I was very happy to hear that the person I wrote about last week kept an appointment with an outpatient treatment provider, and is feeling a sense of relief. Such good news, and hopeful for the different options available. I often remember to be grateful that I got sober when I did, not having to face ice baths, asylums, or a lobotomy as a "cure." In the mid-1960's, my dad underwent shock treatment, with the erroneous thinking that if his depression was dealt with, he'd stop drinking. Funny enough (not actually funny), it was the opposite. When he quit drinking, his depression lifted. We haven't heard anything more from our friend, so they've either stopped drinking or not. What I've long been told is, "where there's life, there's hope." They know where we are, and who we are, so we can await their questions.
From personal experience, I do know there is something magical in picking up the phone, whether it's to make an appointment with a therapist, or talk with a friend or sponsor. It's that internal surrender, even if I haven't yet spoken it aloud, that triggers the cosmic exhale of dropping the rock of "figure it out," "I've got this," "I should be able to fix this myself." Asking for help is still not my initial reaction, but such a relief when I do.
I'm reading a rather dense book, A World Lit Only by Fire - the Medieval Mind and the Renaissance, by William Manchester - interesting to imagine difficult life in Europe in the Dark Ages. In discussing the hindsight signs that changes (the Renaissance) were ahead, when people had no frame of reference for the future. Manchester says, "Like all people at all times, they were confronted each day by the present, which always arrives in a promiscuous rush, with the significant, the trivial, the profound and the fatuous all tangled together" (p. 26). What a good reminder! In the space of a couple of hours, I can be visited by grief, hilarity, and depth. While my friend is confronting the realities of drinking too much, another is celebrating a clean bill of health, while yet another is awaiting a pathology report. Another friend is again counting days, while another is mourning the death of a long-time pet. I can picture a friend in Ireland doing yoga in the living room while I'm fast asleep, or another in Pakistan making a cup of tea while I'm living the details of my daily life. Simultaneous and parallel lives, intertwining or on different tracks all together.
In the simultaneous lives department, I had a procedure this week - a basal cell carcinoma removed from my forehead. Not fun, but the milder form of skin cancer, and I've had several of the same surgeries, so wasn't worried. While sitting in the designated area awaiting the pathology report, I was struck by the temporary community gathered in that room - 9 or 10 oldsters, bandages on noses or chins (or foreheads), initially silent, but venturing into conversation as the morning wore on, snacks coming out, a few naps. And then, we all went our separate ways, unlike the community of shared histories we find in 12 Step programs. Classrooms, workplaces, various waiting rooms for car maintenance or medical stuff contain the framework of being "in this together," but not the deeper bond of shared pain, history and joy that we have in AA/Alanon. When entering a waiting room, for instance, I do a scan, noticing who's talking, who's not, and generally, will dive into the book I've brought along. When walking into a meeting just about anywhere, I have an almost immediate sense of belonging and of being welcomed, even if only with a smile or an invitation to take the empty seat.
My step-pop's brother, aged 95, died on the 6th, though I just found out - he lived out of state, and the nephew designated to let me know, didn't. This faux-uncle was a really good guy, sweet, funny, and kind. He was a talker, boy howdy, so I only phoned when I had thirty or more minutes to spare, but what's half an hour? I'm reminded of something my instructor said years ago when I first started working in treatment and had deadlines to get X number of intakes done in a day. She gently reminded me, "You may have six more assignments to get through, but this is likely the only thing the person sitting in front of you has to do, and may very well be the first time they've done this." In other words, slow your roll, Jeanine. Being task-oriented is great, but that can be tempered with people-orientation. My Elections supervisor always reminds us, "You are made of time," when we go out to assist a voter.
You are made of time. An odd saying particular to this boss, but something I can absorb. I often have an agenda, a schedule, and... save plane boarding, a ticketed performance, or an appointment, most of what I do on any given day can be adjusted. I have preferences - walking early, after my first cup of tea for example - but I'm also perfectly capable of walking after breakfast or lunch. Good for me to remember when I get into "This is how it should be" mode (beware the lurking "should").
And so, here in the US, a national election looms as I try to be mindful of balance, that desire to stay informed without becoming obsessed with the rollercoaster of polling data. Like the early AA's who went off to war and kept their sobriety, my challenge is to keep spiritual principles at the forefront, knowing I have the tools to deal with whatever comes down the pike. A quote I jotted down from a meeting share - Don't ask for guidance but ask to be open to guidance. I have particular outcomes I'd like to see, would like skywriting telling me what to do if A, B or C occurs, and... I can remember this one-day-at-a-time business. Right here, right now, all is well. As a counselor reminded us, way back in early 1986, I've had enough to eat today and I know where I'll be sleeping tonight, and in that, I am fortunate indeed. So, turn off the TV, go for a walk, look up at the sky, and remember what matters, which today is peace of mind.
Is there anything in your life that might benefit from asking for help, personally or professionally? What emotions and situations are visiting this week, not always one at a time? How do you balance tasks with relationships, relaxation or spiritual connections? How do you detach from world events while staying appropriately engaged in this human life?
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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or hard copy mailed to you). Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. And a reminder that the workbook, is available at the Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th. for local folks.
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