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.