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.