Gratitude – Cheeky Street

Decisions, Devotion and Destiny

Today marks two years since my Mom passed away. I still hear her voice but her singularly calming, practical presence is missing. Her bluntly honest remarks often caught people off guard or made them laugh (if not a little bit uncomfortably). I don’t know too many people who are both blunt and smart. Generally, I just feel disappointed with the world and miss Mom especially because her confidence and clear communication was always one thing I knew I could rely on in this world.

I have become permanently impatient with people who are reluctant to make decisions – or more precisely – accept responsibility for making them, when it seems like such an important time to respond to the urgency in our world. The last 3 jobs I have held all curiously presented the same set of frustrations: people “in charge” who wanted authority but either had no desire, impetus or wisdom to exercise their authority. I would bring important issues to leaders that impacted my day to day (and would result in wasting resources if left spinning indecisively) only to be pushed off for some future date when making a decision would become clearer for them. What? I remember thinking, “Dude, you are literally being PAID to make DECISIONS. Like, that’s your JOB!” as I walked away in frustration. But the universe continued to present this frustrating set of circumstances to me over a period of several years in jobs I grew to strongly dislike – so there must be a good reason, eh?

I have concluded that this lesson repeatedly appeared in my work life because there was something else I needed to be doing. Primarily, listening to my own voice and cultivating the “meaning” that I found so disappointingly missing elsewhere – within myself. As a woman approaching 60, it’s fair to say I have spent two decades devoted to my family. Not just the person who made sure tasks were completed – but real, geniune, from the heart devotion – the kind you feel towards your first love. As an empty nester, I’m still very devoted to children. On this rainy morning of the anniversary of my Mom’s death, I just returned from delivering a birthday package and cake from Birthday Connections to a child in need who currently lives in a domestic violence shelter. I feel really good about having the privilege to be in a place in my life where I can play a small role in uplifting another person and be true to something I feel devoted to in my heart. I think Gen Z’ers would call this “Alignment.”

A new friend of mine surprised me yesterday with a “Yahrzeit” candle – a memorial candle in the Hebrew tradition to light on the date of a loved one’s passing and keep lit for 24 hours of remembering, honoring the deceased, performing acts of charity in their memory, etc. I had already intentionally chosen to volunteer today for Birthday Connections as a way to honor my Mom, who successfully nurtured and raised seven children. But the Universe really wanted me to “get” this lesson, so my friend Shelly, who has experienced much loss, generously opened her heart and gifted me this beautiful and gentle tradition. I am so grateful and deeply comforted by her kind act. In the Christian tradition, lighting a candle is a form of “devotion” – recognizing the sacred in another person and memorializing their goodness through prayer and remembrance. It isn’t even noon yet and already I can say I have fulfilled the mission of this day – and will spend the next several hours in gratitude and restful contemplation.

We are all born to discover our unique gifts. As Ralph Waldo Emerson beautifully writes in an essay:

“Rings and jewels are not gifts, but apologies for gifts. The only gift is a portion of thyself. Thou must bleed for me. Therefore the poet brings his poem; the shepherd, his lamb; the farmer, corn; the miner, a stone; the painter, his picture; the girl, a handkerchief of her own sewing.”

The gift of intentionally (decisively) honoring my Mom’s memory today and practicing devotion in her memory by supporting a local child in need brings me to my final thought – my destiny. I honestly am starting to believe that my destiny in life is to be a “feeler of big feelings” and conduit for people who may not recognize or articulate their own. In other words, I’m the uninhibited person in the room who will say something awkward that is maybe cringe but also funny – and potentially touches another person’s heart so that healing can begin. So far, I have been fortunate to be able to recognize mostly good things from the painful experiences I have had in life. And without fail, honest and good-hearted people have met me along the way to help me make sense of recent losses and pain.

I will conclude with a thought about recovery. Lately I have been thinking that I have not been very “emotionally sober,” even though I do not drink alcohol anymore to survive big feelings. There have been a couple of major losses in a short period of time in my life and many days, I find myself “growling” at the world instead of living in gratitude and bowing in reverence towards my good fortune. This is why I am considering going back to a 12-step recovery program and actively working the steps of AA. An old friend has recently reappeared in my life and kindly offered to accompany me as I start this journey over – in search of emotional sobriety. Rolf Gates, a brilliant yoga instructor and recovery writer, writes in his “Daily Reflections on Addiction, Yoga, and Getting Well”:

“Much of early recovery was like finding the bodies trapped in the snow after an avalanche. Frozen in their last moments – new boots, worn parkas, bits of scarf. My sadness was overwhelming. My 12-step sponsor, Henry, knew this about me. He was kind to my sorrow. There were no answers for what broke my heart. There was no getting any of it back….

….Henry would look at some broken part of my life, lift an eyebrow, and drawl, “what is was like.” We would laugh until tears came to our eyes at what it was like and would be no more.

Reflection:

Life has put people in your life who have not been afraid of your sadness. Thank them with your heart. Maybe thank them in person. Who has helped you laugh the laugh of freedom?”

The people who are appearing in my life who are not afraid of my sadness are helping me heal and discover new ways to use parts I have previously discarded and labeled “broken.” To me, this is a destiny worth fighting for and enjoying.

Truth

When I was very young, my Mom let me go on a mini adventure one afternoon with a nun from our small town parish. Her name was Sister Arthur, and like the name suggests, she had a (in my mind) tall stature and commanding presence. For reasons to which I was never privy, it was determined to be a good idea for me to join Sister Arthur on a little field trip about an hour away from home to an ancient Indian burial ground in search of treasures. What precocious child wouldn’t want to venture out for such an adventure?

As best I can guess, Sister Arthur must have taken me to the Towosahgy State Historic Site in East Prairie, Missouri. According to the Missouri State Parks website, this location is “surrounded by some of the most fertile farmland in Missouri….a former fortified village and civic-ceremonial center for Mississippian peoples who lived in southern Missouri between A.D. 1000 and A.D. 1400.” I believe what is pictured is what my young eyes saw that day. While I cannot remember anything Sister Arthur said to me that day, I vividly recall feeling a sense of wonder and reverence. The sight of her hands holding an arrowhead and telling me something about how it was made and its purpose is emblazoned in my memory, though exact words I cannot recall. I just remember feeling very special to have been chosen for this wondrous one-on-one field trip. I always wondered, “where have all the people who used to live here gone?”

The impact of that single exposure to something so massively important to civilization sparked a curiosity in me about excavating artifacts. I began digging and searching around my home and surrounding farmland for similar treasures, only to come up with handfuls of limestone rock, usually. That Christmas my grandmother nurtured my curiosity and gave me a rock polisher. While I never returned to the sacred Indian mound, I imagined treasures of my own from mini digs I conducted in the fertile farmland around my house. I never found another arrowhead but I will never forget the spark of interest Sister Arthur ignited that afternoon so long ago. The idea that it was possible to unearth tools that gave clues about how people thought and lived thousands of years before you was the first evidence I had ever encountered that people really are all connected.

I’m 58 years old now and have recently become reacquainted with that budding archeologist who spent the afternoon with a “scientific nun” so many years ago. I recently lost my Mom, the first person to believe me worthy of such an important field trip (or maybe she just needed an afternoon alone!), and what I keep returning to is the importance of excavating the truth. Instead of artifacts, through yoga, I have begun searching for the truth about myself. Hip pain led me to yoga and fate or serendipity or both led me to the Yoga Teacher Training I have been involved in for 3 months. One truth about myself I live with everyday is my former addiction to alcohol and the shadow of lies from that always nearby.

To maintain sobriety is to commit to the daily discipline of pursuing the truth. Lies can be alluring hiding places but they always betray you when you want protection the most. Through yoga, I have been introduced to the brilliant writings of Rolf Gates (“Meditations from the Mat”). A few days ago, I read and reread Rolf Gates’ reflection on self-study (“svadhyaya” in Sanskrit, meaning self-study and one of the five sustaining practices in the practice of yoga).

“The unconscious wants truth. It ceases to speak to those who want something else more than the truth.” Adrienne Rich

“Self-study is an aspect of the practice of truthfulness……The good news is that truth is music to the soul. There is no end to the soul’s ability to bask in the presence of the truth. Millions of people in twelve-step programs sit around in church basements by the hour, listening to one another talk about themselves. It may sound boring, but in fact it is captivating, because the people in those rooms are telling the truth. It is captivating because spending time in the presence of others who are telling the truth inspires us to do the same.

To practice this aspect of self-study, examine the level of truthfulness in your workplace, family, and friendships. How much time do you spend in the presence of people who are telling the truth? How much do you spend with people who are not? What is it like when you hear the truth? What is it like when you do not? What fears keep you from being honest? Is it true that like attracts like? Does honesty beget honesty?”

Today, as I celebrate my ninth year of sobriety, my Google pics showed me this “funny” photo I took at a restaurant exactly 11 years ago, a time when I was deceiving myself about my truth. I thought this message about day drinking was funny. I thought by throwing my life away each day, little by little, I was really having fun and attracting the right people and things in my life. It makes me sick I once believed that throwing my life away in front of my children and husband was “funny.” There is nothing funny about not being able to live your truth.

As I have slowly excavated my truths and begun building a life of honesty and authenticity, I have observed the impact of this commitment on the people I love. It has had opposite effects: some people have thrived and grown and others have recoiled and shut me out. I’m never going back to not living my truth. If you had told me at the beginning of my sober journey 9 years ago that I would one day be working at my favorite organization and pursuing a yoga teaching certificate, I probably would have tried to protect myself with a “joke” about needing wine or margaritas or some other distraction to sustain me. I wouldn’t have been able to see myself living a happy, healthy, truthful life because to me that seemed so far out of reach in addiction. My familiar pain was more comforting than the effort excavating truth sounded like.

I have found truth in the eyes of the people with disabilities my workplace serves everyday, on my yoga mat and at home with my beautiful family. Most importantly, I wake up and go to sleep each day thanking the spiritual connection that sustains me for helping me to face the truth one day at a time. In addiction, I forgot to love that adorable little girl who was so curious about life and interested in excavating truths. She wasn’t worried about what anyone else was doing, thinking or saying because she was so completely enraptured by nurturing her own loves. I recently excavated this child and oh, what a fun adventure we are beginning.

I Just Want My Plush Towel and Other Holiday Reflections

It’s been awhile. The last time I wrote was last May as my son was leaving the house to finish his senior year of High School. A pretty big day at our house and any parent’s. It took me a few months to get my grounding after that day. Going from 18 continuous years of round the clock parenting to a sudden and immediate “layoff” is quite a jolt and I was terrified I might never regain a sense of purpose. So I found a volunteer gig and a new mantra, something like, “Guide Me,” grounding words I would repeat throughout the day every time I felt a new wave of panic rising.

Where to begin? When you have poured your heart and soul into two human beings who are ready to launch into the world and the thought of moving forward terrifies you, how do you start? Fortunately, I have had really good experiences volunteering in the past and it is something I am comfortable doing and my husband was supportive of me doing instead of looking for a paying job right away. So I had a wonderful summer helping a local rehabilitative organization as a volunteer at a summer camp for developmentally challenged adolescents build executive functioning skills. Ability KC is one of my favorite places because they support individuals and families of all ages and abilities to recover from debilitating injuries or conditions and regain strength and resilience. As a person in recovery from alcohol addiction, building resilience is something I feel very passionate about. So I started taking steps forward in my life and trusted God and the Universe to “Guide Me.”

Summer went by quickly and I built connections with the darling camp kids. I learned massive amounts from the 20- and 30- something physical and occupational therapists running the camp. I found that, as always, I had been planted in exactly the right place at the right time with the right people working for the right purpose. Continuing with this trust and purpose, somehow I gradually awakened to the next opportunity in my “Life After Mom” journey. I knew I wanted to work with kids on the brink of young adulthood who needed extra support. So I began applying for jobs with local school districts as a Special Education Paraprofessional. What luck and joy I had when a local middle school contacted me for an interview in early August. I am now employed there and part of another team of inspiring individuals I am learning so much from. And I have the privilege to connect with young people on a daily basis, meeting them where they are and trying my best to support and help them learn. I am beyond grateful to have this new purpose in my life.

Recently, when strolling the bathroom aisle at Kohl’s, I realized I hadn’t given myself the luxury of a really thirsty and plush bath towel in many years. So I bought 2 cream colored ones, something a Mom knows never to do with kids around because they’d be destroyed in days. Another thing about the plush towels: I just want them for myself but I haven’t explicitly communicated this to my husband. Occasionally, in his morning haze and rush to work, he grabs one and I find myself feeling territorial and angry – about a towel! Here’s my takeaway from the hidden meaning behind a newly liberated Mom and her plush towel anger issues: it’s a small luxury just for me that I am not expected to share with anyone. Ready to laugh out loud? After 21 years of nurturing my family, I just want to be asked if they can use my plush towel! I feel ridiculous about all the power I have given these towels in my psychological life and my family doesn’t even know it!

Moving forward in life after full-time parenting requires a sense of humor. I appreciate the sense of belonging and acceptance I have at the middle school where I am working. It’s building my skills, resilience and confidence. No matter what age, we all need each other to build strength. And plush towels. We all need at least one just for ourselves.

Happy Holidays, friends, and may 2020 bring you an abundance of joy, new adventures and plush towels.

I’m Grateful for Check-Ins

It’s that time of year again where I struggle with the accurate spelling of “mantel.” Or is it “mantle”? Like “Capitol” and “capital,” this distinction in spelling gnaws at me (in a good way, I suppose). In any case, as you can see, my mantel is doing just fine. And so am I . Thanks to check-ins from many unexpected friends and caring neighbors. And of course, my constant therapy buddies, Pudgey and Vanilla.

There is something about the month of December that always leaves me feeling warm, loved and grateful. It’s not just the ordinary pre-Holiday buzzing around that sustains me. In fact, it is the opposite. I like the quiet, reflective times of December and I defiantly make them a priority. I started reading about “minimalism” a few years ago (check out Joshua Becker’s becomingminimalist.com and the excellent writings and Netflix documentary based on the thinking of Joshua Fields Millburn & Ryan Nicodemus, theminimalists.com).

More than anything, studying the principles of minimalism has offered space and support in my thoughts and lifestyle these past few years to begin a transformation that has led to the greatest clarity and personal satisfaction of my life. I don’t need more “stuff,” I need less clutter. I don’t need more “fake friends,” I need a small circle of amazing friends who check-in with me.

Quite unexpectedly, I left a great job this month and immediately became completely helpless to a very painful sciatic joint “situation.” I’ve been knocked off my horse and there’s very little I can do about it. Yet I feel joyful. I have abundance. I see goodness. I am hopeful. And my small circle of amazing “check-in” friends and family are exactly where I want and need them to be. Lovingly offering kindness and ready to ease the pain of loneliness or regret or whatever my ailment of the moment happens to be.

For whatever totally undeserved reason, I have received the gift of loyal friendship and support of friends I was close to twenty and thirty years ago back in my life recently. Old friends are the most comforting treasure in the world. One glance or utterance can unfold memories, laughter and complete understanding between old friends that gives meaning and purpose to my humanity in the here and now. Just yesterday, I reconnected with Shelley, a pal from my twenty-something, unmarried, professional days over lunch. We are both married, in our fifties now and navigating raising teenagers, nurturing marriages of twenty-plus years, and learning to laugh at our common mid-life physical and emotional challenges. She texted me first thing this morning:

“I’m so very proud and impressed with all your personal accomplishments! You don’t give yourself enough GRACE!”

My dears, when a friend who knows you inside and out says these beautiful words to you, I don’t care how or when or in what format, you are LUCKY. You are enough. You make a difference. And you are certainly loved and appreciated.

Like the beautiful fresh greenery another dear friend recently draped across my mantle (or is it mantel? More amazingly, she did it without duct tape!), life is full of simple joys that can be overlooked if you don’t intentionally slow down. Check-in with your soul on a regular basis and feed it with acceptance, inspiration, a cup of tea, a conversation with an old friend, or a friendly chat with the neighbor walking their dog down the street. These are the gifts I am grateful for this December, regardless of what packages happen to end up under my tree.

I hope that 2019 brings you lots of positive “check-ins” from loving sources you have encountered and nurtured throughout your life. A check-in doesn’t have to be lavish – just a few simple words to express what you’re feeling in the moment are all that another person needs to feel supported and ready for a new day.

I dedicate this to all my check-in friends of 2018 and look forward to growing that number in the coming year: Shelley, Pam, Mary, Melissa, Vicki, Vickie, Victoria, Jennifer, Jeanne, Sherry, Stevie, Johanna, Christine, Susanna, Malin, Kit, Laurie, Kelly, Carol, Lincoln, Rob, Mark, Alex, Julie, Susan, Erin, Jenny, Carmen, Alejandre, Ann, Linda, JoEllen, Sarah, Mike, Gwyneth, Bill, Caryl, Sheila, Isa and Mario.

Merry Christmas, friends.

The Practice of True Belonging

Lately I have reflected alot on Brene Brown’s definition of “true belonging” from her latest book, “Braving the Wilderness”:

“True belonging is the spiritual practice of believing in and belonging to
yourself so deeply that you can share your most authentic self with the world and find sacredness in both being a part of something and standing alone in the wilderness. True belonging doesn’t require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are.”

There is a big whopping heap of wisdom in that one little definition! Consider it from the framework of a marriage: a happy and successful “union,” some say, is the sum of two whole parts. Both partners are complete going into the union. What about the years when outside influences and family responsibilities gnaw at the core of one’s “whole self” – what about times when you are giving so much of yourself, you feel lost inside your own home?

This happened to me when a series of overwhelming challenges happened in rapid succession. Not only did I not belong to myself, I felt separate from the “wholeness” of marriage. Alone and terrified. Money, kids, health, work, geography and all kinds of other mini-challenges crept in my life and the me I was once so solidly familiar with started to disappear. Often weary, I dulled my fighting impulse with red wine. I thought I was stronger (i.e., belonged more authentically to myself) when I was drinking, but this could not have been further from the truth. I forgot how worthy I was of a happy life, so I drowned all my dreams and ambitions in alcohol. Fortunately for me and my family, a spark of life remained and I woke up in 2015 to the realization that I had made a big mess trying to comfort myself through numbing rather than belonging. I was in a crisis of disconnection.

Brene Brown continues her definition of true belonging”

“True belonging is not something that you negotiate externally, it’s what you carry in your heart. It’s finding the sacredness in being a part of something and in braving the wilderness alone. When we reach this place even momentarily, we belong everywhere and nowhere. That sounds absurd, but it’s true.”

I wonder if the quest for “true belonging” isn’t the biggest challenge we as humans are meant to overcome. It seems so simple but the piece that brought me back to myself and the living world and my family was finding the sacredness in being a part of something. Somehow I had internalized the message early in life that belonging equaled weakness so when the road of my life got very twisty – I retreated into myself and stopped connecting.

Many addiction experts believe that the opposite of addiction is not sobriety – it’s connection. I wholeheartedly believe this to be true. The joy of connection is an equal opportunity healer – yet for some, the most difficult to attain. If you are around enough people who suffer from addiction disorders, you will likely hear it repeated that they are grateful for their addiction because it led them to this awareness that true belonging to yourself so deeply that you can share your most authentic self with the world.

Living a sober life after years of dulling the brightness of the real world truly is an adventure in re-connecting with the child you once were and the loved ones you travel with. I am grateful to Brene Brown for helping me to clarify the importance of true belonging, it is the foundation for my whole life now.

Getting Sober Is Like Starting A New Job …. Everyday

Next week I will celebrate my 2nd consecutive year living in long-term recovery from alcohol use disorder. Notice my language. It is very specific for a reason: I believe that I will spend the rest of my life working to develop deeper understanding of my need to numb feelings and, hopefully, will be granted the Grace and inspiration to pursue ever-deeper practices for managing and maintaining a healthy, well-rounded life without relying on alcohol.

I am so proud of this achievement yet I know that I could “slip” at any time if I begin to neglect the positive practices that keep me humble and eager for continued sobriety. Just like a person who has changed jobs, my openness about my struggles is just one of many facts about my life – in other words, sobriety will never define me as a person. Yet, surprisingly, maybe because of tv shows like “celebrity rehab” or the heavy infiltration of 12-step type phrases in popular culture, it has been my experience that people automatically have their own sets of expectations of what your recovery should look and feel like.

It is impossible to convey to a person who does not have addiction controlling their life the excitement and liberation you feel once you decide to change, accept your limitations, and work everyday to seek newer and better ways to live “a normal life” without obsessing over wanting to numb. That’s why I write about it. But it makes people feel “awkward,” it seems. So I am supposed to confine and limit my experience to groups of other “users.” This does not make sense to me. You wouldn’t avoid talking to a person about their new “job,” so why would the topic of pursuing a life without addiction be any different? This is why maintaining sobriety can be difficult – it is more “polite” to ignore the addiction monster in casual conversation. This kind of sweeping under the rug behavior is bad for our children. They need to hear us talking about and showing them what a life built on zero reliance on alcohol looks and feels like. Just like we introduce our children to the concept of work by taking them to work with us, we should not be afraid to declare our commitment to sobriety to our friends, family and community.

The reality is that the younger a person is when they first experience alcohol, the more likely it will cause an addiction problem later in life. We don’t perpetuate self-sabotaging cycles in other health-related concerns (for instance, heart disease), so why are we reluctant to openly discuss and support addiction and sobriety?

I have a suspicion it is because many of us believe one of two things: that we are already slipping into bad habits of relying on alcohol to “numb” difficult emotional situations or we mistakenly believe we are immune to addiction. Those are highly dangerous beliefs. I think another reason people don’t want to talk about their feelings related to numbing and alcohol is because there is a widespread misunderstanding of what a sober life looks and feels like. I will definitely admit (if you have not already ascertained this fact!) that I am a much more sensitive person sober than drinking. I have to work hard to process my thoughts, feelings and responses to everyone and everything around me to avoid falling into old patterns of numbing. But that doesn’t mean my life is no longer fun or that I will not tolerate others’ drinking around me (everybody has their own barometer of tolerance about this, so it is always thoughtful to ask).

Over the weekend, I felt so many “feels” as we celebrated our first-born child’s Graduation from High School. At once sentimental and fearful, the onslaught of well-wishing from people in your life you may still be reconciling with, the entire weekend was challenging and tiring for me to navigate. And the past two nights, my poorly trained brain with only 2 years of sober thinking under its belt, even began telling me “You should go ahead and enjoy a drink or 2 or 10. You don’t really have a problem.” This is proof to me that I will spend every waking moment for the rest of my life “managing” this enormous force that lives inside of me that wants to numb everything.

Finally, some thoughts about people in Recovery that might help others better understand this journey:

Sober people are fun people;

Getting sober means the party is just beginning, not ending.

Sober People do not intend to make you feel uncomfortable ;

Sober People would rather you throw out all your old ideas about Recovery and learn by engaging with them rather than avoiding the topic altogether;

Just like becoming confident about one’s performance in a new job, living comfortably in your own skin as a sober person takes time, and you should not have any unrealistic expectations about what this should look like – every sober person is unique.

It has been an honor and a pleasure sharing the past 24 months with Readers. I have received so much love, grace and appreciation from the many people who want to understand addiction. This propels me forward, especially after my 99th cup of coffee during absolutely perfect cold Heineken or margarita weather!

It’s Okay To Be Late To The Party

I hadn’t really thought about my High School experience for years, especially while enjoying the vividly contrasting experience my children are having today in High School. The world is so big (and scary to some – like me), and my children’s perspective of their future, because of the co-educational, diverse, academically challenging environment they are in for High School, is optimistic. Personally, though I appear Pollyanna-ish, I am a cautiously optimistic person by nature. “Expect the best but prepare for the worst” would be a good description of my life choices, and not always in a good way – I have missed alot of fun and friendship by choice because I felt I would not fit in.

Over a month ago, several of my former High School classmates lovingly and gracefully responded to the pleas of our friend and sister, Lori, who had recently been diagnosed with breast cancer and needed support. Lori, the Boston College Graduate with a Law Degree from Washington University, an impressive curriculum vitae and solid history as a humanitarian and philanthropist, asked for her sisters’ loving consolation for strength. Wow. I reached out a couple of weeks after the group had formed (I was on a social media sabbatical) by joining along with my classmates in cheering Lori’s indomitable spirit on, as we all knew she would prevail, as always.

Throughout our 24/7 conversations that took place over about 21 days, I couldn’t help but remember one of the foundations of our High School education from Visitation Academy, a Catholic, all-girls school in suburban St. Louis, Missouri, founded by the Sisters of the Visitation:

St. Francis de Sales: “Nothing is so strong as gentleness, nothing so gentle as true strength.”

In the moments between conversations, I randomly remembered things that happened in those days and then judged my immature 17-year-old behavior against what I know about myself and life today. The most difficult memory to reconcile involved Lori herself. We were co-counsels in a mock trial against my scrappy best friend (who ultimately graduated from Law School and became the First Female Chief of Staff for the Governor of Missouri). I knew she’d knock our teeth out in the first round. So what did I do? I hardly prepared – I let Brilliant, Sweet Lori do the majority of the trial preparation while I focused on what I liked to think of as “aesthetics” (e.g., flirting with our lawyer sponsor and shopping for my beautiful trial outfit). Heavy guilt and shame to bear 32 years later when this sweet angel has included me in the most intimate conversation of her life. In fact, more recently, instead of begrudging me for the things I did or did not do in High School, Lori reached out to support me in my Recovery from alcohol addiction. I learned in later conversations with friends that Lori was doing the same with many, many people – sending cards, donations to charities, and anything uplifting she could think of to love and support others.

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I realize now because of Lori that people like her – beautiful, strong, accomplished, immersed in life – ask for help and support when they need it. That’s STRENGTH, not weakness.

I wish this story had a happy ending involving a massive reunion including Lori after cancer had left her body for good. It does not. She received devastating news about a month after her original diagnosis about the cancer having spread. She learned there were no treatment options. She continued to love and communicate positively with her dear High School friends until she entered hospice, passing away less than a week later. Stunned and overwhelmed with grief, many of us who had been writing to Lori through her most difficult journey gathered in the presence of our dear Visitation Nuns and honored her. We sang our School Anthem and prayed and embraced one another. We ate donuts, Lori’s favorite treat, and tried to reminisce about the happiness she had brought us instead of the sadness we were feeling.

Truth be told, I almost did not go. Even during my 4-hour drive to attend Lori’s service, I was tempted to turn around and go home to sit quietly on my comfortable couch. Why? Because I did not feel worthy of the experience. She was so good and I have so many faults. At one point, the voice in my head even taunted me and tried to make me believe that I did not belong – my presence would be meaningless. Still, I drove on to be with my Viz sisters and embrace the women we have become. I am glad I did. Lori taught me, even after her spirit left her body, that it is okay to be late to the party – it is okay to feel like an outsider, because we all have special gifts to give. The nuns hugged me and were so glad to see my dimples and big blue eyes!!! My friends fell over laughing when they heard my uniquely explosive cackling. I may not have been Lori’s best friend, but I had a special connection with her. I did belong and Lori made space for me, even unto her death.

Affirmations for a Fearful World

I have been mad at Gloria Steinem and Madeleine Albright since they insulted women voters (and subsequently “walked back” their remarks) this Spring.

But I am also a recovering alcoholic in my first year of recovery, with a blog, so I have to be careful not to be the “grump with a brainstorm” and do or say anything that is just going to make me feel less at ease with an already strung out world and ragged emotions

Part of the recovery process is learning to deal with our emotions without hurting ourselves or others. Without contributing to the trashy landfill of uselessly spent hurt that contaminates our world. So I am learning about breathing and mindfulness and affirmations. My Mom introduced me to the affirmations part of healthy thinking many years ago. Fearful of what might become of 4 beautiful young girls setting off on a month-long journey through Europe in 1988, my Mom wrote an affirmation and stuck it in my backpack and asked me to read it to my traveling companions each morning before starting our day. I was absolutely amazed when one of the friends I went on that trip with told me more than 20 years later, that she still uses the affirmation and it works! It goes something like this:

God is always with me. Therefore I am always safe and at the right place at the right time.

I know it said more but that is the essence of the affirmation and demonstrates the simplicity of the act of centering one’s thoughts, focusing momentarily on one’s breathing, tapping into the abundance within, and bringing that goodness forth into one’s day. It is such a healthy practice. If you are a recovering alcoholic, finding solace and the strength to navigate a world of conflict without numbing is essential. I think it is impossible without a personal meditation practice.

After all, if a person’s entire sense of personal safety/security is centered on a person or thing outside of him/herself, that leaves the person very vulnerable to the unpredictable influences in the world. Fear is extremely dangerous. We must constantly find ways to mentally transform fear into love and connect with some sort of constant assuredness to live in this crazy world. Not sure what I’m getting at? It is simple. If we learn to practice controlling our thoughts for even 10 minutes a day, preferably at the beginning of the day, it becomes a protective shield against negative outside influences and we feel better, make better choices, and affect the world more positively.

To my daughter, who is about to begin her Senior year, and all the other people I love, cherish and see struggling in the world, I wish 4 simple internal messages to be written on their heart:

I have abundance within that never fails to protect and lead me closer each day to fulfilling God’s purpose for my life;
I have unlimited gifts that are meant to be shared lovingly with others;
Time is on my side – there is no expiration date or end to the amount of love and goodness I can experience and share in my lifetime.

4. Spirit is Infinitely Intelligent and will support me through any and all hesitant beginnings, sticky middles and rocky endings in my life – all I have to do is Ask and listen.

Life is difficult but joyful. Finding one’s purpose is the most gratifying experience of the human condition, and learning to access our Infinite Love within is the most simple yet powerful tool to combat fear and overcome paralysis. Affirmations lead to love. Love leads to action. Action leads to wholeness. Wholeness is our essence. Our essence is goodness. Start today!

THIS

FullSizeRender — February 11, 2016 – Pudgey, Mario, Vanilla and me

My husband snapped this photo last night and emailed me with the title, “Evening Huddle.” It is a helluva happy huddle! A year ago, I was way off course and quickly sinking to the bottom of my addiction to alcohol. My cousin sent me a great article recently that describes addiction as “the opposite of connection.” Bingo! Total disconnect – by selfish choice – then by habit – finally without any sort of logic or consent at all. Just dead.

God and my family have brought me back to life. In just 8 months, I have been fortunate to have regained my sobriety and focus. And look at my reward! A puppy, handsome teenaged son (and daughter, who just celebrated her 17th birthday and is overjoyed with her new ukulele), purring cat, large cup o’ Joe, Netflix and hubby all in one room filled with happiness, a roaring fire and quilts made with love by my Mom.

I don’t know why I steered so far off course in the first place. It is so scary. I am one of the lucky ones to have been brought back to a conscious, intentional life. Yes, I feel pain instead of numbness at times. AND JOY!!!! Today, I am just grateful for my happy chaos – I am working with kindergarteners in an underprivileged community. I have a beautiful family, a Mom I can still call on the telephone as often as I want, an amazing AA Sponsor, a life partner of almost 20 years, and many supportive friends. Whether our family can afford to take a vacation this year or not: WE ARE RICH.

I read a lot about addiction and recovery now. If you are looking for inspiration, motivation, or just curious about people’s stories, I encourage you to check out 2 of my favorites:

RecoveryHeroes.com

SheRecovers.com

You can be as public or private about your struggles as you like. I have deliberately talked about mine because it helps my healing and accountability. More poignantly, talking about it helps me live in the present and experience the joy to the fullest.

Go hug your mess!

Hot Fun in the Summertime: My Childhood Favorite Day

It was summertime 1973 and the house had a different rhythm – a teenaged rhythm. 3 teenaged sisters and a brother were home from boarding school and there was no rest for the curious. I woke up early to the sound of Malin and Laurie’s swim lesson in the backyard pool. Mom was making French Toast and the seductive aroma jolted me out of bed.

Down the hall, I heard James Taylor’s “Mud Slide Slim and the Blue Horizon.” Jeff was awake and getting ready for another hot day in the fields with Mr. E.P. Dad was on the ranch in Texas. Running downstairs for breakfast in my favorite Speedo racerback swimsuit, I slid my fingers across the red velvet stripes on the wallpaper the whole way. “I will feast on a rolled up slice of French Toast with powdered sugar,” I planned, “then to the pool for a quick swim until I hear the motor of the the ice cream maker churning fresh peach ice cream.”

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There was nothing better than drying my pruney, water-drenched self atop the air conditioning unit near the ice cream maker in the summer. My body pressed against the coils with hot air spewing – and leaving a checkerboard imprint on my legs.

Occasionally, the lure of wild honeysuckle draping across the backyard fence would lure me from my drying time atop the air conditioner and I would quickly hop off long enough to snap a blossom and gently pull the stem just enough to make the natural honey ooze. Then immediately back to my post beside the ice cream maker: nothing would deter me from my mission of pulling the paddle with freshly churned peach ice cream out of the magical drum surrounded by ice and salt.

“How DO you do this,” I asked Mom each time. She was certainly busy but managed to make each day perfect. I think summer was her favorite time, too.

10271347_10203162390493281_2131721271664070937_o — Mom and Dad honeymooning in Tennessee 1952

That summer, I rode my bike after supper with Laurie, my 15-year-old-sister. She was my favorite playmate – she did my hair and makeup, taught me exercise moves, played The Beatles’ red album for me while I fell asleep at night, made homemade pretzels with me and told me where babies came from that summer!

Summer was a time of electric energy, days filled with warmth and nonstop activity until I collapsed, water-logged and brain spinning with images mysterious teenage music (there was an earlier summer my brother had a cool garage band), posters, phrases, friends, clothes, hair and skincare products and LOVE. At night, I would maneuver a way to climb in the back of the station wagon to “Circle Town,” listening to “Honky Tonk Women” on the local radio and sipping on a Cherry Coke from Big John’s.

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When August came and my teenaged playmates packed up to return to school, I was so sad and “Alone Again, Naturally.” Then the letter writing began – daily trips to our hometown Post Office to check out Post Office Box 156 and look for teenaged news and treasures became my occupation. What a life I had as the youngest of 7 – each season’s memory dotted with loving memories of what “they” were up to and how much I had to look forward to.

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