tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32909021241158920532024-03-27T08:39:50.677-07:00Sober Long Time - Now What?Exploring the intricacies of long term sobriety.Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.comBlogger423125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-21094525373021559812024-03-27T08:28:00.000-07:002024-03-27T08:39:20.180-07:00Connections<p> I'm thinking about connections this week, the gift of our shared histories and recoveries - like Dr Bob said after meeting Bill that first time, "He talked my language." How many times have I heard a complete stranger say what I'm feeling? How many times does someone share something that lights a flame in me, or triggers an insight? </p><p>A good friend and her husband are moving out of state. I say "good friend" though this isn't someone I've hung out with all that much. But we've been in various Step Groups together over the years, have socialized, and have shared many, many meetings together, and deep conversations - that intimacy we can have in Program where we weave in and out of each other's lives. Connections.</p><p>I'm also thinking of a small group that meets online every 2 weeks, starting for a good friend's 30th anniversary during the pandemic. The wonders of technology let us stay connected from multiple cities across the country, where if left to our own devices, we might see each other once a year. Connections.</p><p>The Big Book says "We are normally people who would not mix." What I like to say in response to that is, "I would've drank with any of you," and we might've been best friends by the end of the evening, or the end of the bottle or bag. I still cringe when I think of my ex and I getting chummy with the out-of-town band at one of our local spots, inviting them over the next night to party Portland-style. Oh man, did the next morning's hangover have us saying, "What did we do?" followed by a phone call to back out of our offer. Embarrassing, but we knew we'd never see these people again, so what the heck. I/we had lots of grand plans in those days - the brilliant ideas of the sitting-on-the-barstool variety that never, ever came to pass. I am still and always grateful to wake up clear headed each morning, remembering what I did the day before and with whom. </p><p>My spouse and I made it through the big rummage sale this past weekend, a little bit richer, a little less in the garage, sharing laughter along the way. Knowing it could be a dicey time, we started each morning with the Serenity Prayer and our intention to go with the flow. Interesting, isn't it, to actually talk about what is, or might be, going on rather than relying on mind reading? Ha! I will also say that being in recovery has taught me how to comfortably talk with strangers, thus I made a couple of sale-pals as we counted down the hours. I also paid attention to the still, small voice that was not so still and not so small when it shouted, "Get out of here!" on Sunday. Because a friend was there to help out, I was able to take an introvert's break, catch the bus home for a quiet couple of hours, and return refreshed and ready to load out when the time came. Thank you, Program tools. Thank you "to thine own self be true." Sometimes the connection is with myself. </p><p>What are the connections that feed you today, whether particular meetings or particular people? How do you honor the connection to your higher self when the busy world wants to distract you? Is there a potential disruption to your path that could be averted with a conversation?</p><p>* * *</p><p>Ready for an inventory or small group discussion? Check out my workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b>with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p><p><br /></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-79814739716375640062024-03-20T10:41:00.000-07:002024-03-20T10:41:35.848-07:00Centered...<p> In a meeting last week, someone pointed out that they would never have imagined the life they have today. I was verklempt as I realized that yes, my life is wonderful, <i>and </i>it <i>is</i> the life I'd always imagined for myself - simple and solid, centered on home and relationships.</p><p>I've written about that before, how when I was married to my first husband (way too young) I'd imagine what life could be like. And then, in a long-term relationship with a man who traveled extensively for work, I longed for what I thought of as normalcy - a mate who comes home at night to a casserole in the oven, simple and solid. It took a long time, even in to sobriety, to realize that never could've happened given the circumstances. </p><p>Part of my unconscious dilemma of being able to acknowledge what it was I wanted in life is that I didn't even know who I was. I was unsettled, but from what? Starting to drink and drug at age 13, my sense of self was defined by whoever I was with at the moment. Sure, my core personality (very shy and introverted until that 3rd drink) was there, but I would've had a hard time describing myself. Getting sober at 31gave me the opportunity to grow up, to define what it was/is that matters to me, learning to listen to the still, small voice.</p><p>Richard Rohr, in his post from March 15, says, "We do not find our center; it finds us." Ahh, that feels like a relief, an exhale. Now that I do know who I am, I don't have to search under rocks, try, try, try to "find" peace of mind. If I'm not careful, that sense of center will fly right by when I'm distracted by the issue of the day - last week it was a flat tire, this week it's preparing for the big rummage sale, next week it could be just about anything. I need to handle the affairs of the day while still leaving space for the mystery, to metaphorically or actually smell the flowers.</p><p>When my spouse came home from work after my emotional reaction to the idea of living the life I'd always wanted, I started to literally weep as I expressed my gratitude, which was also attached to the year anniversary of my surgery. I've since heard from a couple of people that those anniversaries of diagnosis or treatment continue to be a touchpoint, even years after the fact. Just one more reason I appreciate your experience, strength and hope, guiding me along places I hadn't even known I was going.</p><p>One of my daily readers says, "I can live spiritually in the simple acts of daily living." I need that reminder as we mark the Equinox, sometimes, still, thinking that "spirit" is out there in the forest or a bed of daffodils, when, really, the spiritual life is in the flat tire or doing the dishes as well. Quiet moments in nature are wonderful, <i>and </i>I spend most of my days in the kitchen or in the car. How do I bring my focus back to the bigger picture? </p><p>Back in the day, did you have a vision for how life might be in the nebulous "someday?" How does that imagining compare to how your life looks today? How does your sense of self contrast with how you were in the world before recovery? With the earth in brief balance between light and dark, how do you re-center if you're feeling off?</p><p>* * *</p><p>Ready for an inventory or small group discussion? Check out my workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b>with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-7523688576392377482024-03-13T10:33:00.000-07:002024-03-13T10:40:46.089-07:00Acceptance<p> We made a quick trip this past weekend to visit the in-laws, always a joy, especially seeing the little ones grow up in just the short time since our last visit, as well as being able to share and express love with my husband's elderly and ailing (though healing remarkably) step-dad. These connections are precious. I am so grateful to be a part of the family.</p><p>Always, one of the highlights of our visits is seeing our AA family, attending our home-away-from-home group with a laughter-filled coffee date after. Again, precious connections over time and space.</p><p>The speaker-discussion meeting we attended provided much food for thought with the speaker talking about the inner peace that comes when we can accept all of life as being what it is. As he described it, we often start out focused on school, career, partnership, etc, but that true serenity comes when we understand that we are OK, regardless of what is going on in our world. As the Big Book says, "job or no job, wife or no wife." I won't find inner peace as long as I attached my mood to my outer circumstances. OK, so obviously, I'm impacted by what is happening to and around me, <i>and </i>if I'm able to take a step back, I know I'm ok no matter what. </p><p>That seems particularly relevant today, literally one year from my surgery for breast cancer. Oh man, I was scared, never having had surgery before, wavering between trust and fear. At the time, my sponsor encouraged me to go into the process with curiosity, an "Isn't this interesting?" mind set. That was helpful and brought me back to the here and now several times. A good reminder, still, as I think about the disruption to my routines that felt like forever. And, here we are, a year later and all is well. (I knew it was time to discontinue physical therapy when I realized it didn't hurt when someone hugged me).</p><p>I did send a "thank you" message to the cancer counselor who helped me walk through the scary days, including giving me "permission" to be freaked out, even though my situation was fairly straightforward. I can still tell myself that I shouldn't be feeling what I feel, since so many others have it worse. True, and it is more helpful to acknowledge my emotions and let them pass through than to scold myself.</p><p>Being a union household, we generally take a cab to the airport, and I'm always curious about where the drivers come from. One of the trips this week was with a man from Ethiopia, who described tribal conflicts that prompted his father to immigrate. We made a comment about things in the US being in a bit of a state at the moment, to which he just chuckled, saying he was grateful that here one can express an opinion without worrying about being turned in by the neighbors and being carted away in the night. I can complain about our national dysfunction and am reminded that other places do not have the freedoms we do. The question to myself is always, "Am I part of the problem or part of the solution?"</p><p>Both the in-person meeting last Friday, and a regular zoom group last week, touched on the idea of actually practicing the principles vs dialing it in, along with the importance of being honest with oneself. On one hand, I no longer view myself as broken, as needing to be fixed, and, I am aware of the human tendency at rationalization. Let me be honest, with you and with me, aware of when I'm simply going through the motions and when I'm truly connected to my heart, and to yours.</p><p>Where are you on the acceptance continuum today? How do you detach from people, places and things in order to dwell in serenity? What in your past serves as a reminder that all is well, even when it doesn't feel good in the moment? How are you part of the solution today?</p><p>* * *</p><p>Ready for an inventory or small group discussion? Check out my workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b>with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-20671966013475871282024-03-06T09:43:00.000-08:002024-03-06T09:43:05.942-08:00Live your best life<p> The likely grandchild of "Have a nice day" and "Don't worry, be happy," the current T-shirt, coffee mug and bumper sticker adage of "Live your best life!" can either make me pause, gag, or smile, depending on my mood. </p><p>Currently, I have friends who are traveling in Southeast Asia and in Qatar, others who are snow-birding here in the States. A couple of friends go out dancing two or three times a week, while others are active in their grandchildren's lives. Some of my friends live near the sea and others are in big cities, hundreds of miles from where they were raised. Some are happy, some are so-so, and what I realize as I think of how others are living their lives, is that comparison is the enemy of serenity. Sometimes, my best life means getting on an airplane or behind the wheel, and sometimes it means staying up to watch a silly sitcom with my working man who got home late. Sometimes sitting on my couch with a cuppa on a cold, rainy day is heaven, and sometimes it's not. And as I'm forever reminded, "This too, shall pass," whether that is joy or sorrow, boredom or excitement. </p><p>Speaking of de-cluttering (ha!), my spouse and I are getting ready for a big sale at the end of March - one of those events where one buys space, then crosses our fingers that we at least make back the investment. Hard to say at this point, and all dependent on who shows up wanting what. I think of all my mother's tchotchkes and Avon stuff (she was the neighborhood Avon Lady for decades). She, and we, thought we were sitting on a gold mine, and had we tried to sell ten years earlier, that might've been true. It will be what it will be - some books, some music, some t-shirts and miscellany, hauling it in and hopefully hauling less back home.</p><p>I keep seeing articles that our generation's kids don't want the fine china, or the heavy dining room table, being more of the Ikea mind-set of light weight and easy to move. I get it, kind of, but do feel an attachment to "stuff," like my mom's carved hope chest, my grandmother's desk and a couple of wicker-seated chairs. I understand that much of what I value is no longer in fashion, which leads me to keep what I like (and actually use it) and dispose of the rest (whether sales, donations or to family and friends). It is definitely a process.</p><p>And while it can seem that many intangibles have also gone out of style (greeting those one passes on the street, general kindness to strangers, truth vs opinion), I hang on to the universal truths of the program - strive for honesty with self and others, amend when I screw up, remember that I'm not in charge. Sometimes I feel unmoored "nowadays" with just enough technological know-how to get by, watching my generation of musicians and other icons die. Why, I remember seeing that band when I was 15, or 20, or even 35, and now we're all old people, gratefully, as that is a gift denied to many, though the ticking clock can be disconcerting.</p><p>And so, with March being the month for Step 3 focus, how will I get out of the driver's seat? How do I remember to go ahead and make plans, then let go of the wheel of expectation? How will I "live my best life," knowing that I'm the only one who can define that?</p><p>What does Step 3 mean in your daily life? How to you move away from comparison to contentment? What universal truths make up your worldview? How does "live your best life" shift from day to day?</p><p>* * *</p><p>Ready for an inventory or small group discussion? Check out my workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b>with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-68054184136866524522024-02-28T16:37:00.000-08:002024-02-28T16:37:47.179-08:00Choices<p> I'm reminded, again and again, that when I'm sober, I have choices - how to spend my time, how to spend my money, how to spend this one precious life. (I recently saw a post on social media that said, "Stop waiting for a special occasion - every day alive is a special occasion"). </p><p>I'm also reminded, again and again, that it's one day at a time - absolutely all of it. Sobriety, healing physically or emotionally, gardening, the kittens maturing/simmering down, the seemingly endless de-clutter projects and on and on. That used to bother me. "Quit throwing around that 'odat' BS you old-timers" I'd think, as I'd drive myself crazy trying to solve the problem of the day all at once. In reality, living one day at a time is a huge spiritual discipline. Obviously, we really can only live in this one day, but man, oh man can my mind jump to the future, to no avail, whether that is the big "F" future, as in anticipation of health or illness, or the smaller "f' concerns of getting to the grocery store during a sale. One day at a time, one task at a time, one decision at a time. </p><p>The good news is that I've gravitated to meetings, mostly online, with others who feel about program like I do - that it is a way of life, not a destination to check off. To me, recovery is like a second language - if I don't use it, I lose it. I know that people practice the principles in many different ways, especially as time goes on, but for me, "Don't drink and go to meetings" still works. </p><p>It was literally one year ago that I received a diagnosis of breast cancer, during a snowstorm, internal knowing all would be well going to battle with a slew of fears. And here I am today, healthy and healing. I think of all the other times I thought life was over, or questioned my ability to survive - my father dying, way too young at 56, several relationship endings (always a challenge), a couple of job lay-offs or leaving a job without another in place... Life works out, and I've ALWAYS been able to walk through the fear, the sorrow, the sadness, at least partly because I now have past experience to draw from, and because I have your experience, strength and hope to guide me.</p><p>Several sponsees are going through the wringer lately. Sometimes I can share my experience, strength and hope and sometimes I can simply be a compassionate, listening heart. I remember the panic when I was first asked to sponsor someone. I called a friend, with way more experience (as in 6 months more) than me. "What do I do?!" "It's simple," she replied. "You just nod your head and say 'uh-huh, tell me more'." Ha! Obviously there's a bit more to it than that, like the Steps for one thing, but the process isn't as complicated as I can make it. Sometimes my sponsors get me and sometimes they don't. Sometimes I relate to what is shared with me, sometimes I don't. The important piece is in the listening, or when I'm the one seeking guidance, in the telling. My disease of isolation can sometimes whisper that I don't need to call or text or email because, with X number of years, I know what to do. Sure. I usually know what to do, <i>and</i>, it is in the reaching out that healing occurs. I don't usually get my "ah-ha" moments in a vacuum. Those moments of insight nearly always come from something I've read, or something I've heard, whether in a meeting or in a conversation with a trusted other. </p><p>In addition to my year cancer-versary, this week marks 38 years since I went to my first Alanon meeting, desperate for some magic words that would convince my drug-dealer, heroin addicted kinda-sorta boyfriend to get clean (even though I knew that's not how it worked). The disease got him, despite my attempts at both attraction and promotion, but as I sat in meetings, I realized that I'd been impacted by the family disease, even though my dad got sober when I was 12. I've shed a lot of tears in Alanon, seeking to unravel what I learned in my family and what needed to be unlearned. After many, many inventories and some years of outside help, today I'm able to reflect on the positives I got growing up instead of focusing on what was missing. I don't have active alcoholism in my life today (thank you Universe!) but I do carry around this brain that can still believe I'm in charge, that it's up to me to fix whatever is out of whack, that if I hang on real tight, everything will be ok. Everything <i>is </i>ok. Always has been, even when it felt otherwise. Thank you Alanon. </p><p>How do you remember that everything is alright, even in the midst of turmoil? Do you sponsor and/or do you have a sponsor? Knowing that relationship looks different in long-term sobriety, what works for you, and as importantly, what doesn't? </p><p>* * *</p><p>Ready for an inventory or small group discussion? Check out my workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b>with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-77860326805265312502024-02-21T11:24:00.000-08:002024-02-21T11:24:37.570-08:00Be-ing vs do-ing<p> In a recent Public Broadcasting documentary about the artist Edward Hopper, one of the historians said, "Some people are born as who they're meant to be," implying that he was on his trajectory from the gate. That stuck with me, thinking of all the times I've heard people in the rooms talk about how sobriety has allowed them to <i>become</i> who they were meant to be. What does that mean exactly? Was I not myself when drunk or sticking a needle in my arm, when the substance of the moment was making decisions for me? Like many of us, I grew up being told I had <i>potential. </i>Potential. What does that even mean? Back then, potential and a few dollars would've bought me a pack of cigarettes and a drink. Potential. There's a lot of pressure in that one word.</p><p>Maybe that becoming who we were meant to be has to do with our goals and dreams. I never let myself dream much about the future, knowing my follow-through muscle was sorely lacking. I often go back to the great addiction movie, Boogie Nights, thinking of the two women sitting on the bed, coked to the gills, talking about all the things they planned to do, with the hideous hangover making even getting out of bed a chore. </p><p>So, I kept my world pretty small. I say that, though traveling to faraway places with my boyfriend, but that's as far as it got - the next trip, where should we eat, dare I sneak a wee bit of cocaine in my luggage? But never any plans for myself. Sure, I thought about taking a class, and even did a couple of times, but my boyfriend's schedule took priority. I'm not complaining - it was an exciting time in many ways, and we genuinely cared for each other, but as far as me being me - I didn't even know what that meant.</p><p>When I was married to my first husband, in my early twenties, I had a daydream about living on my own, going to college, growing tomatoes in my garden and having friends who were mine, not just because their mates were friends with my spouse. Very simple, and a little sad to think that was all I wanted. And then, a few years into recovery, I realized that I had it. I was going to school, had a group of new friends, and tomatoes in the yard. What else might I achieve if I but dreamed it? For me that meant working in treatment, visiting the Great Wall of China, earning a couple of degrees, running marathons. The Big Book tells me that my wants might not always be granted, but my needs always will. I can say that for me, it's been both, maybe because, over time, my wants have come into line with my needs - still fairly simple, and simpler as time goes on.</p><p>What does all that mean today, aging in long term recovery? Way less about achieving and more about being present. I always liked the sound of "I'm a human be-ing, not a human do-ing" and as time goes on, that makes more and more sense. Paying sweet attention to relationships as I bear witness to the fragility of this life; paying attention to the beauty all around me (and seeking that out if there is too much concrete in my days); paying attention to my spiritual practice as I heed the old-timers who came before me saying "The solution to all my problems is spiritual in nature," (recognizing that 99% of my "problems" are mere annoyances).</p><p>And so, one day at a time, I will reflect on the "me" I was meant to be to see if there are any remaining gaps. I will pay attention to my surroundings as spring blossoms appear. I will value dear friends and family, even those who's worldviews are different from my own. I will use the slogan, "How Important is It?" to clarify what does and doesn't matter. And, I will plant tomatoes when the time is right.<br /></p><p>Do you feel like you've become who you were meant to be? What dreams did you have coming in to recovery? Have you achieved those and/or readjusted? Where are you on the continuum of reaching for achievement and relaxing into what is? What is it you most appreciate today?</p><p>* * *</p><p>Ready for an inventory or small group discussion? Check out my workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b>with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p><p><br /></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-42690735104047903772024-02-14T10:50:00.000-08:002024-02-14T11:13:13.880-08:00Acceptance / Surrender<p> An out-of-town family member is in poor health, which raises the question of whether to get on a plane, now or later. It is so easy to move along in life thinking that things will always stay the same. We'll fly to visit twice a year, staying in "our" room, walking to our home-away-from-home group. We might, in passing, acknowledge that no one lives forever, but that isn't our reality, until it is.</p><p>Like with my sister-in-law's dementia. She's been in her adult foster home for a number of months now, and does still recognize my brother when he visits several times a week. What a sad thing, to see the one you love fade away. And how terrible to understand that you are the one fading. I suppose at some point, one doesn't know what they don't know, but the initial stages must be devastating.</p><p>And, if you're in long-term recovery, by now you've surely lost someone, or several someones, to the disease, to sudden death or a lingering illness, to Alzheimer's or other cognitive decline. One of the developmental tasks of later adulthood is getting comfortable with grief. Comfortable? Maybe more like familiar - familiar as a snarling dog I sometimes pass on my daily walks. I know it will be there, but I still jump when he barks.</p><p>A magazine article on change quoted Sylvia Boorstein as saying, "We can struggle or we can surrender...Surrender means wisely accommodating ourselves to what is beyond our control. Getting old, getting sick, dying, losing what is dear to us...is beyond our control. I can either be frightened of life and mad at life - or not."</p><p>And therein lies the struggle - right there in the "or not." When a neighbor and I walk together, we'll generally say "hello" or "good morning" to those we pass. We've learned to say, "Or not," when the person, earbuds or no earbuds, ignores our greeting. Or not. We're having a nice walk and can look at the non-reply(s) with humor. </p><p>Can I take that "or not" energy into the rest of my world? A counselor in treatment, in response to the drama of the day, always said, "Oh well." "Oh well," shorthand for surrender to what is, which makes me think of the people I've met through my volunteer gig driving cancer patients to their treatment. To a person, with only one exception, the folks I've interacted with have been cheerful, grateful for another day, appreciative of the small things. </p><p>I remember that feeling in brand-new recovery - the pink cloud of amazement that the sun came up, the flowers bloomed, that I hadn't stuck my head in the toilet the night before. I get glimpses of that sense of wonder, a mere wisp of awe as I look at clouds in the sky (and not just the taillights of the car in front of me). I can talk about mindfulness, but how does one actually pay attention to the little miracles in the everyday? (as I wrote in the Now What? workbook, is "'Expect a Miracle" only for newcomers?) I suppose it has to do with intention, about paying attention, about the infamous pause. </p><p>I am a journaler (no surprise) and in reviewing several past years, I see the theme of the same few character aspects. So, how do I move from "woe is me" to "oh well," from whining to turning it over? I think of the fine line between acceptance and surrender, which are maybe just different sides of the same coin. If I could've changed myself, I would've. I've run marathons and gone to grad school while working full time. I can do hard things. And....apparently I'm not entirely willing to be restored to sanity in all areas. Stubbornness? Lazy? Thinking I can be in control of the continuum of helpful to hurtful if I just try hard enough?</p><p>I keep coming back to this theme of persistently troubling characteristics, but isn't that what long term recovery is about, honing in on what persists? I don't know anyone who's yet achieved sainthood - we just keep suiting up and showing up. Perhaps when I can truly view my characteristics as old friends, we can work together, or not. </p><p>How has life on life's terms contributed to who you are today? What program tools do you reach for when you find yourself struggling with what is? How does self-acceptance play into how you work Steps 6 and 7?</p><p>* * *</p><p>Thinking of a new year's inventory or small group discussion? Check out my workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b>with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-80764037360716918152024-02-07T14:54:00.000-08:002024-02-07T14:54:24.535-08:00Step Two, etc<p> And here it is, February, time to focus on Step Two, being restored to sanity. Actually, Step Two is about believing I can be restored. It was pointed out to me that the line, "For by this time sanity will have returned," isn't until the discussion of Step Ten. </p><p>I'll buy that. Despite coming to believe, I was all kinds of insane in the early days and years, mostly around confusion about what I could and couldn't control, which is what still gets me! When working Step Two today, I take a look at how insanity is showing up, as well as asking what would sane behavior or thoughts look like? And I was taught that talking with another program person about what's going on in my head is a form of Step Two, the Power Greater being exposing whatever it is to the light of day and of reason.</p><p>I recently unearthed a magazine from January 2023 that had gotten buried (me who vowed to never give up print journalism now routinely reads newspapers and newsletters online). An article in this new year edition asked a series of questions, some silly and some thought provoking. Oh, how I loved a magazine quiz or questionnaire when I was growing up, those that purported to give insight into one's personality or the future. In retrospect, I see that I was hungry for guidance, for direction, even if from the Ladie's Home Journal. We weren't a church family, I didn't belong to any clubs or anything that would've provided the structure I unconsciously craved, which lead me to permanently borrowing (i.e. stealing) a book from our grade school library called, "Put Your Best Foot Forward," chock full of advice on skin care, wardrobe and how to talk to boys. It was dated by the time I discovered it buried on a shelf, but was my bible for a couple of years. </p><p>I remember feeling so very grateful when I first saw the twelve Steps. OK, grateful and a little apprehensive - I need to do <i>what?? </i>But deep inside I felt the exhale of "Ahhhh, this is what I've been looking for my entire life." Funny how so much of recovery has been like that - finding something, whether a truth about life or about myself, that I didn't even know I was seeking. But I guess that's how it is with the "ah-ha" moments - I can't force the awakening or surrender, but I can do my best to stay open, one day at a time.</p><p>I got to spend time with a dear friend this weekend, a friend since treatment over 38 years ago. As another long-term friend pointed out, we are very fortunate in that we were able to stay sober, and how that lead to staying connected. I live in the town where I hit bottom and have spent my recovery, so perhaps I'm more inclined to connections over time, but part of it is intention. Intention, and picking up the phone for a call or text check-in, at least some contact over the year, though with good, old friends, we can pick up where we left off, no matter how much time has passed. I appreciate shared history, especially as I get older in both recovery and years on the planet. Fortunate indeed.</p><p>How do you know when you're crossing the line towards insane behavior or attitudes? Who do you talk with to get back on the beam? How have you incorporated the Steps into how you face the world (and yourself)? Is there a friend you might want to reach out to this week?</p><p>* * *</p><p>Thinking of a new year's inventory or small group discussion? Check out my workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b>with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-35927955438238549002024-01-31T15:07:00.000-08:002024-01-31T15:07:16.631-08:00Justification<p> I'm frustrated with myself this week - frustrated and annoyed. I saw my Primary Care Physician, an overall positive visit, but my blood work had a couple of less than stellar results, results that would undoubtedly improve were I to drop the proverbial 10% of my current weight. Insert big sigh.</p><p>I am a tracker, so can look back and see that it was Sept 2020, when I moved from running to walking that my weight started to creep up (creep, recede, leap, and climb). A famous marathoner, Meb Keflezighi, once remarked that he'd have to run six-minute miles to burn the calories from one banana. While I don't even claim to breathe the same air as Meb, I am proof-positive that the body gets accustomed to a particular amount of activity. Were I just starting out, walking three miles would be great. It's still great, but my metabolism wonders what happened to the 10 mile trail runs.</p><p>As others my age have said, it's not so much fitting in to my jeans as it is about health and wellness. The kicker is that I've long been secretly and quietly judgmental about those with lifestyle ailments. (I'm still mad that my mom didn't quit smoking when my dad died from tobacco-related cancer.) Judgy, and here I am, with three pudgy fingers pointing back at me.</p><p>What does this have to do with recovery? I don't have active alcoholism in my life today, but I do carry around this brain, this brain that sometimes justifies and rationalizes and looks for an out. Staying conscious of my internal machinations keeps me honest. Oh, self, isn't it interesting that you are now suffering from the same choices that you might denigrate in others? Hmmm. How do I right-size myself while acknowledging my humanity, a worker among workers, person among persons? And how do I keep an eye open for various ways my "ism" tries to find a way in? Spending? Food? Gambling? Relationships? Over-doing or dishonesty in any form? I've seen too many people open the door of dis-ease, even just a crack, with eventual disastrous results. Stay awake, stay aware.</p><p>I read in Alanon literature that self-acceptance is key to change. I can't change anything when my energy is invested in fighting it (whatever "it" may be). So, a deep inhale of "this is where I am today," on a quest of what a friend says, is a mere 5% improvement. 5% is doable, whether that it related to the length of today's walk or tackling a particular character aspect that is troubling. Progress, not perfection, one day at a time.</p><p>And always, balance matters. I realized, feeling a little crunchy over the weekend, that I've gone at least two weeks with only appointments on the docket. Of course, an ice storm stifled plans, but I need to remember that I do need people, social people, friends. This is a path I've walked before, so one would think I'd be more aware. One would think - ha! Again, progress not perfection, with progress being that today I notice sooner and can follow the thought trail to the core discomfort. HALT? Yeah, usually, in one form or another. Where can I make a 5% shift today, this week?</p><p>Do you harbor any judgements that prove to be a mirror to yourself? How do you move from judgement of self to self-acceptance using the 5% guide? How do the HALTs show up in your life today, and what do you do when you recognize it?</p><p>* * *</p><p>Thinking of a new year's inventory or small group discussion? Check out my workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b>with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p><p><br /></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-77082348924249197672024-01-25T15:07:00.000-08:002024-01-25T15:07:51.531-08:00testing address change<p> Another testing 1,2,3 With any luck, and tech support, you should see this post from soberlongtime@soberlongtime.com.</p><p>Sorry to fill up your in box! fingers crossed.</p><p>jeanine b</p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-75583588107857116352024-01-24T11:09:00.000-08:002024-01-24T11:09:10.563-08:00Habits<p> As I was waking up from a nap, maybe still dreaming, I thought, "Oh man, I haven't been over to see Mom in awhile," seconds later remembering that she's gone. The mind is interesting - I'll sometimes get the urge to phone her, an automatic response to a beautiful sunset or bad weather. Maybe it's just an old habit, though eleven years after she's passed, you'd think that would've gone away. </p><p>But habit is funny. I recently moved where I keep the kitchen sponge and soap dispenser, and my hand automatically goes to the former spot. The same with our new faucet. For months I'd done a little shimmy of the handle to stop a slow drip. New faucet, no drip, but I continue to adjust the handle. </p><p>Simple examples, but perhaps indicative of human nature, and why, at the beginning of sobriety, we were advised to change playgrounds and playmates. I didn't have any friends who would've pressured me, or teased me about not drinking, but there were a couple of people I needed to take a break from simply because of the mental association. Of course, the meth cook was another story - I was right to emotionally move away from him, though for the first few years, did think I could convince him that getting clean was the way to go. Attraction, not promotion? I tried a little of both, to no avail. Did he ask me to help him? He did ask me to drive him to a methadone program a few times, and could he borrow $50, but never "I want to quit. Will you please help me?" Hard lessons when someone we love is caught in the disease. </p><p>And back to the Mom dream - as I pulled into the parking lot for my mammogram (results: all clear), I felt a little teary, thinking that maybe Mom showed up to remind me she's with me in spirit. Speaker / member Lila R talks about her higher power being "Ghosts on Demand," comprised of those who've passed on. Maybe? And impossible to know, but I do like the idea that the people I've loved are in my heart and memory. (I've heard that most of us are forgotten by three generations, probably less if we didn't have kids, but I've also heard that no one really dies as long as there is someone who remembers them. I'll keep remembering.)</p><p>I've signed up for a five-week online writing course through our local community college. The pre-homework was to list 7 things from our past that symbolize danger, and not something obvious like a gun or a knife. I struggled a little with that one, especially because a gun, sitting on top of the toaster, was part of my hitting bottom. We're supposed to write about one of those danger signals, so it needs to be something I can attach to a story, and how much self-disclosure do I want to do on the first night of class? As a recovering person, the things that represent danger to me might be hair-raising or mean nothing to "normies," but even thinking about my list brings on morbid reflection. A highball glass, a syringe, a phone number on a matchbook cover? Where do I want to go with this non-fiction class?</p><p>I remember my first writing class at the same community college, in early1986 or 87. Several of us were in the Alcohol & Drug Counselor Training Program, so when asked to write a short essay on a life-altering experience, ours were gritty (mine was about the meth cook overdosing in my basement). With so much distance now between "what it was like" and "what it's like now," I need a bit of a push to recall that gift of desperation, that hitting bottom so hard I would've done anything for the pain to stop. That is one thing I miss about in-person AA meetings (since most of mine are online) - the random newcomer who shows up with the shakes. I do get reminded of the insanity of addiction in my in-person Alanon meeting. Oh man, the pain and suffering we inflict upon our loved ones. </p><p>This week, our weather is mild, with plain old rain. Last week, literally frozen in, this week skipping down damp sidewalks - yet another life on life's terms reminder that I'm not in charge of anything but my attitude.</p><p>What makes up your idea of a higher power, which some call higher self, inner-knowing, spirit, or nothing at all (or all the various theist names)? What old habits linger and what have you released? Where do you stand with personal anonymity? Do people outside of 12 Step know you are in recovery?</p><p>Note that I'm still trying to figure out the new vs old email address (shadowsandveins@gmail.com or soberlongtime@soberlongtime.com). It's a process! And fingers-crossed no interruption in sends.</p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-12204874671190115522024-01-23T16:42:00.000-08:002024-01-23T16:42:40.432-08:00email address change<p> Hello dear Readers. Due to changes in requirements for Google and Yahoo send lists, I've set up a new email: soberlongtime@soberlongtime.com</p><p>My blog is nowhere near the 5,000 sends that require the change away from gmail, but I was advised to get a jump on it as best practice, and before I'm told I have to.</p><p>Hoping this gets to you, either via shadowsandveins@gmail.com or the new email and that it doesn't end up in your spam folder. I plan to post tomorrow as usual. Ah, technology (grrrrr)</p><p>jeanine b</p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-37476633972767145412024-01-17T12:23:00.000-08:002024-01-17T12:23:54.393-08:00Respond or react?<p> As I began this post on Saturday, we were in the midst of a winter storm, an artic blast that had temperatures at 17 degrees Fahrenheit at noon, with snow and high winds. Not unheard of for the Pacific Northwest, and milder than other parts of the country this weekend, but unusual enough to trigger panic-buying at the grocery store. </p><p>As engagement after engagement canceled, I lay on the couch with the kittens watching snow fall. Rather than be upset, I see that the universe did for me what I don't normally do for myself - i.e. a full-stop on plans. My "slow down" switch has never been fully functional, which is ok once I came to understand and accept that I can be a bit hyper, the better with which to channel my energy rather than fight it.</p><p>But today, given the weather, or years on the planet, I'm fairly content to just putter around. Actually, the first day of a winter storm can feel festive - bring out the hot cocoa and movies. If it lingers, cabin fever strikes, which took hubs and I on a short walk the following day, saying "Ain't it grand! The wind stopped blowing!" </p><p>A friend noted that the weather shut-down felt like early pandemic, with streets near empty, glued to the news (how many ways can local broadcasters say, "Stay home. Stay safe."?) A couple of in-person meetings moved to zoom, an example of how AA/Alanon themselves did the nearly immediate pivot to online connection in March 2020 - a tangible example of the Serenity Prayer in action, changing the things we can. </p><p>And so, how do I practice the Serenity Prayer in real life, in all my affairs, especially when annoyed with weather claustrophobia as I remind myself it could be a whole lot worse? Knock wood, we haven't lost power, and haven't had any "musts" for leaving the house (grateful that Monday was the MLK holiday here in the US). Again and always, a matter of perspective - whining at what I can't do, or grateful for a hot cup of tea and a working furnace. Funny that I may not have anywhere to go, but don't tell me I can't!</p><p>On another note, one of my regular newsletters this week discussed aging and how we approach the process. Dr. Becca Levy was quoted as saying that moving from a negative to positive mindset can add years to one's life, noting that community can help navigate the unknown. Again and always, grateful for our 12 Step community that offers like-minded and similar aged peers to grouse and celebrate with, as well as those younger and older in order to stay connected to the whole. As far as making peace with aging, the author of the particular article (Chip Conley) suggested asking ourselves what we'd regret not doing or learning 10 years from now. Will I regret not learning Spanish, or not ever getting back to the piano (I stopped playing at age 11 because I couldn't stand practicing while friends were out playing, and yes, my mother was right - I do regret it)? Will I feel sad that I never visited India or Viet Nam? What about writing fiction? Do I have another book in me, and more importantly, do I care? </p><p>I <i>could </i>pursue the things I listed. What I've learned over time is that if something really matters to me, I'll make choices that take me there. For example, I've long said I'd like a beach place, but have never seriously looked into it. I do have a CD Spanish language course on my shelf - will I follow through? There is something very deceptive about retirement in thinking I have all the time in the world so I'll get to that (whatever that is) later. But do I? My new motto of "later is now" applies to all sorts of things, not just using the nice dishes.</p><p>And the beat goes on. I have my first post-cancer treatment mammogram on Thursday, expecting favorable results (as in nothing hinky) but still, a momentary attack of "what if?" In treatment, they used to say, "Yeah, but's live in the Yeahbut Tree" - or, my favorite, "Everything after 'but' is bulls***" I can add to that the "what if's" that live in Whatif Land - far away and unreachable, because it doesn't really exist.</p><p>When weather or other things outside your control disrupt your plans, how do you react or respond? How do you utilize the concepts of the Serenity Prayer in your daily life? What comes to mind when you think about the aging process? What might you regret if you never get around to it?<br /><br /></p><p>* * *</p><p>Thinking of a year-end inventory or a holiday gift for a sponsee? I've restocked my supply of the workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b> with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p><p><br /></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-38279099508697051542024-01-10T09:12:00.000-08:002024-01-10T09:12:33.272-08:00Step One<p> I frequently say, and often hear others say, that in 12 Step, we need never go through anything alone. Someone else in the rooms has had the same experience that I'm in a twitch about - all I have to do is ask. </p><p>The asking part can be hard as sometimes I'm not really sure what it is I need. I grew up thinking I was <i>supposed </i>to know how to do things, how to be, what the answer was, even when I didn't know the question. I remember early in my first marriage, not wanting to call a friend for instructions on how to cook a certain dish, even though my husband suggested it (or maybe because he suggested it). I was embarrassed not to know, I didn't want to acknowledge a weakness - who knows? I was 19 or 20 and hadn't taken the time to learn to cook at home, so of course I didn't know. I say "of course" but at the time it felt like anything but. </p><p>I am pretty self-sufficient, especially as the sober years and life experience has added up. And...sometimes I simply need to say, "Do you have a few minutes to talk?" or "Can I run something by you?" (both much easier than "I need help.") Having a sponsor, being a sponsor, answering the phone when a member reaches out all keep me connected to my humanity, my perfectly imperfect self and yours. </p><p>In the January 7 Daily Reflection I'm reminded that half measures availed us nothing. In addressing troubling or annoying (to self or others) character aspects, the reading suggests that "Attempting half measures to eliminate these [characteristics] merely paralyzes my efforts to change." Do I abandon myself or half-ass it? Do I say/think/meditate on "let me be more compassionate and patient today" and then dive into business as usual, or do I say, "Enough with the ego, Jeanine," as I seek to release being quick to judge or offer unsolicited advice? (My primary Alanon lesson is to say to myself, "Did they ask?) I can focus on Lila R's new year message of "pause, pray, proceed" one day at a freaking time. As I may have written before, a friend once said, "I'll have lots of thoughts and feelings during the day - I just don't have to attach a sentence to every one." Indeed.</p><p>This week would've been the sober-versary of a good friend, Ruth V, who was a treatment roommate and later lived in my faux-sober house (i.e. a revolving group of sober friends living in my home). She, and our other best friend, were examples of people who would not normally mix. I was 31, he was 21, and Ruth was my mother's age, so in her 60's, but man, did we have fun - reading the daily meditations, driving up and down the I-5 corridor and across state lines to meetings, going to dances and potlucks, taking a trip, not taking a trip - all those exciting activities of the first few years when life felt new.</p><p>And it was new. New to be facing life on life's terms sober, grieving losses, walking through fears of the future, hanging on for dear life when the road got bumpy and enjoying the ride when it was smooth. We held meetings in living rooms and on the beach, and once in a van while driving to Montana, pleased with ourselves for having committed How it Works to memory. Those were the days.</p><p>Those were the days, <i>and</i> life changes. We/I get older, way less inclined to drive across town for an evening meeting (zoom is so convenient!), less interested in getting to the latest movie or concert, more content with smaller vs larger groups of friends. That being said, I attended a big memorial for a friend's husband this past weekend. I barely knew him, but she and I went to the same high school and have shared many meetings over the years, and as another friend at the service said, "It's what we do" to support each other. The deceased was a biker - not my thing, but still kind of exciting when a long line of Harleys roared up to the church. I've been to a couple of memorials this year already, held almost like AA meetings, with both of the people having knowledge of their pending departure so were able to say what needed to be said and hear the love from others. We should all be so lucky.</p><p>January equates to Step One in my Step Group's calendar. What am I powerless over today? Yes, drugs and alcohol - no reservations there - but what else? People, places and things, and in my Step work I'll be specific about those as I sometimes seem to forget that I'm only in charge of me (!).</p><p>If you were to do a 10th Step right now, do you see yourself as in the half-measure section in certain areas or all-in? How did your early sobriety experience contribute to who you are today? How will you apply the principles of Step One this day and going forward? How does the concept of acceptance fit in with Step One?</p><p>* * *</p><p>Thinking of a new year's inventory or small group discussion? Check out my workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b>with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-92066784856788554952024-01-03T16:05:00.000-08:002024-01-03T20:02:02.665-08:00Happy sober-versary to me!<p> On my way to the bank this week, I took a short cut past the house I lived in when I hit bottom and saw that it is for sale. I pulled over and took a picture of the placard, and have spent time on the realtor site, going room-to-room. There have been several updates, and a lot of paint, but as I go through the photos, I think, "That's where Richard overdosed and I revived him," or "Ah, at the kitchen sink is where my ex told me I'd probably like his new wife" and where I said, "I can't even have that conversation right now." I see the fireplace where I sat on that last New Year's Eve, not really loaded, but far from sober. I also see where we held AA meetings, potlucks in the backyard and impromptu morning check-ins at the kitchen table with sober roommates.</p><p>I'm not sure why this has hit me - it's been 38 years now that I hit bottom, and at least 34 since I lived there. I think I had an image in my mind of the rooms being as I left them, seeped in memories, frozen in time. But time doesn't stop. The lilac bush and daphne, smelling so sweetly in the spring, are gone from that backyard. I assume all traces of the basement drug trade are long gone, as are echos of tears shed. </p><p>And, interesting that this foray into times past came during the week preceding my drive to treatment. I don't engage in too much morbid reflection these days, but maybe sometimes a visceral reminder of the absolute insanity of my addiction isn't such a bad thing. I must admit that over time, the "I'm Jeanine and I'm an alcoholic" has lost much of its punch, its connection to the pitiful and incomprehensible, almost like saying, "I'm right-handed" or have brown eyes. Really remembering, and sometimes actually feeling what it was like keeps me tethered to the principles of the program, the daily reprieve. </p><p>And it was insane. An example - the meth cook ran his operation out of my basement, which meant there were often nice, but shady characters coming and going at all hours. At one point, I put a sign up in the bathroom: If you are here at 2am, you need to stay until 6am, in an effort to lessen in-and-out traffic in the middle of the night. Funny how I was later worried what the neighbors might think when a group of us held hands in a circle in the backyard and recited the Serenity Prayer. </p><p>I've been thinking about the meth-cook lover, who despite his own addictions, suggested that, yes, going into treatment might be a good idea, who drove me there and took my car home (I knew my vehicle in the parking lot would make it too easy to leave), and who told me, "No one in this town will sell you dope," when I got out. I sometimes vilify particular characters in my story, but even the so-called bad guys sometimes made good decisions.</p><p>We attended the Year-End Roundup this past weekend - always good to hear speakers and see people we only see at conferences. I was able to chair at the Little Yellow House meeting, which seemed fitting just days before my anniversary since Seaside is where I went to treatment (and the Yellow House was my first "real" meeting). On New Year's Day, we listened in on a zoom speaker meeting with Lila R, of Santa Monica and Ireland, with 54 years sober. I always appreciate her views as she talks to the long-timer, which reminds me that "the alcoholic who still suffers" might be the person in the room with the most time. </p><p>And so here we are, in 2024. Having overdone sugar over the holidays (one is too many and a thousand isn't enough) I do plan to focus on healthier eating, but otherwise, don't have a big list of resolutions. My spouse and I did talk about our intentions, as related to health, finances, relationship, program and a broad "other" category - not as a ball and chain, but to put words to ideas and to help frame our direction going forward, knowing that we'll blink a few times and this year will be over! <i>That's</i> a goal - to increase my attention to what I'm doing in the here and now, vs the then or later. Always and again, progress not perfection.</p><p>Today is happy sober-versary to me. We are the fortunate ones, by luck, hard work, willingness or a combination thereof, including being in the right place at the right time with the right people. Three people in my Alanon meeting today had just lost someone to fentanyl overdose. The struggle is real, and I hope never to forget that. </p><p>Have you set intentions for the new year, a fresh start? How can you make that list gentle and flexible, rather than rigid and thus easily broken? Are there any areas needing a re-set, whether in self-care, step work or in the workplace? How will you remember to keep it "one day at a time?"</p><p><br /></p><p>* * *</p><p>Thinking of a year-end inventory or a holiday gift for a sponsee? I've restocked my supply of the workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b> with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-87461464462352208492023-12-27T10:43:00.000-08:002023-12-27T10:43:49.049-08:00Listening...<p> There's a house I pass a few times a week on my morning walks where I spent time one summer. It may have been a month or a week, in those days when time expanded or contracted depending on my state of intoxication. In any event, it was my meth cook lover's ex's home, where he'd been asked to house-sit while she was away caring for a family member. I'm fairly certain she told him "No monkey business," but within hours of her departure, a pop-up lab was taking shape in the basement. </p><p>What I remember is a darkened living room, attempting to read Tarot by candlelight (I say "attempted" as I definitely read into the cards what I wanted to see - pain, separation, loss.) What I remember most of all, though, is the sound of bamboo leaves in the summer breeze. The house was surrounded by a lush screen of tall bamboo that made a peaceful, rustling sound with even the slightest wind. Those plants are long gone, but if I pause and close my eyes, I can almost hear them, all these years later.</p><p>Which is to say that there were beautiful moments even in the darkest of times. Even in the midst of mayhem, of (metaphorical) knock-down-drag-outs, the tiny part of me that was on the verge of being snuffed out completely, still, weakly, reached for life's beauty, whether in nature, a genuine smile, or that very quiet moment right before falling asleep when my soul whispered, "Maybe there is a better way." I will be forever grateful for that still, small voice that answered the phone and said, "OK" when my ex (the one who's death anniversary I just marked) called and said, "You need help, Jeanine."</p><p>Boy, did I need help. What I needed was you - not a lecture, not a scolding or a pleading, but you showing me the way, offering to take my hand. And, the idea that "our experience can benefit others" continues to show up, whether in a conversation with a newcomer, or life-on-life-terms stuff where something I've walked through loses its sting by sharing with another on a similar part of the path.</p><p>The women I gather with at Solstice have been meeting now for 19 years, so there is a continuity in what we share. This year we ranged in age from 48 to 77, with most in our 60's. What I noticed is that, when we talked about what we'd like to manifest or bring into the new year, nearly all of us simply expounded on "one day at a time." By this stage of the game, we've all had piles of evidence that we cannot see the future, that our plans and designs don't amount to much, that we cannot control another person or situation. I can be chagrined that it's taken so long to get to the point of acceptance, or I can simply say, "Thank you" for all the lessons along the way.</p><p>And one of the biggest lessons is, "You just never know." The son of a grade school acquaintance was killed in a car wreck a few weeks ago. I never met him and don't know her very well, but that shook me. Number one, I can't even imagine the heartbreak of losing a child to an accident, and two, the awful reminder that we and our loved ones leave the house, take a trip, go to work with absolutely no guarantee that we'll come safely home. I don't want to morbidly live as if each day is my last, but damn it, I also don't want to pretend any longer that my chapter in the story will go on forever. I will continue to tell people I love them, will pause in gratitude for another day sober, will continue my efforts to live from the heart.</p><p>Thinking of time left on the planet, I will say I'm not exactly ready for "Swedish Death Cleaning," <i>and </i>'tis the season to declutter, to decide what of my possessions are important, which do I actually use, and what can I release? Are there lingering mindsets I can release or expand? How do I want to enter the new year, the calendar year in which I'll turn 70? (!) </p><p>Are there poignant moments you can recall from when you hit bottom? If you could hear it, what did the still, small voice have to say? What does it say now? How do you listen to your heart, especially amidst the clamor and chatter of the world? What might you release, actually or emotionally, as the new year begins?</p><p>* * *</p><p>Thinking of a year-end inventory or a holiday gift for a sponsee? I've restocked my supply of the workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b> with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-73215482633641771492023-12-20T08:57:00.000-08:002023-12-20T08:57:53.994-08:00Time marching on<p> I probably say this every December, but man, this year has flown by. OK, 2020 dragged on and on, but these last few have felt like hyper-speed. Wasn't it just June? Wasn't it just 1990 (etc etc)?</p><p>As I've heard, sometimes the days go by slowly (especially while watching the clock when I was working), but the months and years fly by. I'm not a scholar but have been interested in how the concept of time evolved, initially with different hours depending on the village where you lived. Yes, measuring time is a human construct, and... the sun comes up and the sun goes down, with a semi-predictable pattern over time. Which means we're approaching the shortest day here in the northern hemisphere, the longest in the south, and like people (in and out of the rooms) it feels like time to pause, review, and think about what may be ahead. </p><p>In December 1985 I knew I was going into treatment at the turn of the calendar, but I had absolutely no idea what to expect. I didn't know anyone who'd been to treatment. I'd never heard of 12 Step recovery (I only "knew" that AA was based on the buddy system.) I could not imagine a life without some sort of chemical, whether liquid, powdered or pill. That can be helpful to remember - I made the biggest decision of my life without knowing what was next.</p><p>If I think about what I'd like to leave behind as I enter the new year, part of it has to do with leaving the crystal ball, or rather the malfunctioning crystal ball that never worked very well to begin with, along with the idea that if I know what's ahead, I can handle it better, a classic adult-child of alcoholic trait. As the ball dropped in Times Square at midnight December 31, 2022/January 1, 2023, I had no clue I'd be diagnosed with breast cancer a month later. I am very fortunate that my course of treatment was fairly simple, but those first couple of months of uncertainty really tested my program. Trust? Let go? I don't know... And I've been reminded that "I don't know" is one of the most spiritual things I can say, which has played out time and time again in the past decades.</p><p>The 9th Step Promises were read as the lead for a meeting this week, and instead of tuning out (omg, how many times have I heard this?) I really listened to the words. Right before the promises, we're told that "The spiritual life is not a theory - <i>we have to live it</i>." I will assume that the italics are Bill's way of saying, "I'm serious about this bit." A theory is just words and ideas unless I put it to practice. I can think about cutting out sugar, I can imagine adding push-ups or squats to my regimen, I can wonder about a regular meditation practice, but until I <i>live</i> it, the ideas are merely fantasies. </p><p>A novel I enjoyed and appreciated had me in tears at the end, when the protagonist acknowledges the hold an early, obsessive love affair had on her, as well as her certain knowledge that her life, now, is exactly where she wants to be. I hadn't realized it, but I finished the book at the 5th anniversary of an important ex's passing - the ex who went above and beyond what I deserved at the time and put me through treatment and helped me get on my feet that first, crucial year of sobriety. How ironic that he died from the effects of alcoholism. How many of us have been helped along the way by people who never got it themselves? Recovery is a mystery, the whole "who gets it and who doesn't" bit as well as the magic of willingness and <i>no matter what</i>, which looks different for each of us. Today I'm grateful for the whole of it - the tears and the laughter, the joys and the sorrows that contribute to who I am today.</p><p>Part of the "who I am today" piece has to do with growing up in a particular neighborhood at a particular time, with particular people, several of whom I'm still in contact with. A handful of us took a holiday lights walk last night, which took us through the park where we did so much of our early drinking. I mentioned to one of our group that it was with her I smoked my first joint in December, 1968. She didn't remember, which verified another friend's theory that it is only we alcoholic-addicts who clearly recall our first drink, hit or snort. </p><p>Tomorrow I will gather with a small group of women, in person for the first time since 2019, to mark the shortest day of the year. I'm big on ritual and tradition, whether newly introduced or repeats. With so much upheaval in the world, the steadiness of listening to How it Works in a meeting can help ground me. Seeing friends I've known since grade school grounds me. Particular music grounds me (and makes my heart soar) Right here, right now, everything is ok. I know where I'll sleep tonight and I've had enough to eat today (and I'm very, very aware that not everyone can say that).</p><p>When you've been certain you knew what was next, what happened to remind you that you are not in charge? Whether positive or not so much, what are some surprises this year brought? Besides plans and calendar appointments, what do you want in the new year? What or who do you want to <i>be</i>? How will the 12 Steps of recovery manifest in your life?</p><p>* * *</p><p>Thinking of a year-end inventory or holiday gift for a sponsee? Check out my workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b> with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p><p><br /></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-49029124487120444622023-12-13T15:04:00.000-08:002023-12-13T15:04:04.363-08:00Resentments<p> I attended a good speaker/discussion meeting this past week - Beacon Group out of Boston (online, noon EST, with a speaker archive available) on the topic of Step 4 Resentments. The speaker shared helpful instructions, taken from the Big Book, on how we can address our inner demons, the part of us that plays the tape of "wrongs" over and over in our minds. The speaker said something similar to what Lila R says, basically, that if I'm not the problem, there is no solution because as much as I'd like to think differently, I cannot control you (or whatever/whoever I'm resenting). All I can really do is change my attitude, which can feel like a tall order.</p><p>I've long held to the personal truth that I'm not an angry person, so resentments aren't really my issue. But I recognized myself in much of what the speaker talked about - ruminating, the focus on "me, me, me" and my comforts, as well as how I give my power to someone else when I focus on how I think I've been mistreated in some way, shape or form, real or imagined.</p><p>In the breakout room after the main speaker I heard something that has me re-thinking my relationship to resentments. What this member said was, "I'm not an angry person, but I'm scared." Zing! Yes, that's me in a nutshell (emphasis on "nut"). My fear is that, like the literature says, I'll lose something I have, or not get something I want, and if I drill down on that, the core fear is that I'm not enough - not funny enough, cute enough, smart enough, etc etc etc.. My "mistakes" as it says in discussion of Step 4 (or "my part") is that I sometimes conflate facts, misinterpret information, and ruminate on the "what if's." What if, instead, I took a deep breath and changed my perspective? What if I looked at my "problem" from all angles, in the cold light of day?</p><p>The "isms" are so much more subtle these days. My sometimes-dysfunctional characteristics don't come marching up the front stairs yelling, "Hey! Let's screw everything up by being selfish and self-centered!" Nor do other people's defenses necessarily announce themselves. I need to be very careful to stay in my own inventory, not someone else's (ah, the temptation...) as in when I think I know their motives or backstory. When I am in a crunchy place with myself or someone else, how do I stay on my side of the street? How do I drill down to what is really bothering me vs what's dressed up as someone else's stuff?</p><p>This can definitely be a time of year for both joy and irritation. Where did all these cars come from?!? I would say that I don't buy into holiday madness, <i>and</i> it can be hard to avoid completely. It's my choice to inwardly snarl at the delivery driver who's racing along on my walking route at 7am, or I can simply say, "Good morning," knowing that they are working a lot harder than I am. Food can be a trigger for me, as in cookies and cheese trays and candies, oh my! There again, I have choices, one of which is to put down the battering ram. Richard Rohr recently wrote that Spirit saves us <i>in</i> our bodies, not from our bodies. Ah, I need not be my own enemy, at least not today.</p><p>Especially this time of year, how do you cut yourself some slack from internal or external expectations? How do you stay open to lessons about the Steps and learning more about yourself, if you might be thinking, "I've got this"? How do fear and/or anger show up for you today and what do you do to get back to center when they do?</p><p>* * *</p><p>Thinking of a year-end inventory or a holiday gift for a sponsee? I've restocked my supply of the workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b> with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-32837000608836392882023-12-06T09:15:00.000-08:002023-12-06T09:15:07.211-08:00What is it you really want?<p> One of my daily readers asks the question, "What is it you really want?" versus what you think you're supposed to want, or what I'd add, what you may have wanted in the past but now aren't so sure?</p><p>What initially came to mind is the standard "health and well-being for me and my loved ones," but then I wondered if the question is really more about "what do you want to <i>do</i>?" Sure, I want world peace and prosperity for myself and others, but those are more generalized and not things I have much control over. But "what do you want to do?" gets into the grit of how I live my life. </p><p>I think of sober habits, picked up in treatment and now simply a part of who I am - make the bed each morning, time with daily readers, which have changed several times over the years - small morning habits that set the stage for practicing the principles in all my affairs. Meetings are part of my recovery habit - yes, still. I like "us" and I appreciate hearing how others live life on life's terms, or as a friend recently said, life on spiritual terms. I'm not a church-goer, and haven't had much formal religious education. I think of meetings as my spiritual home. Meetings and walking in the woods, as well as on the beach when I can get there. </p><p>And then there is the whole deal of practicing the principles in all my affairs, the focus of December Step 12 work specifically, but really, the focus always. Something came up this week that I didn't want to talk about with my sponsor. I will acknowledge that at 37+ years sober, I do sometimes consult a couple of trusted others in lieu of my sponsor, seeing as how they've lived the back story with me. But this was sponsor material and I resisted out of fear around judgement, out of not wanting to be told what to do (neither of which my sponsor does). I realized that it was ego, the thinking I should have it all figured out by now, not wanting to appear less than perfect. Fortunately, another of the long-term sober habits I have is picking up the phone, no matter how heavy (or the email or the text). I know I'm as sick as my secrets, so I made the contact. And as I was reminded in a speaker meeting this week, I'm practicing Step 2 anytime I get out of my own head and reach out to another person in the program. </p><p>I continue to be presented with serendipity as I'm relaxing into opening to the mystery. Just yesterday I got a call from someone I've known professionally for many years. In the course of the conversation, "one day at a time" came out, with his asking, "Is there a part of your story I don't know?" Well, yes, quite a lot of it actually. It turns out that I was his first phone call after learning that an alcoholic family member had attempted taking their own life. I heard his voice crack as he expressed gratitude to know that there are happy endings. Coincidence? Maybe. </p><p>So what is it I really want? I want to travel and spend time out of doors. I want to continue growing in our program, which, to me, means deepening my spiritual connections. I want to grow old with my spouse (oh wait, we already are old!), knowing there are no guarantees. I want my brother to be content, and his wife to further settle in to her memory-care foster home. I want to enjoy and appreciate my stepdaughter growing into a happy adulthood. I want to keep up my distance-walking and contribute to my overall health (again, no guarantees). I want to read good books and watch good movies. I want to gather with friends, actually or virtually (thank you zoom!) And, one day at a time, I want to continue living in gratitude for this life I'd never imagined.</p><p>What is it that you really want, and/or really want to do? If time and money were no object, where would the journey take you, whether that is related to job, home or adventure? Has serendipity visited you this week?</p><p>* * *</p><p>Thinking of a year-end inventory? I've restocked my supply of the workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b> with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-81399840691430782232023-11-29T11:04:00.000-08:002023-11-29T11:04:21.398-08:00Bermuda Triangle<p> We've entered what's often called the Bermuda Triangle for those of us impacted by the disease of alcoholism - Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year (for those with food issues, that would be extended to Halloween). Holidays can be a mixed bag - for me, this time of year is fun (food! friends! lights!) <i>and </i>fraught with bittersweet memories of holidays-past, as well as missing those no longer here.</p><p>I remember the early years, when simply getting through the holidays sober was a big deal (still is). For several years (5?) I threw a big New Year's Eve party, with dancing in the breakfast nook (minus table) and a meeting at midnight. Since my sober date is January 3rd, it felt good to reclaim the holiday and to add recovery events to my memory bank. One year, our local Alano Club's annual party was cancelled, and I quickly realized that many of those folks were now packed into my living room. That's about when I stopped the tradition, a bit uncomfortable that I didn't know half the people there!</p><p>Over the years, my holiday traditions have changed - what started as an "after-Thanksgiving" dinner for those who didn't have family turned in to a funny gift exchange with the home group which morphed into a small gathering of friends old and new. After my mother died, we stumbled along with deciding what traditions to keep and what to discard (though the first few years were tough - Christmas was her holiday), and for years now, my husband and I have gone to my bestie's home for a big and boisterous creole feast. </p><p>We do like to go to the Year-End Roundup in Seaside, OR - for me, it's about the beach, and the chance to hit a meeting in the town where I got sober, while my spouse is there for the speakers. I'm a morning person - would much prefer an early walk New Year's Day to staying up until midnight (years ago, a friend suggested "New Year in New York" which is 9pm here on the west coast - brilliant!). I'm grateful to know my rhythms these days, rather than the years I tried to fit others' internal preferences. </p><p>I do tend to think of the new year in spiritual terms, much like Solstice, which for twenty years now, I've marked with a women's meeting. I know that the calendar is simply an arbitrary marker of time, but I appreciate the deep breath of reviewing months just passing, and anticipating what is ahead. Always present is the memory of Christmas 1985, knowing I'd be going to treatment in a few days - scared, with the tiniest bit of hope that my life could be different. Even though that was a long time ago now, I can still feel the trepidation as well as the relief when the spinning top that was my addiction finally came to a stop.</p><p>Other than a few late-in-the-year early birds, my school classmates and I will turn70 in 2024. How very strange that sounds. There is a small handful I see regularly, and we have walked the gauntlet together and separately over the years. I've been contemplating a proper marker for this milestone year, and in a somewhat random conversation on another topic, recognized a fellow traveler who mentioned something I've long wanted to do myself. Nothing written in stone yet, but I'm appreciating the serendipity of being in the right place at the right time with a rightly opened mind. Like when I picked up the community college schedule that had been sitting on my desk for weeks, and it randomly opened to a writing class that seems right up my alley (zoom, 5 weeks, hopefully just enough to start my motivation engine). Suit up and show up and pay attention, remembering that messages rarely show up as skywriting or megaphone JEANINE THIS IS FOR YOU. Wouldn't that be nice?? </p><p>And so, December fast approaches. Our outdoor lights are up, but I'm a traditionalist and won't turn them on until the first. I've had a few things cancel this week so am exhaling into the empty space, if not hibernating in the darkness, at least allowing the slow-down in a time when media pushes frenzy. I have choices today, to go with the flow and step off the escalator when the opportunity presents itself, or jump into the fray and then wonder why I feel stressed. Today I choose peace.</p><p>What holiday traditions feed your soul? If you are in a place of transition, how will you honor your heart while finding safe places to simply "be"? Where is serendipity showing up in your life today, via a random conversation, something you read, or a chance meeting?</p><p>* * *</p><p>Thinking of a year-end inventory or a holiday gift for a sponsee? I've restocked my supply of the workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b> with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p><p><br /></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-42879735678280550862023-11-22T07:54:00.000-08:002023-11-22T08:03:55.433-08:00Open to serendipity<p> It struck me, as I've listened to others talk about their on-going ins-and-outs of the spiritual experience that maybe, perhaps, all that god-shot stuff I say I miss, happens when I'm vulnerable, open, and less invested in "my ideas," old or new. I think of times in early recovery when the right person showed up, or the letter came in the mail or the check appeared just when I needed it. I think of when my mother died, and there was her physician in the grocery store parking lot, sharing kind words (and never seen since), or when an important ex died and he was in my dream saying goodbye before I was told he'd passed. I think of the time I was out of work, withdrawing my application from one position but thinking about another, and the phone call that came just days later with the offer to apply for that job that I ended up retiring from. </p><p>Maybe this stuff happens often and I just don't notice, or chalk it up to coincidence. Maybe it's only when I'm grieving or scared or otherwise hammered down by life that I'm more receptive to serendipity, to viewing seemingly random events as Spirit saying, "Yeah, I'm here." </p><p>I do not pretend to be any sort of Christian, but I think of Teresa of Avila, who is reported to have levitated on more than one occasion. I think, "Well of course she did." Without television or radio or books or social media, etc etc etc to distract her, it makes sense that the spiritual energy she felt could lift her off the ground. Our world is so busy, with the near constant onslaught of information (if I so choose) that it makes sense that a bird's morning song, or the sand dollar on my beach path, or the phone call that comes just when I was thinking of my friend are barely noticed. </p><p>I am reminded again and again that "the spiritual life is not a theory." OK, so what does that mean in the course of my life? Paying attention, yes. Pausing when agitated, definitely. Many of my peers talk in meetings about their daily prayer to be of service. I have to admit I rarely say that prayer, for fear that it would inconvenience me. Yes, selfish and self-centered, with a bit of magical thinking thrown in. Think "la la la" with eyes closed and ears plugged. What I've learned over time is that if the universe wants my attention, it will get it, whether that is a service opportunity, or, say, losing a job that didn't fit anyway. And the truth is that I am of service in several different areas, but along with the "No!" voice is the whisper that it's never enough, that I should be doing more, that I should <i>be </i>more. Just for today, I can say, "Thanks for the input, but no thanks." Funny (as in odd, not ha ha) that the not-enough voice is still there. Not loud, and not always, but those tracks were laid early and deep.<br /></p><p>The Big Book tells me that "lack of power" was my dilemma. Lack of power wasn't my dilemma, at least not by my thinking. My dilemma was that I needed to get high every minute of every day and a small handful of people told me I should stop. The thing is, all they said was "stop" without giving me an alternative. That's where you people come in. You didn't even tell me to stop, but said, "If you want to stop hurting, this is what I did." You offered a way out, and a way of life <i>after </i>the stopping. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.</p><p>And thank you to the several who shared their appreciation for these weekly posts after last week's message about gratitude. These musings are a "must do" not a "have to." I'm happy to have an avenue for my feelings and opinions. Wishing you a pleasant and peaceful Thanksgiving.</p><p>What are your thoughts about the spiritual experience(s)? How do you make space so that you can notice the unexplainable? If the spiritual life is not a theory, how do you put that into practice? What do you do to acknowledge old ideas without giving them power? Again with the gratitude on this Thanksgiving eve (here in the US), what is on your list? </p><p><br /></p><p>* * *</p><p>Thinking of a year-end inventory or a holiday gift for a sponsee? I've just restocked my supply of the workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b> with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-18186104557704958152023-11-15T08:23:00.000-08:002023-11-15T08:23:11.610-08:00Gratitude month<p> In AA, November is designated "Gratitude Month," likely related to Thanksgiving and maybe Step 11. Sometimes thinking of something to be grateful for is easy - other times a push, but always good to remember that gratitude is described as a <i>spiritual elevator</i>. Even if I'm faking it 'till I make it, the exercise helps me remember what it was like and what it's like now. I did not die at the end of a needle or behind the wheel of a car, which means that each day truly is a gift. </p><p>Someone in a meeting once said that when they're having a hard time falling asleep, they go through the alphabet, naming something they're grateful for with each letter. Sometimes that flows, other times a struggle (Q? ok, quiet morning time with my journal, but K? U?). Years ago, I found myself classicly scrawling out things that upset me - the spouse, the job, the x,y,z with just a week later, those same exact things on my gratitude list. Perception. Perception and my being centered, or not. Sometimes the directive to write a gratitude list can feel Pollyanna-ish, head in the sand. <i>And, </i>even on the dark days, there is much to be thankful for - a warm bed, food in the fridge, gas in the car, and oh yeah, sobriety.</p><p>A memory came up recently, of a time that my good friend, Ruth, and I went to Seaside for our aftercare. Ruth was a character - my mother's age, funny, and very committed to her sobriety, having lost a son in an alcohol related car accident. She and I, and our other housemate (and still best friend), a decade younger than me, shared coffee and daily meditations in the kitchen each morning, laughing and crying over our individual drunk-a-logs. Those were magical times. </p><p>On the particular day I'm thinking of, we finished aftercare and then hit the evening meeting at the Little Yellow House. The proverbial dark and stormy night, we were nervous about the 90-minute drive home, when one of the treatment staff invited us to sleep on the fold-out couch at his place and head home in the morning. His wife greeted us when we got there, with a look that said this wasn't the first time Joe had brought home a stray or two. Ruth and I were so grateful, so in awe of this AA thing that showed us service and fellowship in action. </p><p>Maybe 10 years later, I was working on the locked psychiatric unit at a local hospital, and who was being admitted, incoherent and drunk? Joe. I was heartbroken. Heartbroken and confused. How could anyone as serious as he'd been about sobriety be sitting here slurring his words? Once you've fully conceded to your innermost self that you're alcoholic, how do you un-concede?</p><p>That same best friend/early roommate told me that people forget. People forget the pitiful, incomprehensible, demoralization. They forget that they have a disease, that it's alcohol<i>ism </i>not alcohol-<i>wasm</i>. I don't walk around in fear of being struck drunk, but I am acutely aware of the danger of forgetting I'm an alcoholic. I hear too many stories of those who drank after decades sober and have a hard time getting back, or those who "slipped" only to suffer a terrible fall or car accident or blow to the head. I feel solid in my recovery, and I am not immune. </p><p>Recently I read a quote attributed to Marcus Aurelius - <i>Understand that your time has a limit set to it. Use it then, to your enlightenment or it will be gone and never in your power again. </i>As I age, I'm noticing more, paying attention more to reminders that I'll only pass this way once (as far as we know). Where is my attention <i>today? </i></p><p>And, where do I acknowledge my age without throwing up my hands in defeat? An example - this week I volunteered for leaf-raking detail up in Forest Park, a three-hour stint with twelve other people, getting fallen leaves off the trails. In years past, I would've gotten up early to go for a run or walk before heading out, but this time, had a little talk with myself. "Jeanine, you're not 49. You're not even 59! It's ok to enjoy your morning coffee and then drive up to the woods." Trust me, my legs and torso are feeling it. Could I have squeezed in three or four miles on the pavement beforehand? Sure, but why? "Motion is lotion" for the joints, I'm told, <i>and </i>I've really got nothing to prove (though I must admit to enjoying sharing my past trail running experiences with a couple of younger runners on the crew. I know, I know - I don't look like my story, either the before or the after).</p><p>And so, today, on a gloriously colorful November morning, I am grateful for all my senses, for this body that takes me outdoors or to the computer for zoom meetings. I am grateful for a strong marriage, for good, solid friendships, for memories old and new. And yes, for sobriety and that I've not un-conceded to my innermost self the true nature of alcoholism. I'm also always grateful for Bill and Bob, and that Bob said "OK" when Bill came over to talk. One alcoholic to another., sharing experience, strength and hope.</p><p>What is on your gratitude list today? How do you keep the memory of your own pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization fresh without it being morbid reflection? What will you do for your sobriety today? </p><p>* * *</p><p>Thinking of a year-end inventory? I've restocked my supply of the workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b> with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-11938609330081047952023-11-08T10:42:00.001-08:002023-11-08T10:42:54.067-08:00Spiritual Experience<p> How does one describe a spiritual experience? According to Bill W, quoted in the Daily Reflections for August 24, you can't. You can tell the story, but you cannot adequately describe the actual experience, which is part of the mystery of recovery for each of us.</p><p>I sometimes describe my "psychic rearrangement" as feeling like an internal pencil snapped in two. There is the before, and the after - the <i>need </i>to alter my consciousness with drugs or alcohol every single day, and the seemingly instant release of that need/want. How to explain that? Can't, really, other than to say it was the magical confluence of pain and longing, that place where desperation and hope meet. As we hear in the rooms, "I was sick and tired of being sick and tired," though I didn't have that language at the time. I was shattered, full to the brim with the pain of loss and grief, of disappointment (in myself) and a tiny, tiny spark of hoping life could be different. </p><p>Sometimes I long for the dramatic shifts and awarenesses I experienced in those first heady years of recovery. Speaker Lila R. talks about wanting more of everything, and that includes the spiritual connection. Logically I know, of course, that I can't recreate or expect the same level of "wow" as when the connection (to you, to HP, to program) was brand new. Like any convert, the excitement, the novelty of this new life, was part of the attraction. A wise friend once described the ongoing process as moving from infatuation to a deep, though quieter, appreciation. She described it related to our Pacific Northwest Mt. Hood - the first time someone sees her in the distance, they feel awe, but over time, may barely notice her framing our view east - notable still, but not in the excited way we may have at first. That is the normal, logical and mature progression. I still experience awe and wonder, but farther and further between, dependent on how trapped I am in my brain. I'm thinking of my visit to Point Reyes on the northern California coast last spring with a friend. An amazing viewpoint, but my mind was caught up in my new cancer diagnosis, so my internal response was flat. Pretty. Yeah. When do we eat?</p><p>So always, for me, is the awareness that, while I can't conjure up a spiritual experience, I can make myself ready. I can slow the "f" down, write my To-Do list then stop thinking about it, PAY ATTENTION to my surroundings, especially when walking in the neighborhood or in nature, give myself the luxury of an afternoon reading break (is it luxury or necessity?). Again, I can't think, "OK, it's Wednesday - I've got an hour between 1:00-2:00 so let's have that spiritual awakening!" <i>and</i> I can start my days with intention to remain as receptive at 3:00pm as I am during my early morning rituals.</p><p>Again and again, I'm reminded by your example that the principles of the program can help me/us walk through <i>anything. </i>Death, diagnosis, money woes or successes, moving or deciding to stay put - there is nothing that someone else hasn't already experienced. I am on my particular path, with emotions specific to my situation and temperament, but I so appreciate the markers left by those who've been there before me.</p><p>What is the story of your spiritual awakening, either the first time or those since? Can you still feel the surrender? </p><p><br /></p><p>* * *</p><p>Thinking of a year-end inventory or a holiday gift for a sponsee? I've just restocked my supply of the workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b> with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-84379603467358936302023-11-01T08:50:00.001-07:002023-11-01T08:50:39.715-07:00To-Do vs Want To<p> Prompted by friends talking about pending retirement and what they hope to do once untethered from the 9 to 5, I'm thinking about my own life in the moment. Now three-plus years into the freedom I so craved, most weeks go by in a blur of chores, errands and appointments, time at my desk and neighborhood walks. I have a volunteer gig with the American Cancer Society, perfect in that I choose when and where to participate. I have my meetings and service, though less friend-time than I might like (oh our busy lives). What has felt missing for a while now is creativity, the discipline needed to get into the drawers full of art supplies, or to write fiction. It seems funny to use "discipline" and "creativity" in the same sentence, but creativity requires willingness, a commitment to keeping open spaces in the day or week in order to see what arises.</p><p>I kept a specific retirement journal during the three years leading up to the actual date, full of musings and hopes, feeling, at times, like I couldn't work another day (when there were 700 left to go), falling back in love with my job, imagining the perfect day post-retirement. The process was good, and helpful to hone-in on what I wanted to do before leaving my profession, like replacing my 10-year-old car while I still had a regular paycheck. Everything I read about planning for retirement though, suggested that it wasn't just about how much money to save, but about how I wanted to spend my time. Not just reading the paper in an easy chair, like the fellow in the Big Book who then drank, but what activities I might like to try, or get back to. Have I done all I projected? Some, not all (the pandemic curtailed a few plans), which has me, today, wondering if it is time to re-evaluate.</p><p>And this is pretty funny - in looking at the pre-retirement stuff I'd printed out (I should've been a Boy Scout - always prepared!) is a checklist, including: <i>Recall all the things you loved doing in your teens or twenties and make a plan to bring the joy of those experiences back into your life. </i>I don't know that I should list sitting under a tree smoking a joint, or snorting lines in the disco's bathroom, but that was my idea of "joy" back then. What a trip, from there to here.</p><p>I think about the statement "it's the journey, not the destination." For so long, it was the destination I focused on - the degree, the next marathon, the position at work, the mortgage, the wedding, the retirement date - but then what? The events themselves are simply markers along the way. After the wedding comes the daily-ness of married life. After the promotion, the actual work. So, retirement is both a journey and a destination - a destination without actual completion (unless that's death, which has its own, vast, psychic baggage to explore!).</p><p>I do tend to be focused on destinations, the end point, primarily as a place to take a breath and move on to the next thing, because there always is a next thing. Once the trees in the backyard were cut down, there was a new garden to plan; once the to-do list is complete, more will present itself; once this walking event is done, there is another to prepare for, and fill-in-the-blank with your project or plan. One day at a time, can I strive for more comfort with the process? If early sobriety was about the plug-in-the-jug, the middle chunk about causes and conditions, and these later years about spiritual fitness, how do I relax into the flow - always an important question for me, even more so when most of my deadlines are self-imposed. </p><p>I do appreciate that I'm able to get to the gist of what's bugging me sooner these days. Where in the past I might've gotten lost in the woods, flailing about until the spinning top of my emotions settled, today I can put pen to paper and listen to my heart. Oh yeah, it's been too long since I had a friend date. When is the last time I played with my box of colored markers? (I will admit to still carrying a voice from grade school that deemed this girl and that one as the artists, that girl as the smart one. I think I was the troublemaker!)</p><p>So, yes, pen to paper, and always pay attention to the HALTS. I'm rarely hungry (not for long anyway), and anger isn't my thing. Tired, definitely, as I awaken too often during the night. Lonely can be tricky to recognize, but if 95% of my interactions in a week are in or around errands and appointments, I start to feel disconnected without knowing what's missing. Just for today I can pick up the phone, make a plan, schedule a hike or a walk or a movie. </p><p>How do you notice when you're restless, irritable or discontent? How do you unravel those emotions in order to do a 10th Step on yourself? When is the last time you had fun with friends? What is on your list of "someday I will..."? and can you take a small step towards that goal today?</p><p>* * *</p><p>Thinking of a year-end inventory? I've just restocked my supply of the workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b> with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3290902124115892053.post-8040928346604410682023-10-25T09:53:00.004-07:002023-10-25T09:53:58.025-07:00Staying present<p> I've found myself in a spiral of existential angst coupled with happy, joyous and free. Interesting how my mood can shift from one to the other, sometimes in the space of hours. </p><p>I'm realizing, after inopportune tears triggered by a song from 1972, whether conscious of it or not, I'm picking up the psychic vibration of fear and frustration so prevalent today: the horrific wars in the Middle East and Eastern Europe, hate crimes, warnings of lone-wolf terrorists, not to mention the dysfunctions in the American congress are like background noise - not always noticeable, but there. Add to that, concerns for my sister-in-law, who has struggled to settle in to her new living situation, and I'm vacillating between fear and faith (having worked on a hospital geriatric-psych unit years ago, I know firsthand that finding proper placement can be challenging). I meditate on peace, for my family and for the world.</p><p>And, have been reminded again and again that I can't do anything concrete for worldwide situations (other than send money, and my little drop in the bucket won't solve the problem), The best I can do is sow kindness in my corner of the world, whether that is a sweet interaction with a houseless person at the coffee shop, conversation with a Syrian Uber driver, calling my brother each day, or simply sharing a smile with a neighbor as we pass on the street (I'm constantly amazed at how many people don't say "hello" back, even when not wearing earbuds). I need to be conscious of the hoola-hoop, staying appropriately aware of what's going on in the world (with the knowledge that bad news gets more attention than good), but not over-indulging. </p><p>And, reminder to self that moods do shift, with a phone call, the sun coming out after a foggy morning, a much needed hug. One of my daily readers points out that I have choices in where to spend my mental energy. I can forget that when caught up in current events, or my own stories.</p><p>For much of my recovery, I've participated in small, in-home groups, whether a monthly Step group, friends who go through a particular recovery-related book, and now, a small group of women who gather to talk about spirituality - connections, disruptions, intentions. Our reading this month was about the cosmic beauty we notice - sunrise, red leaves on the sidewalk, a friend's smile - and how quickly we revert to affairs of the day. As I took an early walk on Sunday, just before dawn with a light misty rain, I caught myself over-thinking, barely aware of my surroundings. I reined it back in, like I imagine roping a wild horse, which worked for a few moments before I was off and running again. OK, so I can't <i>live </i>in a place of total rapt attention to the now - breakfast needs making, calendar needs attending to, etc, and... if I live in my top two inches, I'm less likely to notice the sweet moments when they appear. </p><p>What strikes me, again and again, is the absolute honor of bearing witness to the details of each others' lives, whether sordid, joyous, happy or sad, and how we move from a place of wonder (how did I get here?) to gratitude for the experiences, all of them, painful and sublime. Maybe other people get that depth other places with other people, but AA and Alanon are where I feel at home, in the best sense of the word.</p><p>Where do you find peace when affairs of the world are so distressing? How do you interact with kindness in your own corner of the universe? Where do you feel "home?"</p><p>* * *</p><p>Thinking of a year-end inventory? I've just restocked my supply of the workbook "<b>I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" </b> with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. (See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample.) Available in PDF format ($12.95) for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy ($19.95 mailed to you). Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page, payment link on top right. <u>Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th </u></p>Sober Long Time - Now What?http://www.blogger.com/profile/05094220341113960996noreply@blogger.com3