I didn’t want to go to a meeting yesterday morning, which is always a sure sign that I need to. I always get so much from meetings (especially at my new home group), but it’s easy to get lazy and slip into old ways of thinking, like I should just go to work after I drop my son off at school. I can have some coffee, listen to music, and ease into the day. Never mind the fact that my wife has a busy next two days, so it’ll be me and the kids. I won’t be able to go to a meeting tomorrow, so the best idea would be to attend the one meeting that I can…right?
Right. So I came to a crossroads (literally) and turned left instead of right, and I ignored the jabbering in my head that said I’d be uncomfortable walking in, would maybe even have a baby panic attack because the meeting is so small at 8:00 on a Friday…despite the fact that I joined this group because of its intimacy. Sometimes all rational thought goes out the window and I have to buy into the dictum of bringing my body and trusting my mind will soon follow.
I helped set up for the meeting, and it was small, as expected. Friday mornings are always speaker meetings, and they’ve all been wonderful. Today’s speaker was a young lady with a powerful story and who was a good communicator. By that, I mean her diction was spot on, she spoke clearly, varied her tone, had great eye contact, and sent off positive and comfortable body language. I always try to shove down the snooty part of me that wants to level criticism at poor speakers, and I’m usually successful, but today I could relax all my OCD tendencies that crop up when I listen. Progress not perfection, eh?
When the speaker finished her story, we went around the room and shared about aspects of recovery her story raised. Several people talked addiction leading to suicides in their families; the speaker’s story included her best friend dying in a car accident after she drove impaired. In the middle of these sad stories–and on the morning that I found out that Scott Weiland died, which wasn’t surprising but hit me hard, anyway–a woman talked about the hope and miracles she’s seen *in the rooms.
*in the rooms – Speaking of being a snooty, eye-rolling, intolerant ass clown, I once vowed to never use the term “in the rooms.” I no longer feel that way, because good lord, what does it matter? All of us in recovery share a common language. How am I “better” by avoiding it? Talk about taking myself way to fucking seriously. I even initially refused to get the Elf on the Shelf for my kids because I said it unwittingly and dangerously introduced them to Foucault’s concept of panopticism. My wife was having none of that nonsense, and I bought the Elf on the Shelf this morning. This round Sobriety 1, Ego 0.
Anyway, as she described the transformations she’d seen in people–rightly described as miracles–I realized she was right. She went on to say how rare it was to see people transform, but we see it all the time within 12 step fellowships. All of us in recovery testify to this phenomenon, and it’s not ego-based to see that I’m a miracle in progress.
Today, I celebrate eleven months of sobriety. I’m sipping coffee, catching up on your wonderful blogs, listening to my children play (and not fight, for which I’m grateful). I don’t have anything out of the ordinary on the agenda today…except not drinking.
That, above all things, remains extraordinary to me.