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.

Habits

 In the past couple of weeks, I've had random recovery-based encounters with strangers. One was a cousin of a cousin, who has a circle and triangle bumper sticker on her car. I noted, "I have one of those too," to which she replied, "It's a good one!" and left it at that. Another was one of the two-man carpet cleaning crew, who commented on our fridge magnets - Easy Does It, and that circle and triangle - saying that he's a member of the same club and left it at that. The third was one of the people I drove to their cancer treatment for my volunteer gig. He commented that I didn't look old enough to have had a 70th birthday party (god bless him, and yes, I was talking about our party) so the fact that I quit smoking and drinking decades ago came up as way of explanation - clean living!. He disclosed that he gave up booze and pot 8 years ago - no program, just quit because he realized it wasn't doing him any good. He talked a little about how it was hard at first, going to bars and ordering juice the way he would've ordered beers, so he quit going to bars and doesn't miss it. I love when we see each other out in the world - a little nod at the grocery store, the stranger who recognizes a bumper sticker, or connecting with a fellow sober person. I am so grateful to be part of the solution.    

I recently came across a note I wrote to myself: I can no longer accept powerlessness over what comes between me and my peace of mind. Oh man, does that ever ring true! For so long, friends and I would proclaim, "I'm such an alcoholic!" as an excuse for behavior or mindset. And it was important, in those early, and even middle, years to identify old thinking vs new. But these days, with years of therapy and decades of recovery under my belt, I can no longer accept powerlessness over what comes between me and my peace of mind, and its companion reminder that I'm not responsible for my first thought, but I am responsible for my second. Are there places in my life that I've gotten lazy or place blame, whether on the disease or my upbringing, or another person? What do I do if I catch myself in "Woe is me?" That doesn't happen too often these days, and usually it just means I need a nap, but the self-monitoring of Step 10 is always a helpful touchpoint.

That being said, I've been a bit cranky the last few weeks, my routine disrupted by the roof replacement, carpet work, the big party, etc (it doesn't have to be a negative to throw me off balance - too many good things do it too). I can know that I'm off-kilter and why, but it can be tough to surrender to what is rather than what I want to be. Keeping the routines I can (walking, even if shorter; eating healthy for example) can help me ride the wave until the workers are all gone and the checks are all written. And, it's a new day.

In a recent meeting with the topic of "prayer and meditation" (however one does or doesn't define that), several people spoke to the discipline required to practice the principles in all our affairs, with the emphasis on practice, as well as the importance of habit. If I only meditate when I think I "need" to, I miss out on the benefits of establishing a pattern. As someone commented many years ago, when I celebrated an anniversary during a rough patch, I don't have to think about what to do when times are hard, because I do what I do in good times and not so good times. Whether it used to be getting ready for work in the morning with lunch already made, or responding to a life event, I operate better when I don't have to think too much about the details - don't drink, go to meetings, reason things out with someone else, sit still and quiet the inner chatterbox (which for me, usually involves pen to paper).

I'm on a brief visit to the Land of Enchantment (New Mexico). With all that's gone on in the month of July, it was so relaxing to buckle my seatbelt on the plane, knowing my only decisions in the coming days are what t-shirt to wear, or what to have for lunch. I guess that's why it's called a vacation - a break from the usual, which for me recently has included decision overload. One day at a time, one choice at a time, one breath at a time.

On Sunday,  AAAgnostica.org published my piece on long term sobriety. Thank you! And welcome to new readers via that site.  You are very welcome to share any comments on this page or via email (or not). 

Today, do you know what comes between you and serenity? How do you come back to center when life or world events have you discombobulated? What routines are important for you to keep, even in the midst of actual or imagined turmoil? How do you turn down the noise when decision or information overload strikes?

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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.

Life, One Day at a Time, One Year at a Time

 The other night I dreamt I was talking with some guy about my marathon history. As we talked, he started jogging, and I went right along, feeling free and light as I ran along the trail behind him. I'm not sure where in my waking world I feel free and light, as I fret about our pending roof replacement and a busy summer schedule, but it was a lovely image. I'm not likely to take up running again - walking is just fine these days - but a pleasant reminder of how it feels to be unencumbered by my mostly self-imposed tasks. 

The 70th birthday dance party and lawn games event was a success, with 38 attendees at the peak. Several of us live in the vicinity, though we had friends from New York, Phoenix, Seattle and the Oregon Coast who made the trek. Several folks thanked me for pulling it together. It was actually a joint effort, but I will say that besides getting sober, AA has taught me how to throw a party! (As I told a nervous friend once, all you really need to do for a house party is make a lot of coffee and put out extra toilet paper, because once the guests start arriving, no one will notice whether the floor is clean or not.)

What seeing old friends and strangers (we were a high school class of 500) made me realize is that there is value, to me, of connections over time. There is also the deepening understanding that, at age 70, it is more and more likely that I won't go everywhere I'd ever wanted and I won't do everything I'd thought important. I won't hike all the trails, visit all the oceans, wander all the faraway marketplaces. So, reining in fantasies of elder Pippi Longstocking adventures, where do I want to point my energies? What might I feel sad about at the end that I didn't get around to?  It's my reminder to self that "later is now." What little (or big) projects, or books or various mementos, etc. am I "saving for later," (a reference to my Depression Era mother if there ever was one). We had our carpets cleaned last week, which necessitated moving stuff off the rugs - dear God I almost wanted to cry with the sheer volume. Time to re-employ the Marie Kondo Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up. Am I using this? Does seeing it spark joy? No? Then why, oh why is it taking up precious space, not to mention, gathering dust? (And I'm not alone - the carpet fellow said many customers tell him they make a trip to the donation box after the cleaning.)

The same question applies to characteristics and my fretting about "defects", though at this age, much of who I am is pretty entrenched. And...I am better at the pause than I was a few years ago and way less invested in what others think of me. Those are reminders that I'm not done yet, with still room to grow. Maybe not in leaps and bounds, but as we've long heard, slow growth is good growth.

I'd worked on the dance party playlist for months, adding and removing songs, dancing in my living room to test out a beat - all good fun. Good fun, and on the day before the event, when reviewing the songs one more time, I started to cry from the tidal wave of memories: the dance at the YMCA in 1969, earlier dances in 8th grade, the song that caused our hearts to flutter with hope that the certain boy would ask us to slow dance, the 45rpm that my cousins and I played over and over and over again in their bedroom, singing along to romantic lyrics that only partly made sense to us at 15. I am a melancholic sort - a friend and I once chuckled at our nostalgia for long ago AA meetings, so it's not limited to my youth. Today I know that all those memories are part of who I am, and I have so much more compassion for my emotional immaturity. As I said to a fellow 12-Stepper at the party, who apologized for his sarcastic barbs of 50 years ago, how else could we have been? It felt like a lot of us with WWII era dads who didn't have the language to process their experiences, raised ourselves, up in the park, hanging out with other children of alcoholics. As my first sponsor used to say, we did the best with what we knew at the time. I can still occasionally fall into self-judgement for not knowing something I would have no way of knowing, those old tapes of "I should know better" and "It's not OK to ask questions" rising to the surface. But these days, those episodes are brief, and I more readily recognize them for the false beliefs that they are.

I recognize, more and more as time goes on, that aging, or rather acceptance of the changes aging brings, is a process. At 60 it was still in the future, out there somewhere with "old" being at least five years hence. Last week, while out listening to free music in the park, friends and I noted a group of elder women, one with a cane. We teased, "There we are in a few years," with one of us saying, "I sure hope so!"  As recovery has shown me, I need do nothing alone, and if I can keep a sense of humor and travel the route with friends, the ride will be smoother.

Do you have a "bucket list?" Are there things you might feel sad about at the end if you don't get to them? How do you balance daily living priorities with hopes and dreams? As you look around your living space, do your belongings bring a sense of pleasure or frustration, or both? How do you make peace with what is today, in the here and now?

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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.

Showing up

 This past week I've been to two very small in-person meetings - five at one and four at another. Some of it may be summer - after a heatwave (though nowhere near what the rest of the US is getting), we're having lovely days, days where sitting in a church basement at noon doesn't sound appealing. That's just my guess - who knows?  I was told at the four-person group, a Monday-Friday meeting, that Tues and Thurs are Steps and Traditions, so fewer people attend.

Wow is what I'd say to that. Sure, Tradition meetings aren't the most exciting, but like most meetings, shares generally revert to "What's going on with me today is...." What I think, in both instances, is that the pandemic changed so much. Yes, we/I like person-to-person contact, but how convenient to simply turn on the computer, or prop up the smartphone and connect to a meeting, or just decide not to go. 

A newcomer with 86 days was at the five-person group. Imagine if two or three of us had said, "Oh, it's way too nice out to go to the meeting," or the dreaded precursor to complacency, "I don't need a meeting." That "need" is different in long-term recovery. At the beginning, I needed meetings - to occupy my time for an hour, to surround myself with other sober people, to hear something that would carry me until the next meeting (which might've been later that same day). These days, the needs are similar, but less intense (I almost said less life-and-death but that isn't really true. I have a lot to lose were I to drink again, and meetings, for me, are part of my daily reprieve):  connect with my peers, be reminded of what it was like, to be an example for the newer person, to hear the message of recovery from someone outside my own brain, to build on the new ideas concept that keeps shifting and changing as I do. What I also know is that I can't work the 12th Step all alone. I don't generally sponsor new women - my sponsees all have double-digit sobriety - but I carry the message by showing up, sharing my phone number, and, what was so important to me when new, remembering people's names when they come back. 

Thinking about Step 7 in this month of July - the "humbly asked" part...  I can get caught up in the "who am I asking, and for what exactly?" particulars, but as Richard Rohr noted in a recent post, it is the asking that is important. Like when we reach for the tools laid at our feet - I can't will myself to change or figure out how to be different all on my own, but it is in the reaching, and asking, that I demonstrate the humility of "I don't know." That takes me to the sponsorship thing. At 38+ years and having worked with my current sponsor for a number of years now, I have a general idea of what it is I need to do in any given situation. But it is in the asking, the email or text, or picking up that heavy phone, where the healing begins. Yeah, I have some answers, but not all the answers. Yeah, I'm pretty centered most days, but pretty self-centered on others. And isn't it funny that when I contacted my sponsor this week about something that was bugging me, she said, "There are no coincidences - me too!"

Friends and I are celebrating our 70th birthday year this coming weekend, in the park where many of us drank and smoked pot during high school. I'm expecting anywhere from 15 - 30, though what sobriety has taught me is that just the right people will be there and it doesn't do much good to fret. I've done the footwork (made the playlist, sent out the invites and reminders) and the results are out of my hands. I'm just tripping on the fact that I've know many of these people since I was 9 years old, and that we are turning 70, which is not at all how I anticipated being "old" to feel. One day at a time, one birthday at a time. 

If you are a meeting go-er, how does that work for you? Do you have "do or die" groups, or are you more of a drop-in person? What keeps you coming back? If you aren't a meeting person, or if you are, how do the principles of the 12 Steps guide your life?

* * *

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).. Please 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.

Pen to paper

 I am a list maker, a journaler, a memory keeper from way back in 5th grade when I noted what I wore to school or who I was hanging out with in a little lock and key diary. A number of years ago, a sponsee as well as another friend, told me they'd burned all their journals. I was aghast. Burn them?! Never - I will keep mine forever! 

But, as Meatloaf sang in Paradise by the Dashboard Light, forever is a long, long time and there came a day when I decided to dispose of both my journals and my 20+ photo albums. OK, not entirely - I spent several months going through the photo albums, mailing off pictures to cousins and friends, destroying many (how many pictures do I really need of myself smoking cigarettes, or my mom standing in the driveway), ending up with 10 books and a box of mom's photos. The journals were tougher, and I ended up keeping a small stack, including the grade school years, the final year of my drinking and using and that first insane year of recovery (I read from that first-year diary at a recovery event - totally embarrassing, with the only saving grace that it was 25 years ago by that time). I've kept a few pivotal years, but the truth is, I rarely look at them, and without children who might be interested in my every thought, there really isn't much reason to keep them at all, save the notion that when I'm 90 I may want to go back and remember.

I'm still a journaler - sometimes too much so. At one point recently, I realized I had three different journals going - Step work, a retirement journal and the everyday volume. Dear God...  And in my declutter efforts, as I scanned various pages from these and older volumes, I realized with chagrin that I very often mused and complained and pontificated about the same.damn.things, over and over again, from one year to the next. Good grief. I've been on a "diet" since I was 11, concerned with romantic relationships since about then (real or imagined), fears around work, bumping heads with my partner(s), blah blah blah. Which doesn't mean I'm going to stop (!) - journaling is part of my spiritual practice, and along with the same-o same-o, I also write about insights and connections, dreams and goals achieved and longed for. But what my own record says to me is, either accept myself as-is, or change for heaven's sake. I know I don't care for it when an acquaintance goes on and on about the same thing every time we meet - but I do the same thing in my conversations with myself. Sheesh! 

So perhaps the crux of it is staying in self-awareness without veering into self-obsession/the bondage of self. As a sponsor once said, there came a time when she stopped viewing herself as a project, something to be fixed. As I contemplate July Step work, I read in the Alternative 12 Steps that Step 7 can be about collaborating with my characteristics rather than fighting them (which never seems to work or I'd be wearing a halo by now). A friend talks of cooperating with reality, accepting that what is, is and going from there. Like another old song, "wishing and hoping" won't change a thing. Acceptance, and the wisdom to understand what I can impact just might. 

Will there come a day when I stop journaling, or perhaps burn each year passed as a new year's ritual? Hard to say, but something to think about - or write about! And this blog is a journal of sorts, though my 24-year-old stepdaughter says that blogging is passe, with people these days preferring to watch a video over reading a post. Maybe... but I'm a paper person, a reader, with a paper calendar, journal, and grocery lists. I prefer a good book to earbuds, conversation to a podcast, so just for today, I'll keep doing what I do. Thank you for coming along.

Are you a journaler? What do you do with your old notebooks, or with Step work once you've shared it? Are there habits and pastimes that made sense when you were younger, but don't have the same pull these days? What is your spiritual practice today? Does it ever feel like time to revise and renew? If so, where do you find new inspiration?

* * *

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).. Please 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 you local folks.

Moving forward

 I attended the online Beacon Group this week (noon EDT), on the topic of Step 4 as related to fear and sex (they do Step 4 resentments separately). I could relate to so much of what the (female) speaker shared about the times we grew up in ("love the one you're with"), including being the first generation with access to effective birth control - we at least imagined we had all the freedom in the world. 

What the speaker said, and my own sponsors have echoed over the years, is that the sex inventory isn't simply a matter of making a list of where my behavior hurt myself or others but looking beyond the "I did this" to uncover causes and conditions, like the mistaken idea that I'm OK only if you say so.

All of the 4th Step, whether resentments, fear or sex, benefit from looking at those deeper layers of the "why" I act out in a particular manner - what am I afraid of? Am I looking outside myself for a fix?  If I'm angry at a particular person, place or thing, am I forgetting my powerlessness? What are my fears, real or imagined? Am I operating on self-reliance or figure-it-out mode? 

There aren't many blinding revelations in my inventories these days - the same characteristics tend to pop up. Which brings Steps 6 and 7 to mind. What does it even mean to become entirely willing? I can say to myself that I no longer want to do or think x,y or z, then 15 minutes later, I'm up to my elbows in a justified x or z. I supposed that's why I keep coming back. Progress, not perfection. 

In the Step 4 meeting, the speaker referenced a quote I've heard before that's attributed to Michaelangelo. When asked how he possibly created the magnificent statue of David out of a piece of rock, he said he simply chipped away at everything that wasn't David. For some reason, that brought a tear to my eye, thinking of the immature girl I was in 1986, who had a lot of chipping away to do. But it also triggered a deep recognition of the here and now - are there trappings of personality, behaviors or habits that may have been adequate and appropriate to the younger me but that might not serve as I move into this next phase of my development? Do I walk my talk in all areas, or am I cutting corners? Do I automatically point the finger at you, you or you, ignoring the three pointing back at me?  This upcoming milestone birthday really has me thinking, and feeling what it means to apply program tools to the aging process. 

And then, as the fates would have it, I was in a meeting with someone five years ahead of me on the calendar, talking about this exact topic (funny how that seems to work - when the student is ready, the teacher appears?). They spoke to the idea of developing a matrix, a structure of sorts for how they want to be in the world going forward. I resonated, and love making a list! It's not so much a bucket list of things to do before I die, but the energy I bring to the tasks and adventures I'm drawn to. People talk about the joy-meter as an indicator of satisfaction with their days. I think of that along a continuum from pleasant and enjoyable to fun to outright joy. Joy has a measure of excitement, whereas pleasant and contented feels calmer, but no less satisfying. 

In the manner of an inventory, I've started to jot down experiences that come to mind with that measurement, looking at patterns or commonalities. Sitting on the couch, or at the beach, with a cup of tea and my journal is definitely a positive experience, but with a different energy level than the time friends and I rode bikes into Central Park on a glorious November day. I'm realizing that the events that bring me joy or satisfaction are directly tied to my values. I wouldn't enjoy rock climbing, for instance. I do value adventure, but also safety and security. 

When I think of the emotional and spiritual energy I want to experience and bring into the world going forward, what comes to mind is connection and conversation, going to new and beautiful places as well as appreciating "home" in all its incarnations. And... I don't want to turn this new idea into simply another To Do list of things to accomplish. Yes, I'd like to learn Spanish (and have a CD set that's been on the shelf for a year), so can add learning and stretching my mind to the matrix, along with finding beauty in the everyday - carry water, chop wood. And while reliving the past isn't necessarily part of the deal, a good friend points out that all those memories are part of who I am today so I can celebrate the good times and not so good, the people who've come and gone. 

This whole aging business is a process. I've never been here before, but just like in sobriety, I can follow the taillights of those who are on the road ahead. We can learn together and from each other. 

How do you use the inventory process in long term recovery? How do you move beyond the superficial act or action to get at causes and conditions? How might the inventory be useful in the aging process? 

* * *

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).. Please 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 you local folks.

People who would not mix...

 My long-term friend, the Tarot Card Lady (on Instagram and Facebook) noted in a recent post related to the daily card, that instead of tying self-image to what we do, try looking at what it is you (I) enjoy. What a concept, especially as related to the subtle shift from achieving and striving to simply be-ing. 

I thought about that while on a long walk, realizing that despite my internal protests, I am an athlete, a distance-walker (previously runner). The story I tell myself is that I'm not really an athlete because I'm so slow, or too this or not enough of that. And then I sit at my desk and look up at a wall of medals and photos of me at various events. Oh yeah, I guess I am an athlete. I'm also a writer, though again, the internal voice is around "not enough" - not good enough, not self-promoting enough, not productive enough, blah blah blah. OK Critical Self - just hush.

The question could be, not "What do you do?" but how do you inhabit your life? How do you show up for yourself or others? When I review my day, is the image of a flurry of activity, liked or tolerated, or maybe a "What did I do today?" Or, satisfaction with time spent alone, with friends, with family? I don't always have choices in how I spend my time, but most of the time I'm able to go with "want to" rather than "have to" or "should," which is definitely a gift of long-term recovery (and getting older!).

What matters to me these days is connection - talking and laughing with people I love, like the group of old school chums who get together monthly, or the cousins who meet for breakfast every other month, being intentional about staying connected after our mothers (the glue) are gone. This past week I invited myself to a small gathering of one of my home groups, with a visiting member in town. What a joy to sit across from each other in person, to share our passion for recovery, still lively all these years later. And then on Sunday, I got to hear an out-of-town speaker who my husband has raved about for years, and now I know why. For me, the program hits my heart via a mixture of laughter and tears, celebration and solemn acknowledgement of how fortunate we are to have made it out alive. 

Later on Sunday I drove to a local rural park for a Celebration of Life for a long-time member. I didn't stay long, as I didn't know anyone there, but felt it important to show up and give my respects to this person who'd been key to my early sobriety. About six months ahead of me, he had a broken leg when we first met, and was staying at his dad's house near me. I don't remember if I volunteered or was assigned to give him rides to the daily nooner, but I knew that he sure needed a meeting (ha ha and so did I). He shared wisdoms and insights that I still draw on today, like "If I only go to one meeting a week and miss it, that means I'm two weeks without a meeting." One day I told him how I sometimes missed the physical sensation of my drug of choice. As he explained it, that was a part of life we experienced that not many people do, but that it was over and now we got to focus on being sober. Made sense at the time, and got me through that day without picking up. On another occasion, on our way to the nooner, I stopped at the meth cook's place to drop off some things he'd left at my house - we were still kind of involved, but those early months of my recovery were rocky as he grappled with the change. Anyhow, on the front porch, he started to give me grief (I think he mentioned how I'd gained weight - well obviously, since I'd stopped methamphetamine and started eating). My pal Kelly, simply got out of the car, all 6 foot 4 of him, and said, "Is everything alright?" which sent my semi-significant other back into the house. Yes, everything was alright.  Yes it was, because I was letting go of one life and picking up another. Kelly was a biker, a drug addict, larger than life, who in these later years, played Santa for kids of women in treatment and gave new guys a place to stay. He definitely walked his talk.

We are normally people who would not mix - the biker, the social worker, the naturopath, the artist, the attorney, the librarian, the engineer, the hospitality staff...  Normally, maybe not, but what is "normal" anyway? Just the setting on a washing machine, according to a friend. There wasn't much "normal" about my life before recovery, but by the grace of the 12 Steps, I've been able to take my place in the human race. Being a productive member of society wasn't a particular goal of mine, but once here, it sure feels better than being part of the problem.

How do you inhabit your life today? How do you respond when asked, "What do you do?" How might you shift your response to who you are rather than what you do? What does community mean to you? How have you connected this past week?

Tomorrow is the 4th of July holiday here in the U.S. - something to celebrate for some, not so much for others. Whatever you do on this day off, stay safe.

* * *

I've had some questions about how to purchase the NOW WHAT workbook. You need to go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering. Please contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com  or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, 78 pages of discussion and processing questions, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for you local folks.

In a blink...

 On one of my morning walks this week, I paused to chat about the weather with a woman watering her garden, Saying she frequently sees me passing by, she wondered how far I walk and was impressed with my answer of "three to five miles." This led to disclosure of my upcoming 70th birthday, to which she replied, "Oh, you're so young!" telling me she's 82 and hopes for another 10 years. We both remarked that if the next 10 goes as fast as the last, we'll exhale a couple of times and be there. 

I suppose it's part of the developmental stage of later adulthood to talk about later adulthood - in awe, complaining, marveling at the passage of time. with so much happening in what seems to be the blink of an eye.  In a blink of an eye, my heroin addicted boyfriend was dead from an overdose. In a blink of an eye, my stepdaughter went from child to young adult. In a blink of an eye my mother went from a tow-headed toddler to a sorority sister to a young, pregnant wife and beyond. And now my cohort is turning 70. In a blink...

And in a few blinks of an eye, I went from shivering denizen to happy, joyous and free, crossing that cavernous divide between "then" and "now." I am still and always impressed at those early members, starting with Bill and Bob, who were essentially navigating in the dark. Imagine being "AA Number 3," the man on the bed in the print hanging on so many meeting and clubhouse walls. Here were two fellows who talked like you thought, and were sober, sparking just a glimmer of hope that life could be different. I sometimes take for granted the hundreds of meetings available to me, forgetting that at the beginning, it was groups of twos and threes gathering in each other's living rooms (while the wives hovered in the kitchen). I think of the ice baths, lobotomies and other efforts at a "cure" and am forever grateful for how the stars aligned to bring AA to life.

A friend recently, brilliantly, pointed out that we don't simply deal with "life on life's terms," but also "people on people's terms." Obviously, but how often do I forget that it's not "life on Jeanine's terms," or "other people on Jeanine's terms?" (cue emoji of woman smacking herself in the forehead) My spouse and I joke that we're both eldest siblings, and both always "right." Funny, yes, when I can remember that me feeling large and in-charge is simply a mental construct, not based on the Universe bestowing that designation on me (ha! that would make my younger brother always "wrong," which he might argue at 66 years old and successfully navigating the world up to this point). Some things do happen in a blink, while others, like the process of self-examination and change can feel like slogging through quicksand. Will I ever learn to pause? Will I ever (fill in the blank that fits for you)? One day at a time, one choice at a time can be a relief, or a "not this again..."

What I've heard is that sometimes the days drag by while the years fly. It took years to relieve the grief over an important relationship ending. It was probably four years before I could think about my deceased mother without crying. It took about six months to stop dreaming at night about work, with the theme of "Oh, I'm no longer in charge!" and probably a full year to think of myself as a walker instead of a runner. Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, sometimes in a blink and sometimes with an exhale and sometimes when I least expect it, I will know what I need to know when I need to know it (with the reminder that "figure it out" is not one of the Steps).

We've just entered summer here in the Northern Hemisphere, a time of outdoor music, garden blooms and a longing to sit on a bench or a beach and read good books while eating watermelon. Some days are like that, and some days are filled with tasks, service, a few "have to's" and some "want to's". This sobriety gig is a good life, a very good life. 

How have your conversations with your peers changed as you've gotten older in life and in recovery years? How much has gone by in a blink, and what still can feel like a slog? What do you do when you catch yourself feeling in charge of the world or your loved ones? Where can you utilize the idea of "people of people's terms?"

* * *

I've had some questions about how to purchase the NOW WHAT workbook. You need to go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering. Please contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com  or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, 78 pages of discussion and processing questions, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for you local folks.

Home Sweet Home

 Ah, it's good to be home after two weeks in Ireland, both North and the Republic of. What beautiful countries. In addition to visiting with friends, and the usual tourist stuff, we hit some great meetings (several AA and one Alanon for me). I always appreciate the cross-pollination of attending meetings in different cities and towns. What I will say about Ireland, specifically, is that they say the Serenity Prayer really fast! I was still on the "God, grant me" and they were already halfway through!

At a speaker meeting, the leader shared that his first sponsor, in those often-hectic early days of sobriety, told him that he suffered from "painfully acute self-awareness." Oh my, yes. Relieve me of the bondage of self, oh please. Intense self-awareness plus a good dose of self-doubt made it pretty darned uncomfortable in this brain of mine. How enlightening it was (and is) to hear others talk about the same feelings that rattled around in my head. Maybe I'm not such a freak after all! I'm so grateful that the edges have softened over time. 

I had a wonderful reunion in Dublin with a woman I last saw when she was a teenager, in Miami, in 1988 and I was a couple of years sober. Her parents, and my ex and I, were good friends, which meant we spent a lot of time with her and her three siblings during my drinking years. She married an Irishman, moved over, and stayed. It was fun and heartwarming to share memories and get up to date, and to learn that her father was sober for 20 years before he died, and one of her brothers has been clean now for 15 years. Healing happens in many forms, and for me, healing often comes via revisiting important relationships and connections.

I had a cosmic moment in a small village on the coast of Northern Ireland, where we spent a few days on our own (with hubs driving on the opposite side of the road!). At one of the tourist sites, I realized I'd misplaced my wallet, and upon returning to our lodging, realized it wasn't where I'd thought it might be. Retracing my steps, no one had seen it, but everyone recommended that I cancel my credit cards. I didn't, with the gut feeling that it would turn up, and when I went to bed that night, envisioned going to the bakery first thing in the morning, knowing, believing that they had it, and would've held on to in since I told them, "We'll be back tomorrow." Well, that's exactly what happened. The staff people said they realized who the wallet belonged to, but didn't know where I was staying, so held on to it, since I'd said, "See you tomorrow." Trust - in the good people of Cushendall, and in my gut. 

While there, I had a drinking dream - the first in a very, very long time. In the dream, someone handed me a tall glass, filled to the brim with some sort of layered drink. I brought it to my lips, but then put it down, saying, "I'm not willing to throw away 38 years of recovery for a sip of this." It is always a good reminder that the disease is alive and well in some part of my psyche, and that recovery has the upper hand, at least for today. 

And so, the beat goes on, reacclimating to the day-to-day of life at home, reconnecting with my regular groups, walking in our neighborhood, planting the garden I'd delayed while away. Vacations can be weird - while gone, it felt a lot longer than two weeks, and now that I've readjusted to our time zone, it feels like I never left (except for the few Euros on my desk, and the new box of teabags in the cupboard). I am grateful for the resources, good health, and energy to follow my heart; good friends across the sea, and my adventurous spouse. I sometimes think that my story could've gone either way, when the disease still whispered its siren song, but here I am, here we are, all these years later, living life on life's terms, which is sometimes rocky and sometimes grand.

When is the last time you had a drinking or using dream? Does your recovery-self come in to play while sleeping? How has the painfully acute self-awareness of the drinking days and early recovery mellowed out over time? What does "relieve me of the bondage of self" mean to you today?

* * *

I've had some questions about how to purchase the NOW WHAT workbook. You need to go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering. Please contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com  or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, 78 pages of discussion and processing questions, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for you local folks.

Inventory

 

I'll be home in time for next week's post, but here is an oldie from May, 2018. Thank you for your understanding of these repeats... see you next week.

April was the month of inventory - 4th month, 4th Step, searching and fearless. In the group I participate in, we use a format for the yearly inventory that focuses on our own behavior and attitudes. Ideally, if I'm practicing the principles in all my affairs, I stay current with interpersonal upsets. Which is not to say that annoyances and lurking resentments don't creep up. "And," if I am doing my reasonable best, I deal with my humanness as it grabs my attention, which most of the time includes acknowledging that pesky spiritual axiom that if I'm upset, I need to look within myself for the source of my discomfort. I heard someone once say that if I have a resentment, it's because I haven't yet accepted my powerlessness over the situation, person, place or thing. I hate that part. It's easier to point the finger (the government! my co-worker! my spouse! my whoever!), but that momentary flash of righteous indignation and self-satisfied glee doesn't last. Owning my part, which sometimes takes input from a trusted other to figure out, and being willing to do something different, either in the moment, or next time, is the foundation of continued growth.

So then, May is the time for Step 5, admitting to "God, myself and another human being," the exact nature of my errors and mistaken beliefs. What I've realized is that Step 5 is also about boundaries. In the old days, I would've told anyone anything, and did. In Step 5, I'm told to share with "another human being," as in one other person. This includes learning what to share in a general way at group level, and what is better for the sponsor or trusted other. My first sponsor once cautioned me against doing my therapy within the relationship I was struggling with - i.e., for me, don't take all my anguish about my insecurity in romantic partnerships to the person I'm currently in partnership with. That has "fix me!" written all over it, and was what I was looking for, whether implicit or explicit. I'm not suggesting that we should be dishonest, but one of my hard lessons was that my partner was not the sole provider of support, and was not there to process every.single.emotion I had. Another friend once wisely said, "I have lots of feelings during the day - I just don't need to attach a sentence to every one." Amen, and something I'm still learning.

We had a very lively discussion, in Step Group, about the "nature of our wrongs," and the false beliefs and fears that can get in the way of "happy, joyous and free." Most of my defects, or rather, defenses, have to do with worry and anxiety about what might come to be. I can trace that back to the emotional uncertainty of growing up with active alcoholism, but I'm no better at foreseeing the future now than I was at age 10. One of our members quoted Bob D, of Las Vegas, who once said, "Stop trying to clear up the wreckage of your future!" Oh my God. That felt like an epiphany. At 32 years sober, that phrase hit me as if I'd never heard the term "one day at a time." The real question isn't whether or not I'll be OK next week, or in 2 years or in 10. The REAL question is "Are you OK right now?" And to that, the answer is nearly always, "Yes." As we were often asked in treatment, when flailing about with one imagined crisis or another - "Do you have someplace to sleep tonight? Have you had enough to eat today? Well, then, you're OK." I didn't want to hear that at the time, but that is absolutely correct. There are emergencies. There are valid fears, certainly, but most of my "what if?!?" is based on fantasy. Another truism heard in a meeting: Higher Power is in the right-here-right-now. If I'm off balance, it's because I'm reaching out into the future, where I'm all alone with my brain.

Most days, I'm steeped in gratitude for what is and am aware of the blessings of a safe home, a strong marriage, a good job. But, I do get out in the ozone, especially when I lose my spiritual balance. For example, living next door to a rental can feel stressful and trigger my safety and security fears. Will this group of tenants be nice? Will they hold loud parties on the front porch, like the last crew? Will they take all the parking spots? Not earth shattering, but events that do impact our quality of life. This weekend, there was some confusion about who was moving out and who was staying. I reacted to my perception of events and took some action, which precipitated a scolding reaction back my way. My initial response was to blame one of several parties, but instead, I phoned my sponsor to vent. She chuckled, bless her heart, and helped me to see both the humor in the situation, and my part. Grrr.  I did some writing, slowed down enough to breathe, and kept my mouth shut. My on-going battle with impulsivity might end up on my next inventory, but yelling and creating chaos will not.

And that, for me, is the essence of on-going Step work. Sometimes I do clean up the wreckage of my future by not creating it in the first place. It is an on-going process.

Where are you with your inventory, either daily or a yearly housecleaning? What keeps cropping up for you? Can you accept and forgive yourself, and move on? Who will you share your findings with?