When the past reaches out

 My formula for living is quite simple. I get up in the morning and I go to bed at night. In between I occupy myself as best I can.       ~Cary Grant

The above quote from one of my daily readers cracked me up this week, on the heels of a conversation with someone about my often being busy, occupied, in motion. What I would say is that it works for me, and that one of the gifts of recovery really has been the discovery piece of what I do like, how I best operate in the world, etc. Especially in my working days, my motto was "I'd rather be busy than bored," which still generally holds true. And what I would say is that I don't usually post about the times I'm sitting on the couch playing along with Jeopardy on TV, or taking my mid-day nap, so I may not actually be as "busy" as I appear at first glance. I do prefer being engaged. How I remember the months and months with a blank calendar as my world shrunk. Kitchen fridge for a beer, bathroom to shoot up, bedroom to feel safe when the paranoia hit. Life is better now.

One of the things I do is related to my involvement with a local women's running and walking group. We had our first session of the season this past weekend, and as the fates would have it, the newbie I walked alongside shared that she'd just been diagnosed with breast cancer. Talk about being in the right place at the right time! I was able to tell her my experience, as well as offer some reassurance. Higher Powers in the house! The piece of how our experience can benefit others can come both in and out of the rooms.

Over the weekend, a small group went to a 1972 Sing-along at a nearby venue. It was hilarious, with 90% of the attendees in our age range, not really needing the posted lyrics. I'm not a great singer, but I can carry a tune, and there was definitely something nurturing and cathartic about singing at the top of my lungs with a hundred other people, many dressed in tie-die or sequins or fringed vests. Probably like most generations, I'm glad to have grown up when I did. It is reassuring to find community, in sometimes unexpected places.

My dad, who's been gone since 1980, was in my heart this week when I found myself crying as I drove away from the grocery store, missing him and all the conversations we didn't get to have. These days I don't have to dissect the "why" of my feelings - I can acknowledge the sadness and longing, and be grateful that his memory still reaches out. What I can do is be mindful of self-forgiveness for all the years that my work on causes and conditions focused on what was missing. Was I impacted by how his alcoholism affected the family? Yes, and... he was more than an alcoholic. He sobered up the year I started drinking, and I was well into my own disease when he died. I'd give anything to be able to talk with him as a sober adult, but that's not how it works. Instead, I can forgive us both, holding our unskilled communication efforts gently.

 The beat goes on. Spring follows winter, and we're seeing glimmers here in Portland with crocus and hellebore in bloom. One day at a time, I know what I need to know when I need to know it, whether that is related to current situations or my relationship with my past.

How have the self-awareness gifts of recovery shown you who you are? Has any of that changed over time? What about how your experience(s) can benefit others? Where does that show up in your life? Are there past relationships or situations that continue to be your teachers? Where might you further the gentle task of self-forgiveness?

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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.

Ups and downs

 Ah shoot. I just learned that one of my regular cancer ridergs passed away last weekend. I'd driven her to chemo and radiation appointments for over a year, always impressed by her positive nature and good humor. This week, her son let me know she'd died, in response to my texts attempting to verify this week's ride. Damn it.

I was new-ish to the volunteer position when I started driving Karen E. Usually, the few folks I'd taken to and from appointments shared their excitement at having just two more sessions to go, or three, or today is the last one! I made the rookie mistake of asking Karen how many she had left and she said, "As long as it keeps working. I'm terminal." Man. What do you say to that? Not much. So over the next year, she moved, we drove through the beginning of a snowstorm, and once google maps took us on a convoluted trek through narrow streets in an effort to save five minutes. We laughed together, and talked about the weather, with her sharing bits about living in other places. A couple of months ago, she dropped off the radar. Since she'd shared that the cancer had moved to her brain, I sadly figured she'd moved on to hospice care, but then, her name popped up again and I grabbed the ride. And now she's gone. 

We weren't friends, I didn't know her well, though met her quiet sister who'd help get Karen's walker into the trunk of my car when she couldn't walk safely on her own anymore and have now shared several texts with her son. I'm not surprised that she's gone, not particularly grieving, and yet, there is an empty space. She was a trooper, a good example of carrying on, as well as a reminder that death is inevitable. Sometimes we see it coming and sometimes we don't. 

I'm thinking of all those who come into our lives, into my life (and me into theirs) - those superficial relationships that might be regular but not deep - the barista or the cashier at the grocery store who's line I try to get in, the front desk person at my gym who I see several mornings a week, those neighbors  I share a "Good morning!" with on my walks, and yes, those I drive to their cancer treatment. Superficial connections, but meaningful in their consistency. There used to be a fellow I'd see walking around a nearby park, looking like perhaps he'd had a stoke somewhere along the line. I chatted with him one day, learning he was a veteran, though we didn't get into the source of his shuffle. He was out there nearly every day and then he wasn't. I didn't know him, but I notice that he isn't there anymore. And the beat goes on. 

On Valentine's Day, my spouse said, "Hey, shall we go to the Beacon Group? Today's Step is 4/5 Fear and Sex?" (they do 4/5 resentments separately). I don't usually do morning meetings, but said, "OK" since we were two days into a snow event and I wasn't going out for my usual walk. So I log on, literally three minutes before the start, only to hear that the speaker had a last-minute conflict and couldn't be there, so could someone fill in, like maybe Jeanine?  

I gulped my coffee and said "yes" to this semi-reasonable request (ha ha). Fortunately for me and those listening, this is my area. Relationships are, or rather, have been, my number one offender, the place where I struggled over the years to unravel the effects of growing up with alcoholism, to understand the causes and conditions that had me looking for love in all the wrong places, to finally, finally surrender and get out of my own way. 

It was a small-ish group, mostly female, and I saw lots of head nodding as I described my lack of self worth, thinking I only mattered if "he" thought so. Those years of inventory and therapy and many, many meetings were painful, thinking "This time will be different!" only to eventually end up deciding that I'm just not meant for a long-term relationship. It really was only by leaving the ring that there was enough room to notice my husband when he showed up, totally outside my usual type. Funny how that works. Let go, they always said.  "Let go of what, and how???" I'd cry, never getting an answer that felt do-able.  

And that's the thing - I'm a do-er, task oriented, a concrete thinker. Sitting on a lily pad waiting for enlightenment doesn't work for me. So part of my process was writing a letter to Creator/HP/Universal Truth. I made a collage about the letting go process. I smudged and inventoried and used the Set Aside prayer. It wasn't magic and it wasn't automatic, but eventually, I was able to let go of hopes and dreams, expectations and old ideas, realizing that my life really was perfect just as it was. Perfect then, just about perfect now, once I let go of what I thought of as "happily ever after" on my terms.

And so, the beat does go on. Last week I wrote about visiting my sister-in-law in memory care. This week my brother thinks that might not be a great idea after all. She is still in that place where she knows she's losing her memory, so it might be upsetting if she doesn't recognize me. A delicate dilemma, and his decision, which could change along the way. 

Life on life's terms, as we weave in and out of each other's stories, sometimes long term, sometimes short, sometimes not even knowing each other's last names. An up and down week for me, with the person's death, our favorite neighbors moving, visiting with my brother, cooking our Thanksgiving turkey from the freezer, life on life's terms, big deals and those not so much. 

How has your week been? Big deals or little ones? Anything unexpected that turned out to be a positive? Who do you consider as community, some close and maybe some on the periphery? If a sponsee were to ask, "HOW do I let go?" how would you answer?

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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.

Emotion + Intellect

 I've mentioned here that I've been using the Daily Stoic, by R. Holiday and S. Hanselman, as one of my morning readers. Someone in a meeting today said that Bill W. was a follower of the Stoics. Google says "Not so," although there is nothing I'm reading that is at odds with program principles.

For example, Feb 5th is titled Steady your impulses, in other words, "think before you act," without allowing feeling and urges to make my decisions. There is a lot of emphasis in the program on feelings, and as I've heard, "Don't bother looking for your feelings - they'll find you!" Very true, along with the importance of that long journey from the head to the heart. However, we were taught in treatment all those years ago, that serenity is about balance. If I'm just operating on emotion, all sorts of impulsive decisions would be made (and have been). Conversely, just coming from what a sponsor calls our "top two inches" i.e. the brain, keeps me detached from my humanity.

Balance. Follow my heart, and check in with my intellect. Trust, but do the footwork. Years ago, an Arab friend shared the proverb, "Trust in God, but tie up your camel." Surrender plus appropriate action, holding still when indicated, but moving along when the path is clear.

I saw the oncologist for my two-year follow-up this week - all clear!. In my volunteer gig, I drive a couple of people who share the same physician, and who are either terminal or in a tougher place that I was. I've realized I carry a bit of survivor's guilt - so very grateful for my early detection journey, with just a hint of "why me?" Kind of like what I hear in meetings - why was I able to get sober and not them? Why indeed? Whenever I hear long-timers speak of higher power(s), someone inevitably talks about the mystery. If I could understand it all, I wouldn't need it. And I can turn gratitude into action, in the rooms and out.

I was talking on the phone with my former brother-in-law (who is still family in my book) earlier in the week and at one point he asked what I'd been doing that day. I had to ask myself, "What have I been doing??" The morning doctor appointment, ate breakfast and went for a four mile walk, did a crossword puzzle, spent a little time at my desk, got my husband off to his afternoon shift, ate lunch, took a nap, 20 minute phone calls with my actual brother and the brother-in-law, checked the weather app several times while watching hail fall from the sky, read some online news... and then it was just about time for dinner! Some days are fascinating and full of activity, and some days just are. I'm no longer beating myself up for a perceived lack of productivity, grateful that post-retirement expectations have caught up with reality.

I talked with my brother about going with him to visit his wife, in a memory care foster home for over a year now. I need to admit that a fair amount of avoidance, worry and selfishness has kept me away thus far, which all boils down to fear. I've dealt with folks in cognitive decline, both in a past job that include a geriatric psychiatric unit, as well as in real life, but not in someone so close. The worry is that my presence might be confusing. She generally knows who my brother is, and her daughter and best friend visit regularly (though the friend has to remind of who she is). Overall, it's self-centered fear - of the unknown, of discomfort.  And, she's my little brother's long-term wife. From what I understand, she is docile in her dementia, unlike another person I'm told has turned to anger and cussing. We just don't know - if we'll be struck with memory loss, and if so, if we'll be nice or mean. And, one day at a time, I know I can walk through any of it, whether my own aging process or someone else's illness. What I know to be true is that I'm not alone in this fear, whether it is friends whose parents or siblings, or perhaps themselves face this dark hallway.

Last night I had a drinking dream for the first time in ages. I was at some fancy hotel or resort, with a bowl of chips and a glass of Jack Daniels (which I've never even tasted). In the dream, I realized I hadn't needed to carry the glass upstairs, because there was a full wet bar in the room, followed by, "Oh my god - what have I done? I just celebrated 39 years sober and now I have to go home and raise my hand as under 30 days?!" In the dream, and after waking, I thought, "This is why people don't come back, or simply say 'F it'" out of embarrassment or shame or guilt. Fortunately it was just a dream, and a good reminder that the monkey who used to be on my back is still within my psyche. 

How do you stay aware of balancing emotion and intellect? What do you do when you sense the "should's" whispering in your ear? How might the inventory process help you understand your motives when you are avoiding a task or conversation?  When is the last time you had a drinking dream? What was the underlying message?

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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.

Thinking vs surrender

In a discussion of Step One, a friend noted that the admission of powerlessness is a gateway to wonder. What a beautiful image. For me, and perhaps most of us, getting to the point of admitting powerlessness is painful, usually involving hitting my head against the illusion of control, so to reimagine that pain as a portal might get me there sooner, or allow me to simply release the idea of needing to get anywhere!

These days my attempts at control can be subtle, like quietly thinking I have the answers or that I need to figure out someone else's solution - Alanon reminds me that making a suggestion more than once is an effort to have things go my way (Annie Lamott describes helping as the sunny side of control). And my stabs at control are often directed at myself, as in thinking I need to know the answer before I've even asked the question, insisting on my timing (now!) rather than trusting the process. And notice how "thinking" is involved in my gyrations. As I've long heard, I no longer have a drinking problem, but I definitely have a thinking problem.

I'd been feeling a bit off, a little flat, and after my own efforts at excavation kept me going in circles, phoned someone I'd consider a spiritual advisor. Once again, it was the act of asking, of reaching for the kit of spiritual tools referenced in the Big Book, that brought relief (along with the good, orderly direction provided by the friend). And, while I feel back on the beam related to my program, there is still a quiet whisper of, "Now what?" I love being retired, I enjoy my volunteer work with the Cancer Society and my seasonal elections gig, my meetings and related service, friend dates and travel plans, time with my dear spouse (who still works). Nothing is missing, per se, and...

I sometimes wonder if it is my creativity that needs attention, but then I wonder if that is a "should" rather than a "want to." Maybe it's merely the mid-winter doldrums when it's too cold (for me) to get into the woods or go for a bike ride. Maybe I need more friend-time, more time in stimulating conversation, more what, I don't know. And, just maybe I'm trying to think my way out of a spiritual dilemma. Maybe it's surrender to not knowing what's next that is the answer. Maybe Step Two, being restored to sanity, comes from talking with like-minded others, journaling, meditation, dropping the rock of wanting answers right now.

I go back to that list of questions I wrote near the end of the calendar year, especially: What truly matters to me, and how does my life reflect that? And along those lines, what makes my heart sing? What tips the internal joy-meter to the positive? I get a weekly email newsletter from Maria Shriver, and this week she referenced Ron Shaich, the founder of Panera Bread, who does a yearly "Pre-mortem" ritual, what we might consider an inventory, of whether intentions match actions, and how will I feel about how I spent my time on earth when the end is near? 

My brother, who is a bit of a curmudgeon (what he'd likely describe himself as a realist) recently commented on the nature of life - how so much of what we do in any given day or week is maintenance: laundry, groceries, feed the animal(s), feed oneself, sleep, rinse and repeat, fit in a couple of TV shows for entertainment, perhaps a walk or conversation, and start all over again the next day with a few vacations in the year, if we're lucky. Or as my favorite quote from Edna St. Vincent Millay says, "It is not true that life is one damn thing after another - it is one damn thing over and over." Frankly, I enjoy a bit of domesticity, stocking the pantry, making a meal to nourish our bodies and our souls, and... once again I ask, "Now what?"

My task is to pay attention, to both my still, small voice - that wisdom within - as well as to conversations and readings and what I hear in meetings. In the meantime, I'll wait for the snow that's been predicted for days now, and make a pot of soup. I'll feed the cats and hit a meeting, and make dinner for my working man. I will practice gratitude, and do my best to stay open to whatever guidance shows up. 

Correction: A friend reminded me that "If things were supposed to be any other way, they'd be different," did not come from one of our treatment counselors, but from a homeless fellow my friend saw in meetings during his first few months sober. I love how seemingly random statements or descriptions stay with me over the years, a good reminder that I never know how my own words may impact someone. Especially in the early days, I saw each meeting as a lifeline, hearing something I needed to keep me on the path for another day or another hour. I think of "my" old timers who were so important back then - Leonard C, Norm B, Ila and so many more. Again and again, grateful to be on this path with you, and with those who came before.

What are some recovery nuggets that you've carried with you over the years? What does surrender feel like to you today? Are there areas where you seek guidance, either from within or from a trusted other? If you took a spot-check pre-mortem inventory today, where are you satisfied and what might need some attention?

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Is it time for a new year inventory as we're into 2025?

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.