "recovery" looks different for different people, and what works for others might not work for some. 

If anything, her story brings up melancholy, never far below the surface for me, for the close friendship we once shared. Again, it's the passage of time thing, in bas relief. I recall, with gratitude for finding my people, those heady days of early recovery when the revelations of the Steps felt like magic. I remember this friend saying to me, when I was trapped in a morass of guilt, "But it says in the Big Book that god wants us to be happy, joyous and free!" That was a lifeline at the time, the beginning of dropping the rock of shame by living sober and changing behaviors, and joining others on the path.

And as I've written before, many of those early sobriety friendships shifted and changed as we got jobs, paired off or got married, moved across town - all the things we do as we grow up and mature. So, here we are today. Some of those relationships have deepened and continue to thrive, some have shifted into something else all together, and some have evaporated into the ether of "What ever happened to so-and-so?" And people new to me show up as well, for a reason or a season, as the saying goes. Today I can appreciate the past as well as the present, one day at a time.

A friend recently wondered how I keep finding things to write about, but life continues to present opportunities for reflection. Just for today, I have a primary purpose. Just for today I will pay attention and will acknowledge and honor my feelings, whether joy on a sunny November day or a tinge of sadness for a changed relationship. 

How do you define "recovery" today? Do you know those who's definition or applications are different than yours? When is the last time you evaluated your values? Do your behaviors and choices match what you say matters to you? What feelings or emotions might need acknowledgment today?

* * *

The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

Walking the program

 This week I joined a small group of grade school pals for our monthly coffee date. A few years ago, one of our group had the idea that she wanted to be like the old codgers she'd see at the diner, shooting the breeze, reminiscing, sharing life. It felt so very good to sit with those who've known me since I was nine years old, through thick and thin. I peeled off to my first husband when I was 15, so many memories are not specifically shared, but enough crossover to feel solid and important. And grateful to acknowledge that we're fortunate to be alive (three of us are sober, two others don't have the affliction, though partied hard back in the day). Solid relationships feel especially important these days.

I'm thinking a lot about connection, that feeling of belonging and of being heard and known. I see articles about the crisis of loneliness in our hyper-connected world, how the psuedo-connection of social media is a poor substitute for actual people. I think about my morning walks, which I've complained about before, where many folks I say "Good morning" to walk right by as if I didn't exist, earbuds or not. Is that a post-pandemic thing? I can't remember, but it troubles me. I know I don't live in Mayberry, but a simple acknowledgement that we each exist would be nice. And, truthfully, there are enough of the friendly sort, whether a nod or brief conversation, to keep my faith in humanity from tanking altogether.

And, loneliness is so very different from the quiet time I need to stay centered. The often quoted Marianne Moore writes that "The cure for loneliness is solitude."  Yes. When I sit in silence, I'm better able to filter out the voices of doom and know that right here, right now, all is well. 

That being said, I've heard that alcoholics are those who treat loneliness with isolation. Ha! We are a complicated lot. What can be a challenge for me is to be still long enough to know if I'm isolating or taking a necessary break from other humans, and as an introvert, that can sometimes be hard to parse out. But again and again, listen to my heart.

In a meeting last week, the chair spoke of walking the program vs working it, which can sound and feel like drudgery. Walking the program brings to mind the path, the skipping along or trudging uphill. Walking the program feels like participating, rather than working it, which like my walks and workouts are sometimes done through gritted teeth. Do I have to? No, but do you want to maintain or improve your health, dear? It's merely semantics, but even the slightest change in words, like how I do the 3rd step prayer, can make a difference in my perception and engagement. And staying engaged is what I seek in long term recovery. I pay attention in meetings, or to what catches my attention elsewhere, in the "take what you like and leave the rest" category. For example, many people start the day reading pages 86-88 in the Big Book, but I found myself glossing over before too long, words on the page registering while my mind went to the day's plans. 

My first sponsor, who I've quoted before, often said, "You grow or you go." The "grow" might not be in leaps and bounds like earlier in recovery, but thank goodness for relative stability! And a huge "thank goodness" for my peers in long-term sobriety. Yes, I'm here for the newer person, and the reminder of "what it was like," and connecting with people who are walking beside me or slightly ahead is comforting.

Of course, there is always the "bleeding deacon" variety of long-timer. I sat next to a woman in a meeting once who whispered, "Do all old timers talk so much?!" when the fellow in question went on and on. It can be tempting to share every bit of what I've learned in 38 years in a 5 minute share, but really, was I listening back in the day? A good friend once said that after about four minutes, most people check out - a good reminder! Like when I went to my first AA dance and someone pointed out that most people in the room were self-centered alcoholics, thus not paying much attention to me. Alas - I am not the center of the universe, when dancing, or sharing in a meeting. 

And so, the beat goes on. What is on your heart today? How do you discern the difference between loneliness and healing solitude? What do you do for people-connection when you're tempted to pull the covers over your head? How do you walk the program today?

Keep calm and carry on

 Short post today... all I can muster.

In my elections gig, we go out and assist voters who have requested help in one form or another (sight issues and the like). This past week, we visited a woman who needed us to read her the ballot, the old fashioned way vs computerized. As we wrapped up, she said, with tears in her eyes, that this was likely her last time to vote as her physician has given her six months or less to live, due to cancer. She whispered, "I'm not ready to go," as we hugged and cried with her. 

I'm not ready to go. My mother said something similar when she was placed under hospice care, saying "They don't know!" that it would be six months or less. I did my best to let her process the end of life in her way and time, thinking, "Ah, she is not going to go quietly into the night." As she neared the end, with me praying that she go gently. she seemed to make her peace with it, but what a thing to be told, that the end is nigh.

Of course, in reality, while none of us actually know when, I do hope to go in peace when it's my time. I've had good examples of that in program friends and acquaintances who've passed, showing fear, strength, courage, uncertainty and fortitude, as well as demonstrating the principles of the program. As in all things, I learn from the example of others.

Speaking of the principles, we've had an election here in the States, and you may be mourning or celebrating depending on your views. AA/Alanon has no opinion on outside issues, and this is definitely one. However, I'm a human being and I do have opinions and emotions. What I know, as a long-term member of the fellowship, is that my prime directive, whenever strong emotions threaten my peace of mind, is to get centered and calm my heart. Whether my upset (positive or negative) comes from affairs of the world or nation, from family or friends, or my own internal machinations, I can first and foremost acknowledge and honor my feelings, and then do what I need to do to return to a place of calm. 

I am powerless over so much - drugs and alcohol once in my system for sure, as well as people, places and things. I don't always like that, but reality is reality. One of the many spiritual books I've read used the term, "Focus on that which abides," which likely means different things to different people. For me, much of what abides has to do with love, with family, with close friends, and recovery. It's aboutsuiting up and showing up, even in uncertain times. Today I had my cup of tea and went for a walk, quiet nods to those I passed on the way. I'm making soup, and will hit a meeting at noon then meet with a sponsee. I will regulate my social media and news ingestion, knowing that some of my loved ones are very sad and some are very happy. And the beat goes on, one day at a time.

What do you do when the news of the day intrudes on your peace of mind? How do you find, or return, to center when emotions run high? How are you an example of the program, today and all days?

* * *

The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

Holding still

 "I lived when simply waiting was a large part of ordinary life: when we waited, gathered around a crackling radio, to hear the infinitely far-away voice of the king of England… I live now when we fuss if our computer can’t bring us everything we want instantly." Ursula LeGuin

I try to be mindful of society's push towards filling every minute, of hurry, hurry, hurry. I don't wear earbuds when out walking (trust me, I don't need another voice in my head) and when waiting in line, at the post office or grocery store, intentionally do not pull out my phone. Simply standing still is ok. I'll never forget an incarcerated man I worked with in treatment, telling me how, the last time he'd been "on the outs" (i.e. free) he'd gone to the mall and was appalled at people in the Food Court, all staring at their phones. "It was like they were zombies, Ms B!" he said, not too far off.

I'd be the last to say I don't appreciate the convenience of having the world's information at my fingertips, though I am grateful to have grown up in the age of encyclopedias and card catalogs, dictionaries and reference books (as kids, we favored the "D" encyclopedia volume for dolls and dogs). Sure, finding stuff out was sometimes challenging, but I liked having found something on my own, and making it my own by the search, reading, and maybe writing about it. It seems that these days, we don't need to know things - just how to ask Google.  OK, old person rant for the week!

I just picked up a new book, Still Life at Eighty - the next interesting thing, by Abigail Thomas. I used to slightly resent being a late Baby Boomer, realizing that most of the insights and ah-ha moments related to my generation had happened a few years prior to my coming up to the questions. Kind of like when an old-timer in AA would say, "You're right where you're supposed to be!" God, I hated that. It's my journey, you old fart! Don't tell me I'm supposed to be this confused! But, as time goes on, I'm grateful for those who've gone before, those slightly ahead on the path of life and/or recovery.  I've never been an old person before. I know what that looks like on the outside, but what does it feel like? 

Thomas writes about the present being interrupted by vivid memory, that human capability of living in two places at once - past and present. A friend has reminded me that the past, joys and sorrows, experiences and regrets, all transpired to create who we are today - of course I have memories, some stronger than others, some appearing in a wisp and some driving a bulldozer. Somewhere I read that when our bodies become frail, it is our memories that will sustain and entertain us, and I certainly have a lot of them. I'm so very grateful for years of solid recovery and positive memories, as well as the painful ones that remind me to stay on the path. 

During a breakup, probably twenty years ago now, my mother expressed her sadness at my difficult life, citing Dad's death, my divorce, another hard breakup, addiction. I was taken aback. Yes, I was sad/scared/overwhelmed by the current situation, but since getting sober, my life had been stellar, with college, travel, and great friends, finally coming into who I was supposed to be. I shared that with her, sad myself that what she saw was the darkness when I'd been living in the light for eighteen or so years at that point. Perception, focus - where do I point my attention today?

And here we are, October nearly over. Have I kept my vow to myself to be present, to be mindful and truly inhabit my days rather than whoosh on through? Kinda, sorta. It's been a full month, with travel, birthday, a half marathon, the little forehead procedure... and time seems to move quickly, though maybe less so when I'm paying attention. My elections work will be over next week, and Sunday we turn back the clocks so it will be dark here in the Pacific NW by 5pm. I don't mind the change of seasons, the cozy darkness, and the reminder of transition - from busy to less so, from daylight to darkness, from sunscreen to warm sweaters, from shivering denizen to happy, joyous and free. It look me a long time to realize that life is transition, subtle and not so subtle shifts in circumstance, as well as my internal thermometer. One day at a time turns out to be a gift, not an empty platitude.

Where do you place yourself in the "hurry-up" world? Are you able to step off the treadmill and relish the moments as they come? How do you fill the empty space when waiting in line? Whether you are pro or con the time change, how do you relax into the transition while taking care of yourself?

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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

One day at a time, now and always

 I was very happy to hear that the person I wrote about last week kept an appointment with an outpatient treatment provider, and is feeling a sense of relief. Such good news, and hopeful for the different options available. I often remember to be grateful that I got sober when I did, not having to face ice baths, asylums, or a lobotomy as a "cure." In the mid-1960's, my dad underwent shock treatment, with the erroneous thinking that if his depression was dealt with, he'd stop drinking. Funny enough (not actually funny), it was the opposite. When he quit drinking, his depression lifted. We haven't heard anything more from our friend, so they've either stopped drinking or not. What I've long been told is, "where there's life, there's hope." They know where we are, and who we are, so we can await their questions.

From personal experience, I do know there is something magical in picking up the phone, whether it's to make an appointment with a therapist, or talk with a friend or sponsor. It's that internal surrender, even if I haven't yet spoken it aloud, that triggers the cosmic exhale of dropping the rock of "figure it out," "I've got this," "I should be able to fix this myself." Asking for help is still not my initial reaction, but such a relief when I do.

I'm reading a rather dense book, A World Lit Only by Fire - the Medieval Mind and the Renaissance, by William Manchester - interesting to imagine difficult life in Europe in the Dark Ages. In discussing the hindsight signs that changes (the Renaissance) were ahead, when people had no frame of reference for the future. Manchester says, "Like all people at all times, they were confronted each day by the present, which always arrives in a promiscuous rush, with the significant, the trivial, the profound and the fatuous all tangled together" (p. 26). What a good reminder! In the space of a couple of hours, I can be visited by grief, hilarity, and depth. While my friend is confronting the realities of drinking too much, another is celebrating a clean bill of health, while yet another is awaiting a pathology report. Another friend is again counting days, while another is mourning the death of a long-time pet. I can picture a friend in Ireland doing yoga in the living room while I'm fast asleep, or another in Pakistan making a cup of tea while I'm living the details of my daily life. Simultaneous and parallel lives, intertwining or on different tracks all together.  

In the simultaneous lives department, I had a procedure this week - a basal cell carcinoma removed from my forehead. Not fun, but the milder form of skin cancer, and I've had several of the same surgeries, so wasn't worried. While sitting in the designated area awaiting the pathology report, I was struck by the temporary community gathered in that room - 9 or 10 oldsters, bandages on noses or chins (or foreheads), initially silent, but venturing into conversation as the morning wore on, snacks coming out, a few naps. And then, we all went our separate ways, unlike the community of shared histories we find in 12 Step programs. Classrooms, workplaces, various waiting rooms for car maintenance or medical stuff contain the framework of being "in this together," but not the deeper bond of shared pain, history and joy that we have in AA/Alanon. When entering a waiting room, for instance, I do a scan, noticing who's talking, who's not, and generally, will dive into the book I've brought along. When walking into a meeting just about anywhere, I have an almost immediate sense of belonging and of being welcomed, even if only with a smile or an invitation to take the empty seat. 

My step-pop's brother, aged 95, died on the 6th, though I just found out - he lived out of state, and the nephew designated to let me know, didn't. This faux-uncle was a really good guy, sweet, funny, and kind. He was a talker, boy howdy, so I only phoned when I had thirty or more minutes to spare, but what's half an hour? I'm reminded of something my instructor said years ago when I first started working in treatment and had deadlines to get X number of intakes done in a day. She gently reminded me, "You may have six more assignments to get through, but this is likely the only thing the person sitting in front of you has to do, and may very well be the first time they've done this." In other words, slow your roll, Jeanine. Being task-oriented is great, but that can be tempered with people-orientation. My Elections supervisor always reminds us, "You are made of time," when we go out to assist a voter. 

You are made of time. An odd saying particular to this boss, but something I can absorb. I often have an agenda, a schedule, and... save plane boarding, a ticketed performance, or an appointment, most of what I do on any given day can be adjusted. I have preferences - walking early, after my first cup of tea for example - but I'm also perfectly capable of walking after breakfast or lunch. Good for me to remember when I get into "This is how it should be" mode (beware the lurking "should").

And so, here in the US, a national election looms as I try to be mindful of balance, that desire to stay informed without becoming obsessed with the rollercoaster of polling data. Like the early AA's who went off to war and kept their sobriety, my challenge is to keep spiritual principles at the forefront, knowing I have the tools to deal with whatever comes down the pike. A quote I jotted down from a meeting share - Don't ask for guidance but ask to be open to guidance. I have particular outcomes I'd like to see, would like skywriting telling me what to do if A, B or C occurs, and...  I can remember this one-day-at-a-time business. Right here, right now, all is well. As a counselor reminded us, way back in early 1986, I've had enough to eat today and I know where I'll be sleeping tonight, and in that, I am fortunate indeed. So, turn off the TV, go for a walk, look up at the sky, and remember what matters, which today is peace of mind.

Is there anything in your life that might benefit from asking for help, personally or professionally? What emotions and situations are visiting this week, not always one at a time? How do you balance tasks with relationships, relaxation or spiritual connections? How do you detach from world events while staying appropriately engaged in this human life?

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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

Glimmers

 This past week, someone reminded me of the concept of "glimmers" - those sweet moments that often go unnoticed. I'm certainly aware of triggers, or annoyances, but how often do the small beauties pass by? Leaves changing colors, a child's shy smile, a kitten's cuddle, a tasty bowl of oatmeal, a text from a friend - all can be occasions to exhale into the joys of life. Note to self - pay attention.

We just spent a few days with my spouse's family - always good, this time even more meaningful with his step-dad's 95th birthday celebration. I piggybacked my own 70th birthday the day before, with a family meal and my free birthday Starbucks (!), and a very sweet and meaningful meeting and coffee after (complete with a Happy Birthday to You song and candles) with our home-away-from-home group friends. I do truly love and appreciate my husband's people, and feel the same about the AA family that we've been pals with from in-person visits over the past 10+ years, and now weekly via a zoom group we all attend. Family of chance and family of choice - I'm fortunate in both departments. And funny enough, at another in-person meeting last week, I (of course) mentioned my 70th birthday. Afterwards, a beautiful woman came up and told me that she is 78, laughing that in recovery we don't necessarily look our age, or act our age - whatever that means. It certainly isn't what I'd expected.

A good friend reads Tarot cards as her alter-ego, Tarot Card Lady, and I was gifted a reading for my birthday. The Tarot is spiritual in nature, not fortune-telling, and my cards were overall positive for this stage of life, whether we're talking this year of turning 70, or the coming decade (the cards don't operate on clock time like we mere mortals). I sometimes use the Runes, too, as a means to help me remember what it is I need to know, i.e. that I am ok and can drop the now small rock of self-criticism, that I can handle whatever comes my way, that love really is the answer.

I recently came up close and personal with the disease in action. Of course I interact with newcomers at meetings, but this was someone I know personally, who's in that contemplation stage of "Maybe I do have a problem," where it feels like 1,000 miles across the chasm of denial and bargaining ("I at least want to cut down"). Oh man. Here in the bubble of long-term sobriety, I can almost forget the shame and disbelief, the fear that I'd never have fun again, and what will people think??  I can be supportive while doing my best to stay one step behind the person rather than trying to drag them forward to where they haven't yet been, remembering how weird the notion of not drinking or using seemed at first. Even "one day at a time" sounded daunting, like a trick of some sort. I'll never forget the old-timer at one of my early meetings, surveying the room, saying, "Don't let this one day at a time crap fool you - we're talking about the rest of your god damned lives." Well then.

And so, what will I do with the rest of my g.d. life, today? My seasonal elections work is about to ignite, there are house and yard chores to do before the weather turns, and a desk overflowing with bits of paper and things to be filed. And in the meantime, I walk in the mornings, secretary a couple of online groups, connect with friends. This week I'll mail off some Alanon literature to the spouse of the person newly acknowledging their alcoholism, hoping, hoping, hoping that something in the world of recovery clicks for both of them.

What "glimmers" do you notice?  How does the family of choice/family of chance play out in your life today? Do the people you care about know that you do? How do you carry the message of recovery, and is that different with a stranger or a loved one?

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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

"I don't know"

 One of my daily readers says, "It is a sign of strength, not of weakness, to admit that you don't know all the answers," going on to describe how pride, and the desire to be admired got in the way of humility. I agree - in fact a friend has said that "I don't know" is the most spiritual thing they can say. I don't think that pride was my driver as much as shame, simply not knowing it was OK to not know. My dad was the stoic type who wouldn't stop the car to ask directions, and held himself to a high standard (this is my guess - we never talked about it). So, probably like many in my generation, I didn't have many examples of adults asking for help, though my math teacher, the one who beaned me over the head with a textbook, once said, "The only stupid question is the one you don't ask." 

I was embarrassed to not know stuff before I got sober - I thought I was supposed to know, even when something I'd have no way of knowing. That surrender of admitting to my innermost self that I'm alcoholic was the first stage of being able to acknowledge that there is so much I don't know, so much I'm not in control of. A relief, though scary at first. And, always good to remember when I find myself in "figure it out" mode, as if thinking harder about something will change or fix it.

As I was walking on one of the first rainy days here in Portland, reveling in the change of seasons, the thought popped up of "So how do you want to spend this autumn?" not wanting to wake up on December 21 at the Equinox saying, "Wow - that went fast!" That will probably happen, but in the meantime, how do I want to inhabit this season? What do I want to do? How do I want to be of service? How do I want to be?

I feel a longing for spiritual connection, for time with myself, not simply grabbing a 30-minute nap between tasks or appointments or dates with friends - all important, and part of what brings richness to my life, and... it's harder to hear the still, small voice when I'm constantly on the move. Again and always, I don't want to pathologize my basic nature, and as the clock ticks, I'm more and more aware that I have a limited amount of time remaining. As an African proverb states, "When death finds you, may it find you alive." Or as Mary Oliver so beautifully puts it in her poem, When Death Comes, "When it's over, I want to say all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.., I don't want to end up simply having visited this world." I don't read this as a directive to DO MORE, but as a reminder to be present, to notice my life rather than glide on through. 

A friend was just diagnosed with the "big C", or should I say, "another friend" was just diagnosed. I'm telling you, this business of diagnoses, procedures, etc etc seems almost like the rites of passage I wrote about last week. The good news is that cancer isn't automatically the death sentence that it might've once been, with earlier detection and advances in treatment. And still, it isn't a word anyone wants associated with themselves or a loved one, or even a mere acquaintance. Again and again, we get, I get the opportunity to practice the principles in all my affairs. How do I show up, for myself and for others? How do I trust that all will be well, even when it seems otherwise at first glance. 

It's now been one year since my sister-in-law went into a memory care foster home. That flew by, though maybe not for my brother, who sees her 3-4 times a week. Sometimes she asks if he's married, and he'll say, "Yes, honey - to you." He tells me that some families are upset because their person doesn't recognize them, but those folks only visit once a month or less, so not surprising. I imagine there will be a time when his wife doesn't recognize him at all too, but in the meantime, he'll keep showing up for a visit or to take her out for a drive. I admire his loyalty.

I have a small handful of friends who are concerned about their cognition - a scary place to be. By my thinking, when you're gone, you're gone, but can only imagine the terror when you know you're losing your abilities. Aging is not for wimps and there seems no rhyme or reason for dementia. At first, my sister-in-law wondered if she'd done something "wrong." No. She was a doctor's office manager in her professional life, well read and a jazz aficionado. Intelligence seems to have nothing to do with it. The luck of the draw, as my brother told her.

And I just learned of another friend's relapse, yet again. Is continuous sobriety the luck of the draw as well? Do some people simply not hurt enough to stay? That can't be it, but I do think that the more times one slips, the harder it can be to get back and that using and drinking over time damages the brain. This damned disease - cunning, baffling and powerful. I certainly can't fix anyone else, but I can be there for support, and can utilize their example of the precious nature of sobriety and the daily reprieve.

How do you envision this autumn season (spring in the southern hemisphere) unfolding, and how will you be present for each day? How do you practice the principles, even when the world turns topsy turvy or you get news you'd rather not? As a person in long-term recovery, is sobriety still your priority (though granted, maybe in different ways than when new)? What is your relationship to saying "I don't know?"

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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

Rites of Passage

 Our daughter and her boyfriend moved out of state this past week - excited for them and this career move, and sad that we'll no longer be able to have spur-of-the-moment meals and conversations. We helped with the packing - me loading kitchen ware into boxes and Dad doing the heavy lifting to fill the rental truck. I never moved out of state, but as I wrapped glasses, nestling them safely in a box, I thought of my mother helping me pack for a move across town, sharing memories and laughter as the crates filled, hopeful that whoever actually moved the boxes paid attention to "FRAGILE" written on all four sides.

Kids moving out, moving away, leaving town, and creating their own life is a rite of passage, in this culture anyway.  Knowing that doesn't take away the longing to stop time, the worry about the road trip with trailer, the hopes that all will go their way. Many in my cohort have grandkids the age of my step-daughter, so my rite of passage may be a bit late, but we get what we get when we get it.

Growing up, my rites of passage weren't articulated as such, but related to what I may have thought as the privilege of maturity - smoking cigarettes, drinking, using drugs, making out with my boyfriend, not cognizant of the fact that the acts themselves meant nothing, no matter how grown I thought I was. I do remember, at my first wedding shower, and at baby showers for friends, being aware of the ritual nature of women coming together to provide passage from one stage of life to the next. It wasn't spoken, but the teasing, the gifts, the "this is what it was like for me" served as lessons, or at the very least, acknowledgment of life changing.

I often think of the ritualistic nature of our 12-Step meetings - the readings and format that is essentially the same wherever I go. I recall a holiday season, years ago, at our local Alano Club, back when every room was filled at noon and 5:30. There was no room in any of the meetings, but I sat in the outer hall, comforted by the cadence of sharing even though I couldn't quite hear what was said. Ritual and repetition are important for this alcoholic, and I've since incorporated routines into my sober life around holidays and change of seasons - the beauty of "take what you like and leave the rest," picking up ideas along the way.

I'm part of several traditions that have taken hold in the last few years - our monthly "old codger" lunch date with friends from grade school, a bi-monthly cousins brunch with those we were on the verge of losing touch with after our mothers passed, a white elephant holiday gathering and a big Creole Christmas feast at my besties, a lifesaver after mom died and I felt so unmoored at the holidays. Another friend and I pick peaches every summer; we visit my husband's family in the spring and fall, all things I look forward to, along with my yearly candlelight women's meeting at the winter solstice. 

Is there a difference between a tradition and a habit, those things we do because we've always done it that way (a kiss of death in the workplace)? Ideally, a tradition has room to evolve and change with circumstance, sometimes needing something new to fill a gap when the old way is no longer feasible. I'm thinking of when someone dies, or like in the pandemic lock-down, when so much was curtailed. For me, it comes back to the have-to vs want-to. If I grit my teeth with the thought of spending one more holiday with Aunt Sally (I don't have an Aunt Sally!), it's a have-to worth questioning. Sometimes I do things out of service to another - if Aunt Sally looks forward to the event all year and has few visitors, well of course I'll carry on. Checking my gut and my motives (is it me, me, me or what I can pack into the stream of life?) as well as how I might be of service, along with the ever present, "How important it is?" Will I truly regret the hour or two spent in a particular meeting or a meal, or can I get over myself and be in the moment?

Contrary to some of my peers, I'm actually a little excited about turning 70. I've read a couple of pieces recently by those in their 70's or 80's who say this is the best time of life. Sure, my physical abilities aren't what they used to be (ha ha or never were for me) but being comfortable in my own skin seems to expand exponentially as the calendar turns (and yes, I'm well aware that being in good health, physically, emotionally and financially makes all the difference). May I continue to dwell on positive possibilities, and seek out those who are examples of meeting life as it comes, sometimes gracefully and sometimes trudging uphill. 

To that end, I'm walking a half-marathon on Sunday - 13.1 miles - with a friend, on what promises to be a lovely day. As a past marathoner, I think of my mom, who said on more than one occasion, "How long is that marathon you're doing, honey?" to which I'd reply, "Mother, by definition, a marathon is 26.2 miles." She once asked when I was going to "stop all that" running here and there. My question back was "Why?" Sort of like the "Do you still go to meetings?" question - why do you ask? I will keep doing what I do until I either don't want to, or can't, and then I'll do something else.

What might you consider rites of passage, current or past? Did you recognize them as such at the time? As we near the holiday season (sometimes called the emotional Bermuda Triangle by those of us in recovery), what traditions do you look forward to, and what might you want to release? How will you strive for balance in what can be a busy time of year?

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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

Learning...

 As I mentioned last week, my husband and I drove to Seattle to hear an artist I've listened to since the mid 1980's. It was a great show, though I must admit to some bittersweet memories of a time that was both light and very dark in my history (the couple of years right before getting in to recovery). Today I can be grateful for the whole of it. As a meeting I used to attend had on the wall - I had to go where I went and do what I did to get to where I am today. Indeed.

Our visit with my old classmate was delightful - nice people that we hope to stay connected to when they move back to Portland. Something struck me, though, in our conversation. She and I were in the same "home room" in 7th and 8th grade, with a teacher that I found strict and borderline mean. My friend had a very different experience, telling me she went back to the school after college to thank this instructor for teaching her to write, which brought her success in university classes. Wow, I thought to myself. That was not my experience. Or maybe it was.

I've since been thinking about my school years. What exactly did I learn? When I think about 7th or 8th grade, I remember getting in trouble for eating candy in class, and talking about the previous night's TV show we all would've watched (Laugh-In, the Monkees). I remember the math teacher whapping me in the head with a textbook for acting out. I remember the talking-to about my "potential" and my choice of companions. I remember wishing I had nicer clothes.

I do remember our 5th grade teacher reading us Charlotte's Web, and the excitement of getting new books when the school-age book club orders came in. I remember my first male teacher in 6th grade, teaching from the newspaper, with Viet Nam and unrest in Indonesia as topics. I must've picked up basic sentence structure along the way, though I still don't know an adverb from a preposition. I do remember some practicalities, like in Home Ec being taught "Never measure spices over the dish you'll be adding them to" in case you spill.  I must've absorbed more than I recall, coming away from my school experience with a rudimentary knowledge of civics, a few words in Spanish, and a memorized quote from A Midsummer's Night Dream. I do not recall any bond with specific teachers, or memory of "this is where I learned that." My school years, in retrospect, were spent in the twisted, self-absorbed socialization process of "Will they like me?" "Am I OK?" "I feel so very awkward!" or "Who's selling joints?"

Does it matter at this point, where I learned what? Probably not, though an interesting illustration (again and again) of how my experience is colored by my focus. And in stark contrast, I remember very well where I heard recovery lessons, though the learning of said lessons has often taken years. Maybe it's the simplicity (Stick with the winners!) or the repetition (Keep coming back!) along with finally knowing it is ok to not know something and ask for help.

I'd had a brunch date at the coast planned with a friend this week, with a last-minute cancellation. I wrestled just a bit with how to spend this now "free" day, a momentary battle between the want-to (ocean!) and "should" (housecleaning!). As a friend pointed out, it is ok to follow my heart, and my heart wanted to dig my toes in the sand. Sometimes responsibility wins out, and sometimes I stretch out on the beach, lulled by the crashing surf as my attempt at meditation turns into a nap.

What are your prominent memories of school days? What did you learn, in class and in the "school of life?" Where are you with "should's" and "want-to's" today? What is your heart telling you?

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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

Old behaviors

 

Last week, at my seasonal job with elections, I did data entry work. That's not my usual duty, but I can type, so said "Sure," when asked. My first ever job, in 1972, was typing checks for an insurance company (at a salary of $314 a month), so addresses and names I can do. But apparently I pushed a button I wasn't supposed to, or some technological thing that resulted in an error. Twice. Not the biggest deal in the world, but my first reaction was to hide the mistake and just keep going as if nothing had happened. Never mind that everything on a computer is traceable, what caught me up is how quickly my inner sneak came alive - "I didn't do it." "It wasn't me." "No, I wasn't there."  My mother used to say, after I'd grown up, that she'd be so frustrated, knowing I was looking her in the eye and lying, though she couldn't prove it. Of course, there were plenty of times I was caught red-handed, like with the peanut butter jar half-full of Jim Beam in my underwear drawer that resulted in being grounded, but I generally got away with whatever it was at the moment. 

I've told this story here before, but when I was a couple of months sober, I came across a small amount of methamphetamine while cleaning out the basement. My first thought was, "No one will know," followed by "But you will." That was new for me - the idea that my own morals and values would have an impact on my behavior, rather than drinking that voice silent, or outrunning it. I think I always had that sense of right and wrong, but man, I did nearly everything possible to override it. Without the numbing of drugs and alcohol, that still, small voice came through loud and clear, like when I found a wallet in a shopping cart at the grocery store and took it to the desk. A scruffy fellow also in line was amazed that I was turning it in. I said to him, "I need to be able to sleep at night."

And that's it, isn't it? Practicing the principles in all my affairs isn't so I can get cash and prizes, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow - it's so I can live with myself, so that I can lay my head on the pillow at night knowing I've done the reasonably best I could that day. Not that I don't mess up, but the feeling in my gut that is my 10th Step, lets me know when I need to correct my behavior, make an amends, do some inventory writing if the same thing keeps coming up. And my "sobriety muscle" gets stronger each time I overcome the urge to cut corners or tell a lie, avoiding that terrible feeling of needing to hide something that unconsciously lead to the drink. Thank you to the internalization of the 12 Steps over time.  

This week, my husband and I are driving to Seattle to see a show, a UK artist who doesn't come to the States very often. I'm including it as part of my 70th year celebration (ha ha where I'm labeling nearly all I do this year as a birthday gift to myself). A grade school friend offered us her place to spend the night - very kind of this woman, who I last hung out with in 7th grade. Our paths diverged, as I followed the "park rats" and she joined choir in high school. And, over time, less of that matters. As always, I am grateful for relationships through the years, and the bits of shared history we have in common. Where in early sobriety I identified people as "AA friends," separate from "regular" folks (whatever that meant!), today I simply have friends.

As fates would have it, I got hit with a case of food poisoning Sunday/Monday. While retching, I couldn't help but be grateful for this body that recognizes a toxin and rejects it. I wish I'd paid more attention in the drinking years - I often drank until I puked, did so much cocaine I couldn't breathe out of my nose, ruined my veins with shooting speed that all these years later are still flattened.  All along my body was trying to tell me that what I was ingesting wasn't good for me. Hindsight is 20/20. And, there is nothing like being sick to make be appreciate feeling well. ODAT, I'm grateful for the good health that is my usual companion.

What does it mean to you to practice the principles in all your affairs? How does your conscience or still, small voice keep you on the beam? What is on our gratitude list today?

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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

Paying Attention

 I walk in the neighborhood most mornings, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, sometimes squeezing in the miles before a time-sensitive day. What I've attempted to do this week, when I catch myself in what a sponsor calls my "top two inches," is to bring myself back to the here and now, the pavement, the cool of the morning on my skin. 

As I walked towards week's end, I did a mental gratitude list: an unlocked porta-potty (yes!), a teen on his way to school who gave a nod to my "good morning," parents with tiny children in strollers, end-of-summer blooms...  Several times I had to lasso my brain back to the present. How easy for me to slip into planning mode - cooking dinner or when to grocery shop, the ever-present To-Do list, a conversation I coulda, woulda, shoulda, or might yet have, one of my frequent jaunts down memory lane (aided and abetted by my often walking past points from my past - there is a quiet joy to aging where I grew up, and for a melancholic like myself, sometimes a slippery slope).

Gratitude lists have been referred to as a spiritual elevator. When I take the few seconds to do a reality check, what I might complain about are really mere inconveniences. Years ago now, I wrote in my journal all the things that annoyed me - my 14-year-old stepdaughter wasn't attentive in the way I thought she should be, nor was her father; I hated my job; neighbors were in my parking spot, blah blah blah. You know what's coming next - a couple of weeks later, I wrote a gratitude list, and every single thing I complained about was on it: my stepdaughter was so very sweet, as was/is her dad, I loved my job and have great neighbors. Classic, right? Again, and always, perception. Perception and a dose of the HALTS. I really do like you a lot better when I've had lunch, and enough sleep.

I did a brief radio interview a couple of weeks ago about my volunteer gig with the American Cancer Society, driving patients to their treatment when they have no other way there (other than paid rides). The radio person asked if, when hearing about people's diagnosis or prognosis, did I feel grateful that I'm healthy. Well, of course, but that's not really the point, though like in an AA meeting, hearing other's stories can be both a wakeup call, or, yes, a trigger for gratitude. But that's not why I do it. That's not why we recovery people are of service, or go to meetings, In fact, false comparison was one of the things that made me question giving up the drink - I wasn't as bad as him, or her, or them now was I? No, I think being of service is more about expressing gratitude for life in a tangible manner, a way to give back, to acknowledge that we're all in this together and sometimes I can offer a helping hand, whether in a meeting or in the wider world, and I don't need to think too hard about it. I'm not the type of person who over-gives as a way to feel good about myself. What I do is pay attention to what and who is drawing my attention, and if that attention fits with my intentions. One day at a time, one choice at a time.

We've registered for the AA International Convention in Vancouver BC next July. I've been to every one since getting sober, starting in Seattle in 1990, and so sorry that Detroit was cancelled in 2020 (though we did visit Intergroup there, when on a family visit). Big crowds can be a bit more jarring now than when I was 35, but I love seeing us come together from every corner of the world. AA is nearly 90 years old - I'm forever grateful to the forces for good that came together on that fateful day in Akron.

And so, beautiful September of cool mornings and leaves just beginning to turn, of ripening tomatoes and longer nights, let me be present to the moments as they unfurl.

When you catch your mind out ahead of your feet (or your seat), how do you bring yourself back to the here and now? Is the Gratitude List a part of your repertoire?  What are various ways you are of service, in or out of the program? What, or who, is drawing your attention this week?

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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

Compassion and sorrow

 This week I am heartbroken over the drunk driving accident in New Jersey that took the lives of two men, on the eve of their sister's wedding. The driver, in custody, is reportedly a drug and alcohol counselor. How could this happen, you may wonder. It happens because the disease is cunning, baffling and powerful. It happens because too often, those who work in treatment confuse their job with their recovery program. As a supervisor, I can't tell you how many times I had that conversation - your job will not keep you sober. I do not know the story of the drunk driver, but I do know that two men are dead - one a father and professional hockey player, the other a coach, expecting his first child in December. Tragic, frustrating, confusing. And a reminder of the daily reprieve and the awful nature of random events. 

The Daily Stoic reader, on September 1st, speaks to the importance of "learning indifference" to the ups and downs of life, those events that seem to come out of nowhere. The Grace in Aging describes much the same concept - that most of what occurs in one's life is neutral and impersonal, whether a traffic tie-up or an unexpected diagnosis, someone's curt statement or the weather, or a tragic accident. Most of what I encounter in a day is not directed "at" me, though I can react as if to a personal affront if I'm not utilizing the pause. This awareness would be, I assume, no solace to those who grieve this week, whether in Jersey or the battlefield or the hospital room. My ability to accept that "sh** happens" is definitely impacted by my distance from the event, though empathy increases my compassion and sorrow for those I do not know, along with the knowledge that it could've been me behind the wheel. 

I am continually grateful that I got it, that once I fully conceded alcoholism to my innermost self, I haven't had to test the waters. I suppose that is a benefit of long-term sobriety - I haven't known anyone who returned to drinking or drugging "successfully," with a cocktail every now and then. And at this point, I have no interest. Heck, I feel crappy if I don't get enough sleep. I don't even want to imagine a hangover. One day at a time, I'll do what is needed to stay on this side of the great divide. 

I was in a good meeting this week on the topic of the fellowship, which definitely helped me in the "keep coming back" department. While most of those sharing were younger (though several have 30+ year sobriety), I could very much relate to the importance of the "sufficient substitute" for alcohol that the Big Book describes. I couldn't tell the difference between a Step and hole in the wall when I first came in, but I could relate to members laughing and having fun, and gravitated to my "litter mates" who were going to dances and driving to conferences, long dinners or coffee dates after meetings, hiking, movies - all the stuff that didn't exist in my life when the longest journey was from the fridge (booze) to the bathroom (drugs) and back. 

I think of those early days as kind of like high school might've been - traveling in a pack, a posse of people doing our best to grow up. Getting a job, getting a date, getting on a plane sober, having the tough conversation - you all helped me mature, and were there right along with me on your own journey, while my actual high school days were spent getting stoned at lunch, and getting drunk and making out in the backseat of my boyfriend's Mustang on weekends. I'm grateful that so many of us came into program in the 80's, having survived the 1970's - a ready-made peer group who understood the insanity of drinking beer for breakfast and chasing down the dealer in the wee, small hours of the night.

Over time that camaraderie shifted, as I imagine it is supposed to, as people paired off, got full-time jobs, moved away. My social network has definitely changed over time, with some drifting away from our common bond of meetings, some changing interests, some moving (though several of my closest friends live elsewhere - I guess that's the difference between situation-dependent acquaintances and true friends). I'm grateful for the whole of it. 

My ongoing quest is still and always, "relieve me of the bondage of self." The illusion of control, and of being right, dies hard. Singh (Grace in Aging) describes a sitting meditation practice as a way to let go of the attachments to me, me, me, that process of getting still and observing my thoughts. I've never been great at the sitting still part. I used a meditation app for a while, then realized I was mainly in it for the daily chit marks, whether I was actually in meditation mode or not. Might I try again?  Sure, but not this week, with a full schedule. Of course, I do understand that it's always something, especially when the task is a thing I'm not good at, or not really interested in. Meditation? Maybe next week. Yoga? Hmmm, maybe after the upcoming trip. Writing? Perhaps when the weather changes.  I think I'll go for a long walk instead. 

And so, this week, I relax into gratitude and compassion, and a healthy respect for the disease of alcoholism. One day at a time, I can do my best to be part of the solution, however that may look on any given day.

In thinking about what may have upset or annoyed you this week, how can you detach from taking events personally? How do you call on compassion for the injured and the injure-er when the disease strikes a friend or stranger? 

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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

History

 Between the weather shifting here in the Pacific Northwest to a rainy few days (yes!), my husband's quarterly work schedule change, and September looming, I'm feeling the yearly pull towards new beginnings and possibilities. Never mind that it's been decades since I was in school, this time of year I yearn to stock up on office supplies and buy notebook paper, look for my next year's desk calendar, clean out the closets. We'll have more warm days, so it's far too early to change my closet from summer to winter wear, but the urge is there.

In the new beginnings department, I picked up the Secretary position for one of my online meetings. As much as I'd rather leave that for someone newer, who "needs" a commitment (oh please), I was due. I'm there most weeks anyway, and in the spirit of rotation of leadership, it felt like my turn. 

In an article I recently read, in Voices of Long-Term Sobriety: Old-Timers Stories from AA Grapevine,  a writer says the founders didn't mean for us to be going to multiple meetings per week, and that they practice the principles without regular attendance (although I'd add, at the beginning, there weren't many meetings a person could attend). A few stories later, another author says their recovery has a 72-hour shelf life, so they are a regular attendee. We are as different as our stories - alike in many ways, but individual in our application.

I feel so fortunate that I live in a city where, when new, I could go to several meetings a day if I needed to, and at the beginning, I needed to. I wasn't working, the heroin-addicted meth cook was still in the picture, and I was at loose ends. Those early meetings helped me establish the habit of sobriety, and taught me, by your example, that drinking was not the answer to either my problems or my joys. 

These days, AA/Alanon is a place of spiritual reminders and lessons, but also a place of community. It's where I see friends, close or acquaintances, staying connected over time. As I often say, no one ever says, "Oh man - are you still going to church?" I get it - meetings aren't for everyone, but I like walking into a room (or signing on) and seeing my people, whether we've met or not.  And I'm realizing that my frequent revisiting this topic has to do with my own internal "want to" vs "should." Two of my meetings are in the very-much-want-to category, while another few aren't. That's what I need to pay attention to, whether related to meetings, volunteering or friend dates. It is my inner, still, small voice that wants attention, not whether or not you or you go to meetings or don't, or are of service in particular ways, or bake bread. What works for me, today?  (which could very well be something different tomorrow)

This past weekend, I went with friends to a backyard concert, a benefit for musician's healthcare - really good foot stomping blues and a Motown cover band, and LOTS of pot smoking (as well as growing plants). Pot would not be my first choice were I to go back to substance use. Heck, it wouldn't be my third or fourth choice either, but it was interesting to see all the old stoners toking away. Most were in my age range, though in my delusional view, I tend to see anyone from 45-60 as being in my range. I felt no pull towards the pot - it was more curiosity and gratitude that I no longer feel the need to alter my consciousness. When first sober, I really feared that I wouldn't enjoy music again, and then, a few months in, went to hear BB King. He was fantastic, as was my sober appreciation. Like so many of my old ideas about being sober, that one was dead wrong. Yes, I would enjoy music, yes, I could go on a date sober, yes, I could cook, sleep, stay awake, converse, enjoy the sunset without drugs or alcohol. Who knew? Apparently, all of you.

At that backyard concert, I sat next to a friend of a friend, a woman with a somewhat unusual last name. I've known her, and her last name, for a few years now, but it suddenly struck me to ask, "Are you related to So-and-So?" Yes, she replied, though not closely and rarely sees them. "Small world," we remarked, but I've been in and out of memory lane ever since - the haunted forest memory lane, not the tra-la-la section.

This person was my ex's banker, then friend, then came to work in the small Portland office. As time went on, and I skidded to my bottom, this guy was often the bearer of news I didn't want to hear, like when the locks had been changed on the house I'd moved out of, and no one told me until I went over to water the plants and my key didn't work. I get it, but I vividly recall the pitiful, incomprehensible demoralization of standing in the neighbor's kitchen, on their phone, being informed, without even a "Sorry, I thought you knew." 

The last year or so of my drinking and using was a time of deep grief, for my father who'd recently died, and for my boyfriend who'd gotten married and left me to hear it from someone else. It was a time of fear - that the meth cook in the basement would blow the house up, that the voices I heard were real, not toxic psychosis/paranoia, that the support checks would stop abruptly, that whatever spark it is that is "me" would disappear altogether. In theory I agree with the 9th Step promises, but there are parts of the past I do regret and wish to shut the door on. Can my experience benefit others? Maybe, which would be "Don't lie to the person you love," "Don't do things that make it necessary to lie to the person you love," and "Beware of good-looking ex-con drug dealers." One day at a time I've followed my own advice. 

It's long enough ago now that I rarely think of how dark those last months were, but I hope I never forget. It's less "morbid reflection" than it is an "Oh, wow." It really could've gone either way. And as my January sober-versary approaches, I can probably expect more flashes of memory to arise, triggered by a song, or a conversation, or the way the wind blows through autumn trees. Pay attention, breathe into the feeling, let go, appreciate the simple beauty of a sober life.

What might your still, small voice be whispering to you this week? What are some of the misconceptions you had about a sober life? What are ways you can honor your history and how it brought you to today without getting stuck in the past?

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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

Generations...

 I was in a meeting this past week with a person in their early 80's, newly identifying how they were impacted by growing up in a family with alcoholism. This, as I often struggle with character aspects that likely originated in my family of origin, but that I've honed and polished on my own over the years When I was new to recovery, and prior to, I didn't have much choice - I really was unaware of how my seemingly automatic behaviors and attitudes had been molded by my reactions and responses to the disease and my family of origin. I'm so grateful for the tools of recovery, now in practice for decades, and that we can step over that deep river of denial at any age. 

The elder in the meeting made me think of a woman I heard share maybe 35 years ago. She was in her 40's or 50's, speaking about her contentious relationship with her mother. At the time, I was deep into wishing my own mother were different - a combination of Betty Crocker and my sponsor would've been ideal. Hearing that woman had me realize I didn't want hers to be my story - pissed off at my mom forever. And so, I did my best to shift from blame to truth, which involved telling her how I felt. She'd often, in our talks about Dad, say, "I know I wasn't a very good mother to you and your brother." I'd just say, "It's ok - we turned out alright," but one day had the courage (thank you Steps, sponsorship and therapy) to say, "You're right. There were some things missing," telling her how it felt to be me growing up. That one conversation truly cleared the air between us and opened our future communications so that when she died many years later, there wasn't anything left unsaid.

I've just picked up a book that's been on my shelf for some time - The Grace in Aging - Awaken as You Grow Older, by Kathleen Dowling Singh. I'd read it before, judging by multiple bookmarks and stickies, but I can tell you that reading it at nearly 70 is a different experience than when I was 60. 

Every single thing I read about the aging process points out that it is inevitable. We're born, we age, we die. What isn't inevitable is how we, how I, will deal with that truth - kicking and screaming and botoxing my way to denial (and no offense if you've chosen plastic surgery - I'd rather use the money to go to Europe) or relaxing into what is. What Singh says - and this is just in the introduction - is that we have a choice, and as our outer life contracts we can expand our inner life, our spiritual resources, which can lead to the equivalent of "happy, joyous and free" despite creaky knees or faltering eyesight.

I used to hear someone say that we are here in Earth School to learn to let go and to trust, and to move away from identification with the small "s" self toward Self. If that's anywhere near true, I'd think it would benefit from study, which to me means reading, talking with others on the path, getting still, and making decisions about how I want to be in the world. Yes, I want to keep walking long distances and taking bike rides, traveling to places near and far, and... someday that will come to an end. If I find myself in a one room apartment, what memories will sustain me? What of my house full of stuff will I take? Which books or mementos will line my shelves? I've helped three different people make that move over the years, the ultimate downsizing that is evidence the end is approaching, and I can tell you, there is a great deal that simply goes into the trash or the donation bin. What would I take for the last leg of the journey?

Of course, none of us knows where the path will lead, or if we'll have time to contemplate our own demise. But if I do, I want to go out sober, with my eyes open (metaphorically at least). And speaking of 80-year-olds, my spouse and I went to a small, in-person meeting at the Oregon coast over the weekend. Two of the men attending were 80, both sober a long time, Viet Nam veterans. I have to tell you that when I hear the term "Viet Nam vet" I picture muscular young men in sweaty t-shirts and combat helmets, blasting Creedence Clearwater or James Brown on the radio. I do not picture 80-year-old men, but here we are, having blinked a few times. Again and again this recurring theme of time passing in what feels like an instant.

I sometimes think of the all the history I've lived through - the 60's, assassinations, the Viet Nam war, etc. What events have shaped your worldview, in addition to your alcoholism and personal history? How about how you may have been indirectly impacted by world events that your parents experienced, like the Depression or WWII, or other inter-generational traumas or perhaps joys?  Expanding the idea of the 7th Step to life in general (as in, "I'm now willing that you should have all of me"), how do you accept and learn from of all of it, the good and the not so good, one day at a time?

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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.

 

Dad

 It was 44 years ago this week that my father died. He was 56 and I was 25 and still drinking, a lot, without any tools to deal with the grief. He had tobacco-related throat cancer that took his larynx about 6 months before he died. It seems ironic now, that my introverted Dad, who didn't talk much anyway, couldn't at the end of his life. He wrote notes, and had one of those things that you hold to your throat for a robot sounding voice. What I wouldn't give to hear his laughter again. 

And what I wouldn't give to have a sober, adult conversation with him. He stopped drinking when I was about 12, and a year or so later, I picked up the baton of the family disease and ran with it. So even though he was sober, I was a somewhat surly teen, giving my mother gray hair, sneaking out at night, drinking until I puked on weekends. Did they not hear me in the upstairs bathroom? Or not want to? I'll never know. And so, not given to much conversation when he was drinking, I don't know that I would've participated after he sobered up anyway. We weren't the heartfelt-talk kind of family - I can count on one hand the times he and I had more than casual conversation, and we usually communicated through Mom. My older cousins seemed to have more of a friendly relationship with him than I did - we got along fine (unless I cursed at Mom), he did kind things (like coming up to the unheated bathroom to turn on a space heater on cold mornings). It was a good childhood in many respects.

Good, with very little drama, and... much of my early recovery was spent in dissecting what was wrong, what was missing in the guidance and support department. I needed to do that work, that excruciating work of therapy and inventories and many tears before I truly knew, from my head to my heart, that Dad's depression and alcoholism had nothing to do with me. That surrender came when I had about 20 years sober - it was a long journey before I could look at the past without staring (to borrow a phrase from Courage to Change). Because ours was a relatively calm household, I couldn't point to this or that as a "reason" for my dis-ease. Untangling the ways in which my father's alcoholism impacted me was further complicated by the fact that he was dead. Mom and I talked about his drinking years, but she only knew how it affected her.

Somewhere along the way, the story line shifted, moving from what was missing to what was there - love, strong values, an example of responsibility. Once, when I was in a quandary about yet another breakup with an introvert, I talked with my best friend about what I thought was my dad's legacy, i.e. that I was destined to pine for people who weren't available to me. My friend said, "Jeanine, don't you think that if there is a heaven, your dad is looking down and wants you to be happy, joyous and free?" Of course he would, and that statement was a big piece of dropping the rock of blaming current choices on someone who'd been gone for years. I made up my mind that if I was destined to be attracted to partners who were like my father, I'd concentrate on his positive qualities - he was fair, honest, hard-working and loyal, and so much more than merely an alcoholic.

I think it was after my mother died, in 2012, that the shift solidified, after reading letters between her and her father, learning her siblings didn't want her to marry my dad, presumably due to his drinking. I could say the words, "They did the best they could," but until I could actually feel that, and see my folks as human beings with wants and strengths and flaws and dreams all their own, I wouldn't have peace. It sounds pretty obvious now, but really, that journey from the head to the heart was a winding road.

I've long said that I miss my dad, but it was when I first saw my husband reading to his young daughter before bed that I realized, yes, I miss my father - the WWII vet, humorous fellow he was and part of my grief was in missing what our relationship could've been - could've been were he not born in 1924 and his parents hadn't divorced and his mother died young;  could've been if I didn't start drinking at 13, hence avoiding adult supervision whenever possible; could've been if either of us had the tools to communicate. 

It was decades before I knew the date he died - I was hammered during his illness and the aftermath. It wasn't until somone in an Alanon meeting spoke to anniversaries of loss as an emotional minefield that I looked up the actual date. Oh, I thought. It's August. Maybe that's why it felt like Dad was in the car with me yesterday. Maybe that's why I get a little sad, not knowing why until I stop to feel (not think) about it. 

I still have a note he wrote before he died, asking that I take care of my mom. I did, to the best of my ability. In showing up for her and walking along on her end-of-life journey, I like to think I made living amends to him. Some people would say that he is here, that he's aware of my life. Some might say that he is part of my higher power (or higher posse, as my spouse calls it). I think he's in my heart, and on this overcast August day, I can let the tears come as I say, "I miss you, Dad." 

Funny - I wasn't sure what I was going to write about this week, but apparently my father wanted some attention. I've read that one of the developmental tasks of older adulthood is learning to live with grief. I'm coming to understand that this isn't just current losses but attached to all the love and good-byes said over the years. A gift of long-term recovery is that I'm less inclined to run from my feelings these days. I can breathe into the pain, which is merely love in disguise. I can dig in the garden, listen to music perhaps, look at old photos. I can remember that my father never got to retire, which doesn't mean I have to live each day to the absolute fullest, but can be grateful for each wake up, which is another chance to participate in my life. This life is short, and shorter for some than others. 

What losses, old or newer, revisit your heart from time to time? How do you acknowledge what might be a complicated history? What do you do when intense feelings hit, sometimes seemingly out of nowhere? How do you honor the whole convoluted mix of history and loss, as well as conversations had or missed opportunities? Are there any questions you might want to ask living relatives before they're gone?

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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.