Transitions

 I'm thinking this week about the cycle of life as one friend marks the anniversary of her husband's passing, another hits a sobriety milestone, and yet another says goodbye to a beloved four-legged family member. We spent time with family over a long weekend visit - the patriarch, a frail 95 years old and the youngest in first grade. Watching the three cousins frolic on the beach, I was reminded that some of my happiest memories are of times on the beach with my own cousins, shrieking and jumping and trying to dig our way to the other side of the world. That sometimes seems like only yesterday, and other times like a hazy dream. 

I suppose I'm in the autumn of my life, not quite ready to claim winter, though probably getting close. Years ago, I read a lovely poem where the author wrote with melancholy about spring, knowing that each rotation of the earth brought him closer to his final spring. Not exactly the same, but I do remember during my last year working, thinking, "Oh, this is the last time I'll have to cover during a snowstorm," or "This is the last person I'll hire and train," and then the very final, " This is my last drive to work." A friend who is older than I often points out that life becomes a series of "lasts" - last hike, last making love, last walk, last garden. Maybe, for many, that comes gradually, so gradual that it isn't fully noticed except in retrospect. More reason to pay attention, to big events and small.

On another note, sometimes when I leave my gym, I see a person or two waiting for the pot shop to open, sunglasses on perhaps, even though it is gray morning, sitting in their vehicle or on the nearby apartment steps. I have to laugh with friends - back in our day, we had to sneak around to buy marijuana, from the creepy guy in the park, or the fellows in the corner of the school cafeteria. The times, they have changed, though I do remember sitting in the grocery store parking lot, having been up all night, waiting for 7am to buy more beer, so not much different than those waiting for their pot. I don't know that it still happens, being way too old and very sober, but upon turning 21, we applied for an ID card from the Oregon Liquor Control Commission (OLCC) that was our passport to legal drinking. I hadn't yet learned to drive when I got mine, but I'd certainly learned how to drink, or should I say, knew how to get drunk. 

Rites of passage, initially marking one's expansion in the world (school, driver's license, legal drink, career, maybe children) and at this stage, more of a contraction. Retirement could be either - the ending of one phase and the beginning of another. I'm now convinced that life is a series of transitions - youth to old age, work life to retirement, shifting goals and priorities, knowing that at least some of which lies ahead involves loss. 

But what lies ahead also involves love and laughter. On our visit to family, we also got to spend time with our home-away-from home group family, hitting an AM meeting with coffee after, then crossing a bridge to a nooner and lunch with more friends. It is great seeing people outside the tiny zoom squares, sharing an actual hug, looking each other in the eye to say, "I'm so glad to see you." 

And the beat goes on. If aging is truly a series of "lasts," how will you celebrate and make note of all that is real and good today? What rites of passage lie ahead for you? How do you stay in the moment, while remaining aware of inevitable transitions?

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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.

Connection

 I have been absolutely filled with gratitude, that heart-swell of positive emotion, having recently been in meetings with those celebrating 13, 22 and 44 years of recovery. At 39, I feel solid in my sobriety, and fortunate to have found my people, my people who are as committed to this way of life as I am. As I sometimes think, it could've gone either way. With the memory of a few people from my treatment days, who felt like they already had one foot out the door mere weeks later, I am grateful that my antennae of discernment pointed me towards those actually working the program. sometimes with grace, sometimes stumbling along..

In those early months, I "connected" so to speak, with a fellow peer. On our second date(ish), I realized he'd started smoking pot. As we drove towards aftercare, I chastised him (ha - no Alanon in the picture yet) telling him he needed to go to meetings, like we'd been taught. "I'm not like you, Jeanine," he countered. My reply was, "I'm not like me either!" I was never a joiner, was introverted and painfully self-conscious, but I bought it when they said, "There are two times to go to a meeting - when you want to and when you don't." No one asked whether I felt like it or not. If I wanted to stay sober, if I wanted to stay alive, I'd follow directions, however awkward that felt. I still follow those directions that are, by this time, seared into my DNA. I don't need three meetings a day anymore (though may get that on a visit coming up that includes visit with friends at different groups), but I do need to stay connected, whether meetings, conversations, emails or walks.

Speaking of Alanon, this past week marks 39 years since my first meeting. There were times I used Alanon for crisis management only, but life, and my feelings about it, seem to flow smoother when I stay connected. While I do sometimes succumb to the "co-dependent crazies," I am definitely not the same person as when I waited at the window for my heroin-addicted lover to come home (with my car), or begged HP, on my knees, for his sobriety that didn't happen. The Alanon journey was a painful one, and can still sometimes be uncomfortable when I catch myself in control mode. One day at a time, I am grateful (there's that word again) to have found my way to the rooms. I used to cringe at the "double-winner" label, thinking, "More like double-loser!" I much prefer the term, "dual-member." Also, many Alanons talk about their "qualifier," the person who's alcoholism qualifies them for Tradition 3, but recently I've heard the term "motivator," which feels both more accurate and gentler.

I'm in the planning stages of a grand adventure in a couple of months, see-sawing between my usual travel fears and excitements. In thinking of Step 2 in Feb, I realized that my insanity these days comes from the very old idea that I'm supposed to "figure it out," that I'm meant to have all the answers. And with Step 3, the reminder that one of my isms is the fear that if I don't know exactly what's next I can't be safe. Au contraire. I'm not going to Outer Mongolia or the Amazon jungles (and even if I were, I'd likely be ok.) 

I used to ask myself on the way to work each morning, "I wonder how my plans will get disrupted today?" knowing something nearly always happened that was out of my control. That applies to vacations, trips to the grocery store, plans with a friend, and yes, grand adventures. In the meantime, on my Monday walk I ran into a couple I used to spend time in meetings with, had a conversation at the gym with a woman I recognized from local government, and sent a text to someone I haven't seen in quite awhile (I'm learning to follow the hunch or urge - if I think of someone, go ahead and reach out). If I tell myself that connections are important, it behooves me to pay attention to where that shows up, like a phone call from someone up north who wanted to purchase some of the Now What workbooks, or another woman at my gym who's been on the adventure I'm planning. It's about the people, sharing a smile or like with the greeter at the grocery store, funny stories about this neighborhood we grew up in. Love is all around. All I need to do is notice.

Where do you feel gratitude today, despite what can feel like a very crazy world? What do you do when fears, old or new, show up? Staying in the moment, are you able to notice love, even if it looks like something else?

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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.