Inspirations...

This week, I'm sharing some inspiring words that have crossed my path from sources other than our 12 Step literature.

"The world around you is only beautiful when you are at peace with the world within you." 

Author unknown, but my source is a friend who sends uplifting quotes and messages once or twice a week, this one generating an internal, "Yes!" Yes, and... it can be a journey from thinking my problems (and solutions) are out there somewhere to remembering that my answers are within. Are my HALTS out of whack? Am I sitting in fear (which is always projected into the future)? Am I relying on my own finite resources rather than trusting the process? How can I move towards the peace within when my mind might be rattling with discord?

A quote I read frequently at the beginning of the day is from Jessica Powers, a poet and Carmelite nun, who died in 1988: "There will be something - anguish or elation, that is peculiar to this day alone. I rise from sleep and say: Hail to the morning! Come down to me, my beautiful unknown!"

I love the reminder of the mystery, of the day unfolding as it will - often in the manner I expect, but not always. I know in my mind I'm not in charge, and... I still forget. Keeping close to the program (and particular poems and readings) is the reinforcement I need on a regular basis. The same friend who sends the inspirations reminds me that my recovery has a 24-hour shelf life.

Being happy is not a fatality of destiny, but an achievement for those who can travel within themselves - Pope Francis

This lovely quote about the internal journey reminds me that self-searching isn't limited to those of us in alcohol and addiction recovery, but more the human condition. I rarely, if ever, traveled within myself pre-sobriety. I may have thought I did, with those "moral and philosophical convictions galore," but capital T-truth introspection was nearly always colored with justifications and rationalizations, leaning heavily towards a higher power that excused all my misdeeds. Yes, like described in the Big Book, I felt awe at a sunset or a starry night, but there was no consistency in my spiritual reachings  - I was too busy reaching for another drink! 

I so appreciate the words of wisdom that cross my path, either from my own searching, or gifted from a friend. And funny how something can fall flat one day while the next, pierce my heart. A few years ago I was at a conference and overheard a couple of women referring to the recent speaker, saying, "Well, she went on and on" while I was in awe of the same talk. Perspective, frame of mind, receptivity - and that whole bit about the teacher appearing when the student is ready.

I got fitted out for radiation treatment, which consisted of several dot sized tattoos and a gizmo that will help me inhale to a certain point and hold my breath (so my lungs inflate, thus protecting my heart). Quite a production, though I'm told the daily procedure itself will only last a few minutes. One foot in front of the other, one day at a time, one appointment at a time. 

I must admit to feeling a bit off as this "blog week" draws to a close. I've spent far too much time at medical appointments lately, between scans and blood tests, a recommended pneumonia vaccine, etc etc. The tech I saw on Tuesday teased that he'd issue me a timecard, I've been there so often. On one hand, I can consider all this scanning and testing simply as information gathering, which feels better than the grouch I've been all day. Perspective, frame of mind, receptivity...

Do you have favorite poems or readings that bring you comfort?  How do you move towards serenity while accepting your inner grouch as a natural part of the human experience? What does it mean to you to travel within yourself? How do the Steps guide that journey?

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See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Witnessing

 I met with the cancer counselor again last week, noting that I've moved from anxiety to curiosity about what's next, a much better place to be. I so appreciate the women who've answered my questions and shared their experience, strength and hope.

My primary home group in the Time of Zoom (I have three) was intense this past week, with members sharing from the heart about really tough stuff. I continue to be in awe of how we bear witness to each other's struggles and joys, our pain and our success. I think back to when my mother was dying, when I probably shouldn't even have been allowed to drive a car but kept showing up at work. A co-worker would ask how I was doing, and I'd tell them, as appropriately honest as I could. They'd usually say, "Sorry," and move on to the task at hand, understandably. 

We don't do that in AA and Alanon. In our meetings, we witness, even when it's uncomfortable or heartbreaking, when it's joyful or when we so very much relate. I sincerely appreciate our "no crosstalk" rule. OK, we all do it on occasion, but generally speaking, our 12 Step meetings are where I can say what's going on, sometimes adding, "And don't come up to me afterwards!"  I'll never forget a time, years ago, when I cried my eyes out during a share, only to have some fellow approach me after the meeting, asking, "So, how's it going?" Dude, were you even listening?  And I will admit to self-screening my shares, depending on the group and my perceived level of safety. Our stories disclose in a general way... and I am emotionally bound to the groups where I feel comfortable talking about the whole of it.

What I do know is that the "waiting room" of life is scary, whether that is awaiting test results, for my mom to die, to find out whether I've been accepted to school, or will be hired for a job. Spontaneity is not my strong suit. I have plans, and even when I don't, I like to know what's coming next. A holdover from growing up with the unpredictability of alcoholism? Perhaps, or maybe just my nature. 

As I heard in another group, it is those in-between times that are most sacred, the liminal space of "I don't know." Between breaths, between diagnosis and treatment, the space between my plans and reality. It so often goes back to getting still, to paying attention to my heart, to saying, "What else might be true?" instead of "This is how it must be."

In the world of cosmic "so you only thought you knew what's next," I had a procedure on a forehead basal cell carcinoma this week (there's that word again). It was scheduled way back in November, and I was told to keep the appointment because they're hard to get, not knowing at the time I'd also be recovering from breast cancer surgery. So here I am, a two-inch line of stiches on my scalp, complete with bald patch where they shaved my head, and this healing bit under my arm. All I can do is chuckle at this point. I will say that the hardest part was the instruction to limit movement so the forehead didn't bust a stich and start bleeding - no lifting over ten pounds, including purses, groceries, children and grandchildren (specifics per written instruction), no bending over at the waist, keep blood pressure down, and stay on the couch or bed as much as possible. Sigh...  I will admit to breaking rank sooner than I should've, doing just a wee bit of gardening, seated, and paid for it with a headache. OK, OK, I'll do my best to do nothing.

And then, as the restrictions lessen and the healing proceeds, I have a new appreciation for the little things - picking something up off the ground, walking five miles with my Saturday training crew, sleeping on my "usual" side. These last few months have been, if not a jolt of a "wake up call," a nudge to pay attention to all that I take for granted.

Maybe it's the hint of slow-coming spring, or perhaps that I'm feeling less existential dread, but I've found recent energy to dive into a few small projects, like framing a couple of things that have sat in my To-Do shoebox for too long. I've also registered to walk the Portland Half Marathon in October - a worthy goal, and one I can train for on my own (vs a full marathon, which is a challenge even with buddies). If getting sober was a second chance to engage in life, maybe this diagnosis business is a third opportunity to ask, "what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" (Mary Oliver)

Where do you feel safe to share what's really going on? Is there anything in your life at the moment that feels like "waiting room" territory? In addition to your idea of how things should play out, what else might be true?

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See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Lessons and opportunities

 I shared at an in-person speaker meeting this weekend. I tell myself I won't be the best but also probably not the worst...  It was good to gather for a good old-fashioned spaghetti feed fund raiser for the District, and to share laughter and love in community.

I don't formally speak very often, but as I think about my story, I find myself in a bit of melancholy about the people whose stories intersected with mine - most of whom are gone now: my first husband from lung cancer, the important boyfriend who followed, from the effects of his alcoholism, the meth cook lover from a heroin overdose. Good people, all.

This past week, I took advantage of my healthcare provider's offer to meet with a cancer counselor (online). I had a sense of relief in talking about the whole of my experience thus far with a neutral party. I must admit to a bit of skepticism, however. I worked in the behavioral health field for a long time, so can sometimes recognize a professional's approach to therapy, which can be a little distracting. I do my best to stay in the moment, present to my emotions rather than a detached clinical eye. In retrospect, I did notice a sense of spiritual arrogance, as in, "What can he teach me, me with 37 years sober and 30 years working in the field?" Oy vey - such an ego. But, I was able to release the judgement and relax into the conversation, and did learn a thing or two about self-compassion, including a brief exercise to utilize when I metaphorically shake a finger of chastisement at myself. As I heard, and as I hear in meetings, how would I treat a friend in similar circumstances? Gently, and with care.

So, can I set aside everything I think I know about cancer, about my health, about my "knowledge" so that I can have a new experience? Can I drop the rock of certainty and live, at least for moments at a time, in the mystery?  I do NOT believe in a diety, pulling puppet strings, and I do believe that there are lessons and opportunities to grow in all situations, even (especially?) those that sting.

Speaking of similar circumstances, I now know two women who are a step and a half behind me in the breast cancer journey, and at the speaker meeting, met three who are well past their cancer-free declaration. Thank goodness for early detection, and for seeing how our experience can benefit others, no matter the scenario. I keep hearing that in a few months, or a year, this will be in the rearview mirror, something I walked through. Being still in the mire, I find that image reassuring. And, if I apply my own past experiences, whether job loss, relationships ending, loved ones dying, the acute agony, fear and uncertainty passes. The feelings don't evaporate, but over time, they mellow and simply become part of my history. 

I am feeling more like myself this week after the past few months of fear battling with trust, after getting two pieces of good news (margins were clear on the tumor removed during surgery, and a PET scan indicated no other signs of cancer elsewhere in my body). Radiation to follow, but probably not chemo. I am feeling that the crisis of uncertainty is passing, so the low-level energy drain has given way to my more usual sense of optimism. One day at a time, of course, and... today is good.

Thank you to all the readers who've reached out with encouragement and sharing your own health journey. We do together what we cannot do alone. 

How do you sit still when all you can really do is wait? Are there places you can utilize the "Set Aside" prayer?  (please let me set aside everything I think I know about _________ so that I can have a new experience)

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See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions.  You can order from the WEB VERSION of this page. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th 

Sunny days...

 I chaired a meeting this past week based on an old Grapevine article about making amends to our bodies - our bodies that withstood so much during our active alcoholism and addictions, and that I sometimes take for granted. Nothing like a diagnosis to cause a pause...

In that meeting, a wise person shared their own reminder to face their fears rather than try to run away, to "look them dead in the eye." Ah yes, the only way through is through, which is that one-day-at-a-time stuff. Just for today, all is well. Just for today, I can sit still. Just for today I can do the dishes, read a novel, make dinner, do the next right thing. I can remember that FEAR equals face-everything-and-recover, not "f*** everything and run" which I've been doing a bit of in the food department. Damn, this being human is annoying sometimes!

Here in the northern hemisphere, we celebrated the Spring Equinox (Fall for you down under) on Monday, and here in the Pacific Northwest, I'm saying, "It's about time."  "It's been a long, cold, lonely winter" to borrow a phrase from George Harrison, with spring blossoms later than usual (of course, what is "usual" anymore when it comes to climate?). All that being said, it is in nature that I find solace. I sometimes think that has to be big and dramatic - waves crashing, a forest of trees - but sometimes it is simply watching birds peck for seeds in our backyard or seeing the sunset across the stair-step roofs of the neighborhood. The rainy season is far from over, but we've had a couple of beautiful sunny days, which makes it all feel more balanced.

Which could be a metaphor for life. I have far more sunny days than not: a repository of memories and stellar conversations, the loving arms of family and dear friends, this amazing recovery journey. I did get some positive news this week (finally!) - still cancer, but the margins were clear which means the surgeon got the entire tumor. Next steps are still in process, but grateful that this part of the journey is complete. Not to be too Pollyana-ish, but when I'm feeling stuck in self-pity or fear, I really, truly can take a look around to remind myself there is much more to life than my limited focus. And I can be gentle when I'm stuck in the mire...

I keep hearing just what I need to hear. I haven't been sleeping well and woke up a little crabby on Saturday. Because my walking group was taking a break, I got to attend a meditation meeting with my husband - 15 minutes of silence, which went faster than anticipated. The woman who shared before me talked about her cancer, and others spoke to coming up to the edge of their discomfort in various ways. I talked with the woman afterwards, who told me she rarely talks about her cancer journey in meetings, so it was one of those little program miracles that she did, and that I was there to hear it. Again and again I see and hear evidence that I am not alone, whatever the case may be - grief, changes in life situation, medical stuff... whatever, and I mean whatever I'm experiencing, there is another member who's either been there or is doing that. Where would I be without my community?

And the definition of "community" continues to expand in this world of online meetings. I had the pleasure today of meeting, in person, someone I'd known only from zoom, who was passing through Portland. We are people who normally would not mix, mainly because we would never have met, whether that applies to using days when I was sequestered in my basement, or in recovery when I get entrenched in particular routines. I love to experience that spark of recognizing a kindred spirit, of making the connection, of saying, "I see you."

I was honored to hear a 5th Step this week - one more reminder of "we do together what we cannot do alone," of saying, "I see you and I fully accept who you are in this moment."  I think of how I often resist making that phone call myself, the "she's probably busy," or, more deadly, "I can figure this out on my own." What I know, of course, is that it isn't about whether or not I can "figure it out" (ha ha, which is not one of the Steps), but the act of reaching out, of asking for help, the "Do you have a few minutes?" that can be so hard to do. Why? Do I think I'm supposed to be fixed by now? Am I embarrassed by my puny "problems" or stubborn character aspects? A little of both, I suppose, and... an exercise in humility to pick up the phone and practice the principles in all my affairs. 

How have you, or are you, making amends to your body? Has that process changed since you've gotten older? If you find your focus on the darkness, is it possible to shift just a bit towards the light? How does self-acceptance fit with that? Are you able to reach out to your sponsor or trusted others to check in, even if that feels like a stretch? If not, what could you do to move closer to the "we"?

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See the Jan 13, 2023 post for a sample of the "I've Been Sober a Long Time - Now What?" workbook with 78 pages of topics, member's views, and processing questions. Available in PDF format for those of you outside the US (or who prefer that format) or hardcopy mailed to you. Email me at shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. Note that the workbook is also available at Portland Area Intergroup at 825 NE 20th