This week I joined a small group of grade school pals for our monthly coffee date. A few years ago, one of our group had the idea that she wanted to be like the old codgers she'd see at the diner, shooting the breeze, reminiscing, sharing life. It felt so very good to sit with those who've known me since I was nine years old, through thick and thin. I peeled off to my first husband when I was 15, so many memories are not specifically shared, but enough crossover to feel solid and important. And grateful to acknowledge that we're fortunate to be alive (three of us are sober, two others don't have the affliction, though partied hard back in the day). Solid relationships feel especially important these days.
I'm thinking a lot about connection, that feeling of belonging and of being heard and known. I see articles about the crisis of loneliness in our hyper-connected world, how the psuedo-connection of social media is a poor substitute for actual people. I think about my morning walks, which I've complained about before, where many folks I say "Good morning" to walk right by as if I didn't exist, earbuds or not. Is that a post-pandemic thing? I can't remember, but it troubles me. I know I don't live in Mayberry, but a simple acknowledgement that we each exist would be nice. And, truthfully, there are enough of the friendly sort, whether a nod or brief conversation, to keep my faith in humanity from tanking altogether.
And, loneliness is so very different from the quiet time I need to stay centered. The often quoted Marianne Moore writes that "The cure for loneliness is solitude." Yes. When I sit in silence, I'm better able to filter out the voices of doom and know that right here, right now, all is well.
That being said, I've heard that alcoholics are those who treat loneliness with isolation. Ha! We are a complicated lot. What can be a challenge for me is to be still long enough to know if I'm isolating or taking a necessary break from other humans, and as an introvert, that can sometimes be hard to parse out. But again and again, listen to my heart.
In a meeting last week, the chair spoke of walking the program vs working it, which can sound and feel like drudgery. Walking the program brings to mind the path, the skipping along or trudging uphill. Walking the program feels like participating, rather than working it, which like my walks and workouts are sometimes done through gritted teeth. Do I have to? No, but do you want to maintain or improve your health, dear? It's merely semantics, but even the slightest change in words, like how I do the 3rd step prayer, can make a difference in my perception and engagement. And staying engaged is what I seek in long term recovery. I pay attention in meetings, or to what catches my attention elsewhere, in the "take what you like and leave the rest" category. For example, many people start the day reading pages 86-88 in the Big Book, but I found myself glossing over before too long, words on the page registering while my mind went to the day's plans.
My first sponsor, who I've quoted before, often said, "You grow or you go." The "grow" might not be in leaps and bounds like earlier in recovery, but thank goodness for relative stability! And a huge "thank goodness" for my peers in long-term sobriety. Yes, I'm here for the newer person, and the reminder of "what it was like," and connecting with people who are walking beside me or slightly ahead is comforting.
Of course, there is always the "bleeding deacon" variety of long-timer. I sat next to a woman in a meeting once who whispered, "Do all old timers talk so much?!" when the fellow in question went on and on. It can be tempting to share every bit of what I've learned in 38 years in a 5 minute share, but really, was I listening back in the day? A good friend once said that after about four minutes, most people check out - a good reminder! Like when I went to my first AA dance and someone pointed out that most people in the room were self-centered alcoholics, thus not paying much attention to me. Alas - I am not the center of the universe, when dancing, or sharing in a meeting.
And so, the beat goes on. What is on your heart today? How do you discern the difference between loneliness and healing solitude? What do you do for people-connection when you're tempted to pull the covers over your head? How do you walk the program today?
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