Choices

 I'm reminded, again and again, that when I'm sober, I have choices - how to spend my time, how to spend my money, how to spend this one precious life. (I recently saw a post on social media that said, "Stop waiting for a special occasion - every day alive is a special occasion"). 

I'm also reminded, again and again, that it's one day at a time - absolutely all of it. Sobriety, healing physically or emotionally, gardening, the kittens maturing/simmering down, the seemingly endless de-clutter projects and on and on. That used to bother me. "Quit throwing around that 'odat' BS you old-timers" I'd think, as I'd drive myself crazy trying to solve the problem of the day all at once. In reality, living one day at a time is a huge spiritual discipline. Obviously, we really can only live in this one day, but man, oh man can my mind jump to the future, to no avail, whether that is the big "F" future, as in anticipation of health or illness, or the smaller "f' concerns of getting to the grocery store during a sale. One day at a time, one task at a time, one decision at a time. 

The good news is that I've gravitated to meetings, mostly online, with others who feel about program like I do - that it is a way of life, not a destination to check off. To me, recovery is like a second language - if I don't use it, I lose it. I know that people practice the principles in many different ways, especially as time goes on, but for me, "Don't drink and go to meetings" still works.  

It was literally one year ago that I received a diagnosis of breast cancer, during a snowstorm, internal knowing all would be well going to battle with a slew of fears. And here I am today, healthy and healing. I think of all the other times I thought life was over, or questioned my ability to survive - my father dying, way too young at 56, several relationship endings (always a challenge), a couple of job lay-offs or leaving a job without another in place... Life works out, and I've ALWAYS been able to walk through the fear, the sorrow, the sadness, at least partly because I now have past experience to draw from, and because I have your experience, strength and hope to guide me.

Several sponsees are going through the wringer lately. Sometimes I can share my experience, strength and hope and sometimes I can simply be a compassionate, listening heart. I remember the panic when I was first asked to sponsor someone. I called a friend, with way more experience (as in 6 months more) than me. "What do I do?!" "It's simple," she replied. "You just nod your head and say 'uh-huh, tell me more'." Ha! Obviously there's a bit more to it than that, like the Steps for one thing, but the process isn't as complicated as I can make it. Sometimes my sponsors get me and sometimes they don't. Sometimes I relate to what is shared with me, sometimes I don't. The important piece is in the listening, or when I'm the one seeking guidance, in the telling. My disease of isolation can sometimes whisper that I don't need to call or text or email because, with X number of years, I know what to do. Sure. I usually know what to do, and, it is in the reaching out that healing occurs. I don't usually get my "ah-ha" moments in a vacuum. Those moments of insight nearly always come from something I've read, or something I've heard, whether in a meeting or in a conversation with a trusted other. 

In addition to my year cancer-versary, this week marks 38 years since I went to my first Alanon meeting, desperate for some magic words that would convince my drug-dealer, heroin addicted kinda-sorta boyfriend to get clean (even though I knew that's not how it worked). The disease got him, despite my attempts at both attraction and promotion, but as I sat in meetings, I realized that I'd been impacted by the family disease, even though my dad got sober when I was 12. I've shed a lot of tears in Alanon, seeking to unravel what I learned in my family and what needed to be unlearned. After many, many inventories and some years of outside help, today I'm able to reflect on the positives I got growing up instead of focusing on what was missing. I don't have active alcoholism in my life today (thank you Universe!) but I do carry around this brain that can still believe I'm in charge, that it's up to me to fix whatever is out of whack, that if I hang on real tight, everything will be ok. Everything is ok. Always has been, even when it felt otherwise. Thank you Alanon. 

How do you remember that everything is alright, even in the midst of turmoil? Do you sponsor and/or do you have a sponsor? Knowing that relationship looks different in long-term sobriety, what works for you, and as importantly, what doesn't? 

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Ready for an inventory or small group discussion? Check out my workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Be-ing vs do-ing

 In a recent Public Broadcasting documentary about the artist Edward Hopper, one of the historians said, "Some people are born as who they're meant to be," implying that he was on his trajectory from the gate. That stuck with me, thinking of all the times I've heard people in the rooms talk about how sobriety has allowed them to become who they were meant to be. What does that mean exactly? Was I not myself when drunk or sticking a needle in my arm, when the substance of the moment was making decisions for me? Like many of us, I grew up being told I had potential. Potential. What does that even mean?  Back then, potential and a few dollars would've bought me a pack of cigarettes and a drink. Potential. There's a lot of pressure in that one word.

Maybe that becoming who we were meant to be has to do with our goals and dreams. I never let myself dream much about the future, knowing my follow-through muscle was sorely lacking. I often go back to the great addiction movie, Boogie Nights, thinking of the two women sitting on the bed, coked to the gills, talking about all the things they planned to do, with the hideous hangover making even getting out of bed a chore. 

So, I kept my world pretty small. I say that, though traveling to faraway places with my boyfriend, but that's as far as it got - the next trip, where should we eat, dare I sneak a wee bit of cocaine in my luggage? But never any plans for myself. Sure, I thought about taking a class, and even did a couple of times, but my boyfriend's schedule took priority. I'm not complaining - it was an exciting time in many ways, and we genuinely cared for each other, but as far as me being me - I didn't even know what that meant.

When I was married to my first husband, in my early twenties, I had a daydream about living on my own, going to college, growing tomatoes in my garden and having friends who were mine, not just because their mates were friends with my spouse. Very simple, and a little sad to think that was all I wanted. And then, a few years into recovery, I realized that I had it. I was going to school, had a group of new friends, and tomatoes in the yard. What else might I achieve if I but dreamed it? For me that meant working in treatment, visiting the Great Wall of China, earning a couple of degrees, running marathons. The Big Book tells me that my wants might not always be granted, but my needs always will. I can say that for me, it's been both, maybe because, over time, my wants have come into line with my needs - still fairly simple, and simpler as time goes on.

What does all that mean today, aging in long term recovery? Way less about achieving and more about being present. I always liked the sound of "I'm a human be-ing, not a human do-ing" and as time goes on, that makes more and more sense. Paying sweet attention to relationships as I bear witness to the fragility of this life; paying attention to the beauty all around me (and seeking that out if there is too much concrete in my days); paying attention to my spiritual practice as I heed the old-timers who came before me saying "The solution to all my problems is spiritual in nature," (recognizing that 99% of my "problems" are mere annoyances).

And so, one day at a time, I will reflect on the "me" I was meant to be to see if there are any remaining gaps. I will pay attention to my surroundings as spring blossoms appear. I will value dear friends and family, even those who's worldviews are different from my own. I will use the slogan, "How Important is It?" to clarify what does and doesn't matter. And, I will plant tomatoes when the time is right.

Do you feel like you've become who you were meant to be? What dreams did you have coming in to recovery? Have you achieved those and/or readjusted? Where are you on the continuum of reaching for achievement and relaxing into what is? What is it you most appreciate today?

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Ready for an inventory or small group discussion? Check out my workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Acceptance / Surrender

 An out-of-town family member is in poor health, which raises the question of whether to get on a plane, now or later. It is so easy to move along in life thinking that things will always stay the same. We'll fly to visit twice a year, staying in "our" room, walking to our home-away-from-home group. We might, in passing, acknowledge that no one lives forever, but that isn't our reality, until it is.

Like with my sister-in-law's dementia. She's been in her adult foster home for a number of months now, and does still recognize my brother when he visits several times a week. What a sad thing, to see the one you love fade away. And how terrible to understand that you are the one fading. I suppose at some point, one doesn't know what they don't know, but the initial stages must be devastating.

And, if you're in long-term recovery, by now you've surely lost someone, or several someones, to the disease, to sudden death or a lingering illness, to Alzheimer's or other cognitive decline. One of the developmental tasks of later adulthood is getting comfortable with grief. Comfortable? Maybe more like familiar - familiar as a snarling dog I sometimes pass on my daily walks. I know it will be there, but I still jump when he barks.

A magazine article on change quoted Sylvia Boorstein as saying, "We can struggle or we can surrender...Surrender means wisely accommodating ourselves to what is beyond our control. Getting old, getting sick, dying, losing what is dear to us...is beyond our control. I can either be frightened of life and mad at life - or not."

And therein lies the struggle - right there in the "or not." When a neighbor and I walk together, we'll generally say "hello" or "good morning" to those we pass. We've learned to say, "Or not," when the person, earbuds or no earbuds, ignores our greeting. Or not. We're having a nice walk and can look at the non-reply(s) with humor. 

Can I take that "or not" energy into the rest of my world? A counselor in treatment, in response to the drama of the day, always said, "Oh well." "Oh well," shorthand for surrender to what is, which makes me think of the people I've met through my volunteer gig driving cancer patients to their treatment. To a person, with only one exception, the folks I've interacted with have been cheerful, grateful for another day, appreciative of the small things. 

I remember that feeling in brand-new recovery - the pink cloud of amazement that the sun came up, the flowers bloomed, that I hadn't stuck my head in the toilet the night before. I get glimpses of that sense of wonder, a mere wisp of awe as I look at clouds in the sky (and not just the taillights of the car in front of me). I can talk about mindfulness, but how does one actually pay attention to the little miracles in the everyday? (as I wrote in the Now What? workbook, is "'Expect a Miracle" only for newcomers?) I suppose it has to do with intention, about paying attention, about the infamous pause.   

I am a journaler (no surprise) and in reviewing several past years, I see the theme of the same few character aspects. So, how do I move from "woe is me" to "oh well," from whining to turning it over? I think of the fine line between acceptance and surrender, which are maybe just different sides of the same coin. If I could've changed myself, I would've. I've run marathons and gone to grad school while working full time. I can do hard things. And....apparently I'm not entirely willing to be restored to sanity in all areas. Stubbornness? Lazy? Thinking I can be in control of the continuum of helpful to hurtful if I just try hard enough?

I keep coming back to this theme of persistently troubling characteristics, but isn't that what long term recovery is about, honing in on what persists? I don't know anyone who's yet achieved sainthood - we just keep suiting up and showing up. Perhaps when I can truly view my characteristics as old friends, we can work together, or not. 

How has life on life's terms contributed to who you are today? What program tools do you reach for when you find yourself struggling with what is? How does self-acceptance play into how you work Steps 6 and 7?

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Thinking of a new year's inventory or small group discussion? Check out my workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Step Two, etc

 And here it is, February, time to focus on Step Two, being restored to sanity. Actually, Step Two is about believing I can be restored. It was pointed out to me that the line, "For by this time sanity will have returned," isn't until the discussion of Step Ten. 

I'll buy that. Despite coming to believe, I was all kinds of insane in the early days and years, mostly around confusion about what I could and couldn't control, which is what still gets me! When working Step Two today, I take a look at how insanity is showing up, as well as asking what would sane behavior or thoughts look like?  And I was taught that talking with another program person about what's going on in my head is a form of Step Two, the Power Greater being exposing whatever it is to the light of day and of reason.

I recently unearthed a magazine from January 2023 that had gotten buried (me who vowed to never give up print journalism now routinely reads newspapers and newsletters online). An article in this new year edition asked a series of questions, some silly and some thought provoking. Oh, how I loved a magazine quiz or questionnaire when I was growing up, those that purported to give insight into one's personality or the future. In retrospect, I see that I was hungry for guidance, for direction, even if from the Ladie's Home Journal. We weren't a church family, I didn't belong to any clubs or anything that would've provided the structure I unconsciously craved, which lead me to permanently borrowing (i.e. stealing) a book from our grade school library called, "Put Your Best Foot Forward," chock full of advice on skin care, wardrobe and how to talk to boys. It was dated by the time I discovered it buried on a shelf, but was my bible for a couple of years. 

I remember feeling so very grateful when I first saw the twelve Steps. OK, grateful and a little apprehensive - I need to do what?? But deep inside I felt the exhale of "Ahhhh, this is what I've been looking for my entire life."  Funny how so much of recovery has been like that - finding something, whether a truth about life or about myself, that I didn't even know I was seeking. But I guess that's how it is with the "ah-ha" moments - I can't force the awakening or surrender, but I can do my best to stay open, one day at a time.

I got to spend time with a dear friend this weekend, a friend since treatment over 38 years ago. As another long-term friend pointed out, we are very fortunate in that we were able to stay sober, and how that lead to staying connected. I live in the town where I hit bottom and have spent my recovery, so perhaps I'm more inclined to connections over time, but part of it is intention. Intention, and picking up the phone for a call or text check-in, at least some contact over the year, though with good, old friends, we can pick up where we left off, no matter how much time has passed. I appreciate shared history, especially as I get older in both recovery and years on the planet. Fortunate indeed.

How do you know when you're crossing the line towards insane behavior or attitudes? Who do you talk with to get back on the beam? How have you incorporated the Steps into how you face the world (and yourself)? Is there a friend you might want to reach out to this week?

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Thinking of a new year's inventory or small group discussion? Check out my workbook "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th