Nine Lives, Plus One - GONE

*************

There's a woman in one of my meetings whom I've seen only a handful of times. She's a multi-addict who recently went out and is back. Her recent chapter resulted in catastrophe - no surprise - and her loss of everything. EVERYTHING.

She was describing it, and out of the air popped the words to me, "...I lost my cat. They put my cat to sleep. Now, to some of you, that sounds unimportant..."

And she couldn't go on.

That was the only loss she really cared about.

You could have ripped my heart out of my chest, at that moment, because I knew her pain. I knew it.

There is something about the care-giving of a pet - that we feel extraordinarily responsible. They are innocent lives, completely dependent upon us. Completely accepting of us, and trusting. They offer what many people cannot get from other people around them: comfort, on an as-needed basis - freely given, freely available at all times.

And when the care-giver is an addict - who typically are isolated, shunned, abandoned, and desperately lonely - that animal is their family. Their significant other. Their daily affirmation of purpose.

Their comforter.

Their bridge to humanity, ironically.

And to pull out from the fog one day, back to sobriety, to realize that your sojourn resulted in you effectively murdering your closest loved one...

Well... I can only imagine the guilt.

I've had occasion across the years to euthanize three pets. Three family members, who shared the same roof as I and kept me company through all circumstances, 24/7. I had them euthanized under controlled circumstances, where it was clearly in the best interest of the animal, to end suffering.

I held them in my arms, each time, and petted their face, looking into their eyes and gently talking to them as they looked into mine, until the lights faded in theirs, and I broke down sobbing.

To play God is a heavy chore. And not one I personally can do without guilt, even under clearly correct circumstances. Even for all our co-dependent, controlling tendencies, there is something primordially instinctive within us that recognizes unequivocally that another's life is not ours to tinker with; it's hands off. We just know this, even when it's an animal's life. To give or take a life is clearly not our domain, and we know it.

I cannot imagine sending a beloved "family" pet to be euthanized when there is nothing wrong with them, except that their addict care-giver disappeared. I cannot imagine the guilt Cat Woman is dealing with, knowing her cat would live, except for her relapse. Would be there to curl up and comfort her in her recovery, a warm body, except now the cat is cold and dead. Cat Woman has paid a dear, dear price, once again, to her disease.

She was across the room from me, and I didn't get a chance to talk to her. But since that meeting, I have thought about her constantly, and her pain and GUILT about her beloved pet being put to sleep because her evicting landlord didn't, frankly, know what to do other than that while Cat Woman was AWOL, in arrears, and flying high.

So, yesterday, I was in a meeting, and late (like about 1/3 through) into the meeting she walks in, and sits -- where -- right next to me, in the next chair. And I'm thinking, "God, this is it, isn't it? You want me to talk to her, tell her I GET her pain, and GUILT, about her cat."

I was all ready to reach out, after the meeting.

Except, then, she got up and left early, about ten minutes before the meeting was over.

I wondered about that, and then had to let it go. I had been willing.

Oddly, another woman was at that meeting, the first time I had ever seen her. She shared, shaking violently, rubbing her arms in nervousness. We were on Step 11, and she was expressing how she hadn't prayed in 3 years, she had such rage at God, for taking her mother, 3 years ago.

Later that day, I ran smack into her at the bank. Two towns over, from where the meeting location had been. We both tried to get through the same doorway at the same time, she coming in and I going out, and when I looked up, I recognized her.

I reached out to her, instead.

You never know what God's plan is. It's rather like surfing through life -- you have to stay limber on the board, ever ready for a shift underneath you, ready to compensate for change with your balance.

I feel a peace, that I did not get the opportunity to talk to Cat Woman. If God wants, he'll present the opportunity. Maybe she wasn't ready to hear that from me, or maybe it isn't to be. But, I'm willing, to reach out to her, because I GET her pain, and GUILT.

And, whatever God's plan is concerning her grieving her cat, I'll Accept it. Whether I'm part of it, or not.

-The Traveler

Food for Thought: A Paradigm Shift

I ran across a discussion today wherein a Catholic priest arrived at Step 1. He was describing his experience at his first AA meeting, and it really caused my thinking to do a paradigm shift.

What he said was how touched he was at his first AA experience. Figuratively and literally, he meant. In the meeting, he shared about being a priest, and at the end, he was freely hugged by many people in the meeting.

And what he said about that made me see differently, than I had ever, before. What he said was that, as a priest, people do not tend ever to touch him, because they see him as different than a normal human.

And he does not feel free to touch others, because of so much publicity of sex abuse scandals in the Catholic church.

Stop, and think about this.

And how much he had needed to feel those hugs.

This is no statement whatsoever about the Catholic church, or any religion.

It is a statement of humanity.

It's not just people locked outside the principles of religions. It's people locked inside, as well. Both are between a rock and a hard place, in terms of the principles.

I wonder if, in the case of religion, we in the rooms need to focus on the persons, and not the principles, of those religions.

Food for thought.

-The Traveler

On Practice makes Possible

I received an email last night from a disgruntled and distraught friend, who clearly needed to vent. They had just passed through a month dealing with family crisis and a death, and had stored it all up for me in detail. A whole lotta detail. They called me today, and let loose.

It took about an hour for it all to come out, and as I was listening, the Second Mind was thinking about listening, and how I need to practice this, now. And so I did. I had to quiet the Second Mind, and get myself into the moment, and on point, and just listen.

And I practiced some other things, too. Like not owning. I have another scenario about to ripen in my life with another person where this latter skill is gonna come in handy, as I'm going to be asked to own a lot that isn't mine, and I don't want it, either. The question will be how not to own it, kindly. So, I'm practicing not owning things in the meantime, to prepare myself.

I had a lovely lunch today in a gen-you-eine 50s diner with a companion. The food was authentic diner food, alas, but I did love the ambience. The formica on the tables was so old that the pattern was rubbed away, smooth as glass, showing the underlayer of plain brown.

There were little juke boxes on each diner booth table. Tall coat hook poles at the end of every booth bench. Mosaic tile floor with grungy black grout stained through the decades of moppings. Stainless steel just about everything else, including a massive 2-over-2 4-door fridge where I saw an impressive stash of pies of all flavors behind door #1.

A glass counter behind which was a collection of Coca-Cola memorabilia and shiny colorful metal models of 50s cars. I think that's where the pies and cakes used to be on display, probably before health codes forced them to be refrigerated. What can I say, I'm a fan of nostalgia. Probably because I'm getting up there.

What pleased me most was that last time I visited this same diner, which was years ago, the air was infused with cigarette smoke throughout. Today, it's a smoke free establishment, and I left with my clothing not smelling of smoke, and was able to fully taste the exquisite finer points of my gourmet diner fare - ahem.

Incidentally, this was not the drunk church diner, but a different one. I think I'll look for more, to visit. I hear there are a lot of them in my vicinity. I always thought I could tour the world, based only on visiting food establishments. I have the engine of a foodie inside me. I think the best meal I ever ate was in Belgium, although it was essentially French cuisine.

Did you know that currently 8 of 10 of American adults over 25 are overweight or obese?

Think about that! 8 of 10.

I am of the opinion that the reason for this, among other things, is that our food is so unsatisfying. It is completely tasteless compared to REAL food, such as Europeans traditionally have eaten (before so many of them took up our habits...). I'm also completely convinced that the glycemic index folks are onto something. The food we eat causes cravings for more.

I'm just rambling here, going free-flow. And I know it. The reason being, I have a number of posts ripening in the "vault" right now. They have to stay there, until they are ripe. And, I'm still soaking in my recent epiphany, before I finish writing out that series.

I need more practice listening, than talking (writing). I'm just not all that impressed with myself. My story is not as sordid as some, and I'm not putting details out there anyway. I don't think I need practice writing, or thinking, as my top priorities, right now. I need to do. But maybe I'll still need the exercise of reflecting after having done. Not sure yet. I don't see the point of blathering on things that are not of enduring value. There's plenty of that already out there. Like this entry, for example.

And ever since my epiphany, I've lost interest in a lot of things. They've turned into noise, for me. And I want to get rid of noise in my life, and focus on the epiphany, see where it takes me.

I'm still thinking about it, letting it all ripen. For now, it's Blog Lite again, at least for today. I find that Practice makes Possible, in growth. For me, this blog is practicing the thoughts I generate in my own recovery path. I should think they are heavy, and boring, for most readers. I practice them here to clarify them, before I go off and do.

-The Traveler

Incredible Lightness of Being

I've lost an awful lot of weight, in recovery. And it feels pretty good - healthy.

It's gonna take me a while to process through defects - I'm thinking a lifetime. They're like the buttocks or the beer belly of recovery weight, if you ask me.

Resentments are variable, but some of them fall off in big chunks over not too long a period. Others, well...

But one aspect of weight loss goes very quickly: losing that which doesn't belong to me - other people's lives, feelings, choices, consequences, reactions. It reminds me of the chipmunk-cheeks-and-puffy-face and overall-even-layer-of-"insulation"-throughout kind of weight. Just a little loss here, and you look different. Your shape changes.

It's startling to discover how much I have been carrying around, in this lifetime, that isn't actually mine. And how heavy it is. And how, like adipose tissue on a corporeal body, it can strain me and make me prone to illness, to carry this excess weight. And how, if I'm not careful and paying attention, it can creep onto my frame over time, day by day, and accumulate.

I actually own very little, I've discovered. A few items, and when they are whittled down to size, they aren't terribly heavy. Or complex. I'm kinda skinny, under my excess weight. I look forward to getting down to size. To right size. Now that I've lost a bunch, I'm motivated to keep going until I'm trim.

Imagine that.

-The Traveler

Things I Want, in Life

I want:

1. To have a gentle and steady spirit.


2. To be aware of when I'm judgemental and call the IBSC on it, and make them behave themselves.


3. To be ever mindful that humility - like sobriety - is lightly held, and so easily lost if we get careless or complacent.


4. To maintain a streaming dialogue with my HP, as second nature.


5. To have a generous heart toward others.

What are your top five?


-The Traveler

HQFT: Highlighted Quote For Thought

On occasion I'll put in a Highlighted Quote For Thought, something I've run across. I will paraphrase them at times. Well, here goes:

Let go, or get dragged.

-The Traveler

On A Mind-Fuck, and Epiphany - Part II

Part I: ...We must get to our elemental state, broken to pieces, before we can Surrender.

Now, the thing about Surrender is it's never perfect. I don't care what you say, I don't believe it is. It is a taper process, and I'll explain what I mean shortly, here. We are only human, and we have Self-Will. There's a vestige of Self-Will left in any Surrender. That is exactly why we have to be pulverized to bits to reach our BOTTOMS, to Surrender, because we are so resistant.

For myself, I have begun to recognize a benchmark for Surrender. And that is that I begin to feel grief. If we truly have separated ourselves from whatever it is we have surrendered, it means we have given it over, given it up, to our Higher Power. Which translates to us mere mortals into:

We Lost.

And, when we Lose, we grieve the loss.

So what I think a lot of people don't get is that they think once they surrender it should be a lot easier. They don't get that this means the beginning of a grieving process, first. That we must traverse the grief of the loss, before we come to the other side, the promised land of Serenity.

Surrender is one of those quantum leap things. High activation energy. High threshold. But when we cross that threshold, it isn't magically delicious. It's a beginning of a process. It's the beginning of a journey of grief.

They speak of the pink cloud in recovery - that period of great, euphoric relief when the light at the end of the tunnel suddenly comes on, and an addict sees there indeed is a path to the Promised Land. It lasts a while, until reality sets in, in recovery. That reality is the beginning of the work of transformation, which includes the processing of all the grief, for everything the addict has to Surrender, to follow the Path. Yes, it starts with giving up the substance, or behavior of the compulsion.

But that is only the crack in the floodgate.

It is the beginning of a total life remodel. A restructuring of our ways of thinking, believing, behaving, acting, reacting. And to change any of them means to Surrender That Which Was Not Working. And each Surrender is a loss, and each loss must be processed through grief.

This is the real work of recovery.

I am getting to the Epiphany, but the set-up is taking a while, and I'm pulling things out of my thinking that I hadn't realized were there, so I'll stop here for today, and continue in Part III.

-The Traveler

On Concept, Action, and The Goal

I know of a person who frequents a very technical hobby forum, whose signature reads, "I am, and always will be, a newb."

That resonated with me, thinking about life, and working the Steps. That we're always to be a work in progress, never finished. On a staircase that keeps going, a lifelong ascent.

I don't like to be a coward. But I also aim for the discipline of prudence. I've been thinking a lot about my motivation to blog, and what it is, and what it perhaps should be. And I do know this: I want to be prudent, but I do not want to be cowardly. I will push my envelope, discussing things here as I write. I will lean into my fears, go where I haven't gone before, traverse the Land of New Territory.

But at the same time, the Executive Committee, the one that makes the Executive Rules, has made it quite clear to me that these efforts are not, for me, to be self-indulgent narcissism. If I'm to write, I'm first to think, and then I'm to work.

Writing should lead to work, in the moment, in the real world.

Which brings me around to my topic, this post: On Concept, Action, and The Goal.

I put up what was for me a courageous post earlier today, and as God would have it, I managed to do that sandwiched between two Step 11 meetings in the day. As I look back on the day, I see the elegance of that. I take no credit, but do appreciate it.

If there's one thing I'm profoundly grateful for in my Program, it's that as I work, I first get conceptual understanding of what the Program means, How to Live.

One of the things I think about a lot is how the Steps separate out, quite distinctly, the coming to willingness from the initiation of action. They are not separated only by words, or clause. They are built into entirely different, self-contained steps. And there's a reason for that. They are entirely different entities. You can do without thinking. You can think without doing. We are called to do both, mindfully.

My whole Program is like this for me. I first grapple with the concept that emerges. I need to wrestle with it in my mind, turn it over and examine it, explore it from different angles. Try to understand what it means. Try to come to terms with it, and accept it. And then decide on willingness.

And after willingness settles in, I begin to plan for action, for actualizing implementation.

The thing is, without this separation of concept from action, I would tend to act, but without the same sense of deliberate purpose. The deliberate purpose is a gift for me, because it is the directional, the set of instructions, the blueprint for me, for... a goal.

I've come to realize that for me to sit around and generate goals is not prudent. Goals will flow from being in the moment, from Practicing These Principles in All My Affairs. That is to be the source of my goals, not my ideas of how life should pan out. In other words, Goals will come to me; I need not go hunting for them, but rather focus on the now, on the Practice, and they will present themselves.

And it turns out to be one of those things that is inversely simplistic. What I thought to be a complex web of goals I needed to determine, stretching out into the future, turns out to be only one. The Goal.

And The Goal, for which I labor, for which I stay in the moment, is to remain teachable to the Concepts presented.

Then, it's just a matter of Acceptance - which translates into willingness - and getting down to work. Once I get the Concepts, the rest follows.

And I thought it was going to be complex. But God's an ironic kind. He makes the most powerful the simplest. Gotta appreciate God's little touches.

So now that I understand the Concept behind my writing - that I'm to think first, and result in work for my Practice - the rest flows, and I know how to proceed.

I feel good about that. Settled.

-The Traveler

A Mind-Fuck, and Epiphany - Part I

I need to do that post on Bamboo that's swimming around in my head, because when all this discussion is done, it relates to what I'm about to say, here.

I had a moment yesterday morning as I was waking, where a fissure in the iron armor suddenly appeared. Like a pressure cooker, a stream of Via con Diablos spewed forth, catching me off guard. B-u-r-n-i-n-g the shit outta me, I might add. White hot.

We have these corners of our minds - the blighted slums of the psyche built up from our formative experiences - that are so infested with peril we have stuffed them way down deep. Because our lives - our equanimity - depend upon doing so. We encase them in a sarcophagus so rigid, so steeled, so reinforced that it is a still and silent structure. The sarcophagus becomes a mirage of the psyche. Apparently quiescent, it begins to blend in over aeons of time, and we wittingly ignore its presence, shrouding it in the overgrowth of denial, in the landscape of our minds.

Trauma and recovery initiate tremors of the psyche. They quake our infrastructure in the most basal way, leaving hairline cracks. Radiation begins to leak, the poison spreads. It's one of those snowball phenomena, where it gains momentum and gets beyond our control too quickly - jettisons us back to Step 1 in a flash.

For myself, there's no eidelon that the 12 Steps are a once-and-done process. I know my psyche, my resistances. This will be a lifelong process, ever cycling in tautology. When I suck myself from the slough of denial, I fumble around in the process, groping, feeling the hard edges of that sarcophagus, and become afraid, very afraid, of its power.

I wanted to bolt to the keyboard, encode the crux. I discussed with one of you lately those moments where the compulsion to write comes, when you want to capture something before it slips from your mind as a dream does upon surfacing to consciousness - leaving you in its wake, feeling only a ripple of what has left you.

But, life got in the way, and it faded. So instead of that white-hot moment, you are getting the cool-down, which, in retrospect, is much more prudent.

I went through a certain series of thoughts and raw feelings - a mind maelstrom if you will - that led me to a mini-break down and - damn - recycling to Steps 1-3: a session of wailing, an anger-fest, a pool of hatred, and, finally, to an amazing revelation. Something that had never occured to me, before.

Be careful what you wish for, because if you ever by chance get it, and it's all that you dreamt of, and then it's taken away, it's the biggest mind-fuck, ever. When that ol' Higher Power starts re-arranging the life, to make His point. To tell you that His way is better. To make you what He wants.

And damnit if His way doesn't hurt like fucking hell, to get there. I will say I've had enough experiences by this ripe age to now know that the arrival point is worth the painful journey, in the end, and His concept of what is better is invariably better than what my paltry imagination can come up with. I'm not old enough for it to change my willfulness, yet. Not where The Dream is concerned.

Sometimes, we believe in something. We believe in it such that we remove our walls, our boundaries, are roaming freely, reveling in it, unguarded and utterly exposed. And when we do, we set the inner child free. Our inner child gawks in wonder, frolics in joy, takes in the scenery with the most essential virginity. And when we experience our inner child in such a manner, it is the fulfillment of the yearnings of the psyche.

And to have life rip such a Dream from our grasp in a trauma sends shock waves that will crush, cripple a psyche. Especially when it comes out of nowhere, with no prodromal symptoms. No spiral, no indicators, no scent of what was to come. Of course, as I process the grief, the denial will fade, and the indicators will present themselves. But, damnit, Time is moving so slowly. And wallowing in the acid of pain and grief seems endurable only so long, before we simply cannot endure, any longer. I have to pass out, and let God. I still cannot Let Go.

Such a mind-fuck, on an armored mind as mine, causes a prolongued bottom, a Step 1 where, like a wild mustang colt at the end of a lasso line, I choke myself by pulling, and yet I pull, until I drop from lack of oxygen. Refusing to Accept such a mind-fuck, integrate it into my new reality. My Now reality. No. No, God. I don't care Who You Are. Not my Dream. Bludgeon my knuckes, but I won't Let Go.

And it sent me to an epic battle of selves. One self wanted to fight, turn back the clock and re-constitute what was, fight it out with God, what Should be. One self want to go forward, but was left with the choice of Surrender, or Self-navigate. We all Self-navigate, don't we, until we have exhausted every corner of the maze, and finally just break down. We must get to our elemental state, broken to pieces, before we can Surrender.

The epiphany is coming in all this, but it's getting too long, so I'll stop here for today, and continue in Part II.

-The Traveler

On Can't, and Can

I popped into a coffee bar the other day to say hello to somebody whom I had promised to visit, who works there. I wasn't really prepared for what ensued.

I had met this person as an acquaintance of one of the folks I know in the rooms (a recovering multi-addict/alcoholic). For several weeks, now, I've been getting streamed data about the living arrangements for both of them. One of them will see me, their mouth opens, and it all comes out.

My acquaintance owns a horse farm and lives in the main house on the property. Coffee Bar Person found themself in dire straits later in life and landed on the doorstep of the farm owner - homeless, broke, broken - and ended up boarding in a bedroom of an auxiliary house on the farm in exchange for farm chores.

The auxiliary farm house is populated entirely by active spiraling addicts and alcoholics, save for Coffee Bar Worker. CBW and Farm Owner are both purportedly sober, but sure act like they're dry if so.

I sat through a barrage of about an hour's length, listening to a detailed account of how buried and impossible the situation was, to get out of. Interwoven into the situation were details of choices they both had made, that had effectively closed doors for other possibilities. And now, whenever I see either of them, I get an earful of how they have no choices, and are stuck in a miserable situation.

If I'm ever able to extract myself from the trees, and look at the forest, and look at my forest, this makes me realize that what was bothering me most was a pattern, and it went like this:

Blah, blah, blah, BUT, so I can't... and woe is me!(repeat cycle).

I wondered why it felt so painful, so hopeless, to listen to the details, even though I was trying to keep apart from them. And after a few days of letting it soak in, waiting for a bubble to surface in my thoughts, I think one did.

Back to my need to get myself into the moment. It's almost creepy-scary how these themes come back around, as soon as we slide toward complacency.

What my take-home lesson became, out of that barrage of seeming hopelessness, is that the focus was entirely on what was, and what had failed, and what doors were now closed. When I look back to the content, I realize there was a total absence of letting go of what doesn't work -no focus on looking for what may work. What a powerful lesson.

Enchained by the past, projecting failure into the future, not looking at the present, to see the next right step.

Hmmmmmmm. Do I do this??

Now, maybe this seems like an obvious, boring, insignificant entry, today. But, I write it out, because I need to see it, I need to read it, and I need to go think about it.

Simplicity, for me, is often so deceiving. That which appears simple is often what needs the most inspection.

And besides, this is the fourth post I wrote for yesterday; the first three didn't sit right. Executive Rules prohibited me from publishing them...

-The Traveler

Let's call this picture RELAPSE. Nice.

(In case you're wondering, it's a nice Pit Bull doggie that had a run-in with a porcupine.)

Well, hola! It seems Blogger has finally fixed the software bug that has prevented me from using images on my own computer.

So here I go... playing. You see, this is a visual beast, I yam.

Now I will have to pound myself and think carefully about graphics.

You see, I'm not sure if it's too simple or too complex of a mind in my head, but I get terribly distracted by graphics, since I'm visually oriented.
They tend to take over my bandwidth, and then written words get lost.

So maybe I won't use so many images, since I have a funky brain.

But, it's sure fun to know I can, now. I feel the power.

OK, so I'm behind the curve, a little. But catching up.

Stop snickering, at me. I can hear you, out there.

-The Traveler

It's a Beautiful Day for a RANT

Time to cut loose, let the hair down, a bit. Fridays roll around too quickly; I can tell I'm a gettin' old.

So I've had this topic rolling around in the head a while. I hate even to address it, because then that means I have to admit a fundamental horror.

I am affected, not immune.

So, what's the topic? Blogging, and Ownership.

OK, so here's the deal. Somewhere along the evolutionary pathway, we evolved abstract reasoning. To have object constancy. To be able to paint non-physical realities in our minds and operate from them.

And what happens is: the more our minds interdigitate into virtual worlds, the more those worlds become our functional reality.

I suppose it started with object constancy, and plain ol' hearing. We figured if we could still hear something, but not see it, it still existed. A predator slinking behind a boulder, that sort of thing. Soon, if we saw it, then didn't, we also realized it was still real, but out of sight. Even if we didn't hear it. And then, if someone told us there was a predator behind the boulder, but we had neither seen it nor heard it, we learned to believe them.

Yada, yada, yada, skip to the modern Industrial Revolution and inventions like the telegraph, then radio, then television, and, finally, the Internet. Each of these mediums provided us a stream of data describing a reality we could not sense with any of our physical senses, but that was real in some other location or realm. So, we acclimated to realities that we could not actually experience.

But then, as is our twisted nature, we started tweaking reality, for manipulative purposes (Pun wasn't intended, but it's pretty good, isn't it?). Presenting false realities, as entertainment - things like that. We acclimated to those as well, and some of us were not discerning enough to realize they were false realities. Soon, we would swallow any reality presented to us in virtual form, and subconsciously take it in, as reality, but somewhere else.

And a funny sort of evolutionary thing happened. We began to internalize these virtual realities. We began to fantasize that they were, indeed, our realities. That we were party to them, and had ownership. Sometimes we felt the distance, between our actual world and our virtual reality. But we convinced ourselves that we could adjust, adapt, will, control, until we would eventually actualize those realities. It will happen, if only... Ergo endless re-runs of The Parent Trap. Every broken-home kid felt if they watched it enough times, something magical would eventually happen, and their own painful life would resolve from fragmentation. If only...

And yet another step, too. We not only internalized these realities - whether they were real somewhere else, or manipulated versions of something actually real, or just plain fabricated - we began to act on them. We turned our actual realities into a function of that virtual reality.

Classic example is the relationship the pathetic woman enters with the felon behind bars, who tells her anything she wants to hear, to manipulate her. She goes on to marry him when he's paroled, and we read the story of her murder in the paper, six months later.

Nowadays it's the meeting or dating over the (wireless, LOL!) wires, the Internet. We are so convinced of the presented realities we believe in, we do drastic, life-changing alterations to our actual realities, to meld our actual realities into the fantasy virtual reality.

Another example in the news lately is Baby Grace, the dead toddler resulting from her mother moving in with a batterer. The mother had "met" and "fallen in love with" this abusive man over the Internet. The virtual reality in the mother's mind, about the man on the other end of the wires, was nothing like what actual reality turned out to be.

And, oooooooooh, the world of blogging.

On the blogger's end, we have this fantasy of a world of rapt readers, hanging on our every word, extracting our pearls of wisdom, reveling in our uniqueness. And we are beguiled into writing things that we would never externalize in our physical reality - baring our souls and thoughts, forgetting the actual exposure to which we are opening ourselves. We abnegate reality, and function in our magical bubble, where we can let loose with abandon, and it will feel so... therapeutic. It's indulgent.

The other side is just as disturbing: the readers. They follow us bloggers with integrated attention, internalizing us with each new entry. Before long, they "know" us, and all about us. Before long, they know better for us, than we know for ourselves. Before long, they must act on it, and presume to tell us what to do, how to be. To tell us what they know, about us, that we don't realize about our self. How they could improve - better manage - our reality.

Virtual realities are one area where we are seduced into denial. Denial that it isn't real, or may not be. Denial that what we want, how we paint the picture, may not be actual truth, or anything like it. Denial that words can have no cohesive meaning in reality, at all. Denial that we can't distinguish that which is real from that which isn't.

It's a scary phenomenon, if you think about it. The problem is most people don't want to think about it. They want to stream their virtual realities into their heads, without an actual reality check. They just want to accept what they think is offered, and do not want to do the work of thinking about it, critically, in active mode.

So all y'all. Guilty as charged, at times. I have to labor to remind myself of these things on a regular basis, and still fail many times.

But, at least I've thought about it.

Don't EVEN get me started on Second Life.

End Rant.

-The Traveler

On Skills, and Mechanisms

For all the pontificating and posturing that I do, I'm really a fly-by-night operation.

For example, I cruise through life, mostly ever alert, waiting for a cue, a spark, to launch me off on something. It's not like I sit down and think, "What am I gonna think about, today?"

I'm a type who doesn't like to know what the day is gonna hold. I don't like agendas; they make me itchy and restless and claustrophobic, because it means the path is already defined for me, and that restricts my illusion of freedom, of discovery. OK, so I'm an adventure junky. I get off on all realms.

But I digress, which happens often. LOL.

So, I'm reading a post this morning, and the Where's Waldo brain kicks in, and this term pops off the page to me: coping skills. And off to the races goes the mind. Coping skills.

Immediately, the mind starts grinding out a discussion about skills, and how that word is linked to coping, but it's not the only one that is, and here's why:

The word skill implies, um, well, let's look it up in the thesaurus:

accomplishment, address, adroitness, aptitude, art, artistry, bag, cleverness, clout, command, competence, craft, cunning, deftness, dexterity, dodge*, ease, experience, expertise, expertism, expertness, facility, finesse, goods*, handiness, ingenuity, intelligence, job, knack*, know-how*, line, makings, mastership, mastery, moxie*, one's thing*, profession, proficiency, prowess, quickness, readiness, right stuff*, savvy*, skillfulness, sleight, smarts*, stuff*, talent, technique, trade, work

Now, LOL, aside from a few (bag, goods, line, etc - HA!), most these words suggest that skill is not a passive event but rather an active one that takes some forethought and determined action, with a sort of plan to it.

That a skill is not a default action, I guess, is what I'm trying to say.

So, I was reading about how the addict in recovery loses their main coping skill, and I'm immediately struck that this is the wrong marriage of terminology. The word mechanism pops to mind, at that moment. The addict has lost a coping mechanism, but it was a default behavior and therefore not a skill per se, but rather a mechanism.

I rather like that word, mechanism. It implies machinery - something that is not cognizant but rather mechanical, automated, apart from anything sentient. Something that can be set in motion and it goes on its own, unattended. Something that is independent of a person - any operator can get mechanism going if they are told what switch to pull.

But skill is different. Skill is something you must learn, and with practice. It is a marriage of your mind, with work, and practice. It is something, indeed, one aims to improve, and master. It is dimensional - you can have different levels of a skill, of the same skill. You may be a lousy gymnast or a world class one, for example. Skill is somewhat personal, and individual; it may contain nuances, creativity, and flair. It's, in my mind, a totally different beast from mechanism.

So, you can see where I'm going with this, I'm sure.

Our job, traveling, is to weed out the coping mechanisms, and replace them with coping skills.

And to do so, we must be mindful that one is a default action, the other a learned, determined action. So, again, our challenger Time comes into play. Normies spend their whole lives developing coping skills to one extent or another. Many of them are not so very successful, or close to mastery. Addicts, on top of this, spend many years off the merry-go-round of this learning curve. And one day, they wake up, on the path to sobriety, with decades of Time gone by where the learning curve for coping skills was abandoned.

Two facets then slap the face of one in recovery: Acceptance, and Payment. Ouch, damn! On both accounts.

First, our challenger, Acceptance. Yes, years were lost, opportunities were not used, skills were not developed. And now, an awakening that we need skills - that we no longer want mechanisms. That nothing is free, unlike what our addictions used to try to convince us. Everything has a price, period. We can't just escape, avoid, run. We have to Accept the reality that it's not easy, and it is expensive, and this is the only reality. Acceptance is always a challenge to me, and I suspect it is for others, as well.

Second, Payment. So, to get from point A (mechanisms) to point B (skills), we're gonna have to pay. And we're gonna use two currencies, neither of which is much exchangeable: Time, and Work. We cannot trade a mechanism for a skill without Time, or Work.

But, take heart. While the labor can be toilsome, we win, in the end. Because these payments are investments. They return on the payment, with interest. We are no longer toiling through each day for miserable survival. We are planting a harvest that will yield richly. In joy. In relationships. In quality of life.

So, what's the take-home? The moral of our ramblings? The daily application to life?

For me, it's that I now know that every morning when I get up, I have the same reality. And that reality is that I may or may not Arrive anywhere, today. But Life costs. So, today, I'm gonna have to put in a payment. In Time, and Work, toward my goals. I may not pay off anything today, but I'll be that much closer.

You see, it's all in the expectations, how we view our daily lives.

OK, time to get to work, folks. I have bills to pay...

-The Traveler

Damn the Beavers

So, I'm out walking this morning, and pick up a Wall Street Journal, as is my habit, and there on the front page is an article about how we're shooting ourselves in the foot with corn-based ethanol. One of the points of the article was that the net effect is raised food prices for the masses of poor, who, of course, can least afford it.

And a concept that has been bubbling in my mind for a while surfaces, and I start the day's pondering.

On Fairness.

And how life isn't. But how it is an expectation with which we've been brainwashed, and by which we live.

They lied to us, as children. A lot. And I don't think it was helpful. They would have done better to tell us the harsh truth, about how life works. To warn us of the potholes of life, and how unforgiving they can be. So we could learn to respect those potholes, and not loiter near them, carelessly, flirting with danger.

The mass media infuse us with misinformation, ever streaming to us data that suits their purposes, not reality. Idyllic life. Perfect bodies. Everyone smiling and blissful in a white picket fence setting. Abundance. Harmony.

Hardship, and the drama that goes with it, is for entertainment, ratings. But REAL people, the person YOU should aspire to be, are in the commercials, and joyously successful in every respect. And, I might add, with little effort. It just is. Don't think about it.

Maybe I'm a slow learner, or stupid, but it took me a long time in life to realize that the Beavers were a fantasy. And Ozzie and Harriet. And the Bradys. That nobody's family was truly like that, least of all a blended one. And don't even get me started on My Three Sons with Katie and triplet babies living with her single father-in-law and his uncle, perfectly, while her husband attended college. That every conflict could be neatly resolved without resentment by just the right simple wisdom from a totally sync-ed-in parent in a two-minute talk. That real intimacy wasn't needed - only pre-packaged triteness, clothed in way-above-average WASP-ish looks.

But Darwin was much closer to the truth, about our species, our reality. We are a dark and selfish race, looking out for number one, even on a mass or corporate or national level.

Life isn't like a set of justice scales, where things are evenly balanced, and if you screw up on one end, you need only balance just the same amount on the other end to re-equilibrate.

Quite the contrary. Life is built more on a snowball system, if you're a cartoon. An activation energy system, if you're a chemist. A static coefficient of friction system, if you're a physicist. There are thresholds that, when crossed, take quanta more reparation than the energy first used to cross them. Emotionally. Financially. Socially. Legally.

And in the smallest ways, too.

For example, a few months ago I was filling a prescription. Because of the cost, I asked for ten instead of thirty, as it was out-of-pocket expense for me. I thought this would save me money. But when I paid, the ten cost nearly as much as thirty, because they jacked up the price per unit due to buying an odd amount. This, on top of the fact that medical services are much more expensive to those that self-pay, because we do not get group pricing, even if we pay cash-on-the-spot for services rendered and the medical services providers pay virtually no administrative costs to spend months chasing their money through an insurance company. And those that can least afford it pay the most. It's not fair... it's Darwinian.

Let's look at credit cards. A single late payment can send one into a whole different stratum of interest rates and fees. Hell, a late payment on an unrelated utility bill can send one's credit card into a whole different stratum of interest rates and fees. And they are severely punitive. Once one falls into that hole, it is very difficult to climb out. The interest and fees snowball and add to each other until hopeless debt is accumulated. And those that can least afford it pay the most. It's not fair... it's Darwinian.

Let's look at trust, and the addict. Through the course of their addiction, they lost the trust of those in their lives (the sober ones, at least). They breached a threshold that caused irreparable damage. Never will their word hold the same integrity, even after years of correction. And well into correction, a single lapse can crumble a base of rebuilt trust, back to nearly ground level, in a moment. Once burned, twice shy. Not: once burned, healed, burn me again and I'll heal again, ad infinitum. Much more like: three strikes and you're OUT.

So the addict has to work harder, for the same trust, once on the other side of the threshold. It seems their descent into the pit may have been a roll down a steep incline, but their climb out is the vertical face all the way. And when they hit sobriety with earnestness, all the damage comes home to roost, in their face, right at the time when trust is most expensive, and everything else is jacked up in "cost," too. It's a harsh reality, but doesn't budge. I don't know if it's fair, or not, but it is Darwinian.

So I know I sound all somber, and bleak, but really I'm not. I'm just thinking, out loud, about a concept that we were robbed of, as children.

That concept is important for us to learn as adults, even now.

The concept is that the set-up of expectations is key.

If you set up your expectations well, you will be better able to manage them down the line. I know, I know, the rooms say we are not to have expectations. Well, sorry, that's like perfect adherence. Never gonna happen. Let's work in reality-based thinking. We ARE gonna have expectations. So, let's learn to set them up and manage them the best we can.

Expectations gone awry are the root of many an addiction, many a codependent behavior, many a dysfunctional/unhappy person. How many times have you heard the storyline in the rooms of "I was self-medicating to ease the pain" - as though it's an entitlement that we should feel no pain? Classic expectation we have been brainwashed with through the media: Life should be easy, and painless, and if it's not, there's something drastically wrong with me.

Expectations gone awry lead to the illusion of entitlements. And when entitlements are not fulfilled, this provides excuses for thinking, behaviors, and actions that are not aligned with reality. It's like trying to build a structure on top of a spherical foundation rather than a cubic one. It's one big wobble, if the expectation is wrong, and doomed to disaster.

Maybe it's semantics. Maybe expectations are those goals that are not reality-based, but rather fantasy-based. Maybe the adjustment is to make sure we build goals, and not expectations.

Now, don't think I'm gonna tell you how to do this. Figure it out. You have it within you. Thing is, it takes active mode, in your mind, not passive.

But that's a whole other post...

-The Traveler

On the Currency of Time, and Trust, and Terms

I wrote in a comment not long ago about Time being its own currency. It was one of those insights that just popped up in the moment, that took me several days of pondering to really appreciate. So here, I want to think it out a bit more, in writing.

And by Time being its own currency, I mean that it's not one easily traded out, exchanged for something else. That we pay by Time - to make progress and undergo changes and earn things - and there's not much way to cheat it. If you think about it, we live in (at least) four dimensions, the first three being the three dimensions of space and the fourth being Time. We experience reality as a streaming through Time.

Some of us try to exchange Time, for thinking. (Guilty, as charged, yours truly, here...) We mistakenly believe that we can think our way to a place or position faster, and shorten Time. Or perhaps buy our way faster, by good works or volume.

And sometimes - get this one - sometimes, we just plain go into denial, believing we've made the growth we want to have made, when we really haven't, because we haven't put in the Time, yet. We are a manipulative, snivelling, conniving species, aren't we? We try to exert control over Time, rather than Accept it for what it is, and pay our dues.

In my own experience, I have recently lost profound trust for a person who was once extremely close to me. They are no longer close to me because of this very reason - that they egregiously breached the most basal trust, a boundary that is absolutely non-negotiable to me. And in the process, there was profound damage to very vulnerable parts of me, that are taking -- what?? -- Time, to heal. Time, to grieve. Time, to change. Time, to figure out what I own of that situation, and what to do about it, in myself. Time, to do the work, on myself.

It's not that I'm a hateful and begrudging sort. It's that I have Executive Rules of being, and one is that if you are systematically dishonest with me in a big way, I have no choice but to excise you. No choice, and no negotiation, if you breach The Barrier. I don't say this with feelings of hatred, or revenge. It just is. I can't expect to keep myself well if I'm entwined with a diseased, infectious sort.

When I look at trust, I find two components.

One is elemental, and that is: the item in question lines up with the expectation that the proposing party presents.

One is temporal, and I call that Track Record.

For me, Trust is not only the result of elemental integrity per se, it is also the result of a pattern of elemental integrity over Time.

And, Trust is dimensional. By that, I mean it has depth. The amount, the depth, of Trust I allot to you is a function of the quality of elemental integrity and the Track Record you have built with me (or, conversely, I have built with you).

So: integrity, consistency, longevity.

Trust is a lot like sobriety. Maybe they are essentially the same thing, really - one is an intangible form and the other a tangible form of the same principle. (I know, I talk a lot about tangible and intangible, because this is a concept I think God uses - leverages, cleverly - for a lot of irony, and this is one thing I'm fascinated with lately...)

Both Trust and sobriety require Time to build a solid base. And one fall can erode all the progress, back to square one, in a moment. They're both rather binary - black or white. On the wagon, or off. Then the building, and clock, start over again, until the Track Record is built-up, again over Time.

Let's use a stone building for analogy: One can only wreck and bomb it so many times, before it simply cannot be rebuilt structurally sound, again. And even one devastation, if the wreckage is fragmented enough, can render rebuilding virtually impossible. Well, for us. Thank goodness this is a program with a Higher Power, whose influence can surpass our abilities.

I'm at a year out now, from this particular Trust wreckage. It yielded circumstances that sent me back into an unmanageable life, and back to Step 1. As I reflect, with frustration, I can't feel the progress of the year most of the time. The pain doesn't seem to have subsided much. The progress seems so slow. I want to focus on misery rather than gratitude.

But I have become aware, now, that part of the roadblock for me is my failure to Accept Time. My continued illusion that I should control it, with skill. My stubborn insistence to define it, in a timeline, with expectations.

Because I'm not where I think I should be, one year out from this trauma and series of events. I want more progress, and less price.

But, at least I see it, now. And for that, I'm grateful. Now, I can re-define Time, as a goal. To Accept it.

God's timeline, not mine. I'm coming to Terms, with that, finally.

-The Traveler

On Comfort, and Courage

Back to pattern-extractor mode.

The compulsive brain is largely seeking escape. So it uses a variety of diversions - compulsions - to distract itself, to achieve escape.

I could write a whole thesis on escape from what, but I think the Cliff's Notes version is we escape from existential angst, and from pain of loss. And these are only resolved by embracing our spiritual side. For me, that means surrendering to the fact that there must be a higher power, even though the reality at times eludes me, and I have no choice but to make a decision of faith, and keep attentive to indirect evidence.

So, back to the compulsive brain. It lives in a frenzy of escapism, ever ricocheting off surfaces, trying to solve a paradox - how to calm itself, so it can focus on the real issue at hand. The problem is, the process itself can become debilitating. It calms itself by revving up the compulsions. And they have nasty side effects. Fear. Shame. Uncertainty. We can get stuck in an endless, unresolving loop, bouncing from compulsion to emotion and back again, only to repeat the cycle.

Sometimes, we need another person to step in, in the flesh, and interrupt the cycle.

Observation from the sidelines hasn't the same power.

There's a lot of hardball in the rooms. But I have a softer stance. I always thought it peculiar, when some religions would sit back and watch one of their own die of a medical disease, stating "if God wanted to cure them, He has the power, so we leave it entirely up to God..."

I always thought that God gave us tools. Free Will. Intellect. Judgement. Now, we don't always use them wisely, or in an altruistic fashion. But, we have them, and they can be used thusly. I think God works by design, so He must have administered these for a purpose. For us to learn to use, for good.

I believe in modern medicine. If I had a child with leukemia, I'd let the hospitals give my child chemo. Objective evidence shows that their chance of survival would greatly improve. I'd say that the development of chemo is the result of the gifts God gave us as a species: Free Will, Intellect, Judgement. So why not use them? Why think we have to force God's solution, saying only He can do a direct intervention?

Where am I going with this?

Comfort. And Courage.

There's a use, a place, and a time for the old-timer, hard-line, hardball gruffness in recovery. Denial needs some pretty good help, seeing itself in the mirror. We in recovery have great doses of denial, and we share in common a wake of destruction from poor living, wrong choices, bad behaviors. We bought them, we own them, we are responsible.

But I believe that there is the other side of that spectrum, too, the other end of tough love. It's called comfort. It takes Free Will, Intellect, and Judgement to administer. But it has its place, too.

Wrongly applied, it masquerades as enabling, as codependent behavior. But don't throw the baby out with the bath water, here, folks. If you get to know the profiles of people in the rooms, people in recovery, compulsive brains, you will see, even in yourself, that most have had life experiences devoid in comfort, ergo self-calming, escapist behaviors.

So when you run into someone who is working as they should, facing their denials, or at least actively digging around to root them out, and who is still in a frenzy of fear, I believe God uses us as ballast, for our fellow sufferer. We need to zoom out, and really look at the 12th step, what it means, how it plays out in different forms. Helping the fellow sufferer.

It may be more popular, and, frankly, easier or more self-promoting/protecting to spout canned wisdoms, wordy solutions. But sometimes the situation calls for putting ourselves out there a bit more, to come out from behind the protective mantle of usual protocol. To give something which costs us a bit.

The cost is courage. Putting oneself out, where the possibility of criticism exists. Taking a stand, moving into territory - that neutral zone - where most avoid to go. Putting aside one's own fears of rejection, or of being judged, or mistaken, and doing that which the heart directs - to offer comfort.

Comfort to a fellow sufferer need not be enabling. It is the act of reaching out, acknowledging pain, offering to hold a hand through the pain for a moment in time, offering to walk a bit beside another, in their journey. It is vastly different from telling someone what to do. It is vastly different from taking ownership of their responsibilities. It is telling them what they are: acknowledged in their pain, of value, redeemable, with hope.

And if you feel fear, wanting to reach out, but afraid of what others may think, that others may criticize your actions or misinterpret them through the filters of their own minds, know that this is one of the challenges God presents us. He asks for courage, sometimes. He wants us to invest ourselves, take risks, in order to grow.

So if you find opportunities around you to comfort your fellow sufferer, think carefully what to do, before defaulting to the easy, safe route of recitation. Use your Free Will, Intellect, and Judgement. And Courage. Sometimes, it's the best action, to touch another sufferer, and let them feel another human being.

Push past your fear.

-The Traveler

HQFT: Wanna Be Happy?

This is SUCH a simple sentence. But think about it.

The pathway to happiness isn't getting what you want, it's doing what you love.

OK, so let's parse it out, a bit. I have to do this for myself, because I think there's a whole lot going on here, and I need to see it, think it through, for myself. You're just along for the ride, if you're reading.

First impression: Things.

OK, so happiness isn't about things. Getting what you want, whether it be a thing tangible, or a thing intangible. Such as that white picket fence and house, or prestige. Thing about things is: as soon as we get the one we want, the ratchet re-sets on the next one up the conveyor belt, ergo you never arrive.

Second thought. Wanting.

That the act of wanting implies that if we get the object of that want, that some equation is solved. Let's think about lottery winners. They got a whole lot of what most people think they want. Most of them are desperately unhappy, and lose more than they gained, only a few years after the windfall. A whole thesis could be written here, but this is fast and raw, so I'm gonna leave the details up to you, later.

Third: Doing.

An action, not a thing. Funny, how actions are limited to the present tense. The only time when we really live. That, to be happy, we have to be doing, and doing means living in the now. So, happiness is contingent on us living -- when?? -- in the now. Not the past, not the future. Dang, never thought I'd be back here so fast, after yesterday's ramblings. Guess it's really true, that HPs put us right where we need to be, each moment. There's that present tense, the NOW, again. I really need to pay attention to this, yes, people?

Fourth. To do, to give, to produce... is to receive.

There's a little song going on, right now, in my head, by the Second Me, and it's singing "Step 12!! See, I told you so!" and doing a funny little dance. I was taught in college that all truth is one truth, and if truths seem to contradict each other, it's just because we don't have enough of the big picture, yet, in our understanding. But that ultimately there is only one reality, one Truth. Hm. Like, I need a Higher Power, to make sense of my life - why I live, and how I should live. And, now, the getting is in the output. That's what this is saying, I think.

Hmmmmmmmm. I need to crawl off and think, a whole lot, about this sentence. Like about a year or two. Maybe that would do it.

Or maybe just a moment, like now.

-The Traveler

RrEeClOaVpEsReY --> RECOVERY, relapse

As I was driving myself to "drunk church in the diner" today, I was thinking about the zoom-out. What do I want the big picture of my life to be, and what goals should I be defining, to help me in my next right steps?

I'm a systems sort. I want to operate from the big picture, with an understanding of the entire machine, not just be told to punch the red button when a widget comes down the line. I'm not one to like hiking tree-to tree. I want to aim for the mountain, orienteer a straight path, not one that is inefficiently zig-zag, or mistakenly in circles.

I remember well, orienteering in the Outward Bound type program I underwent. Being lost in Upper Peninsula Michigan bogs, with basically no quality information, 50-year-old-obsolete topo maps, and only given vague directions where our goal was for the night. Our leaders would take a topo map each morning, point to a place, and tell us that, until we reached that destination, we were not eating, stopping, or camping for the night. May not sound that stressful, but believe me, it was.

The maps were purposefully outdated, and showed roads where none existed, trails where none existed, dry land where now was bog. And, to top it off, the first day, they dumped us all out from the back of an enclosed flatbed pickup freight truck in the darkness of 4 am, and drove off, after an all-night commute to get there. They never told us where we were, only handed us one map per group, and we had to guess where we were, based on our ability to read the topo map and compare it to our actual terrain.

And keep in mind that, from ground zero, one cannot necessarily tell which hill is tallest, whether there is another hill there, or there, behind the ranges in front of them blocking their view at ground level. We often had to hike there, to see, to guestimate our topography, as we conjectured it might be, according to the maps.

Some days, we were so deep into bog forest, that we only knew the sun was setting, but couldn't tell which direction; its location was diffused by the tree canopy and impenetrable foliage above. We couldn't see the hills surrounding us, for the forest. Things are never as easy as they seem, on paper, or in our minds' eyes. Reality bites.

One of the hardest parts of the program was the not knowing. The other hard part was the knowing that our leaders did know, but wouldn't tell. It was a special kind of mind-fuck, as we were desperately thirsty, aching-exhausted, blistered, and starving each day, in that order of importance.

Like being tripped out, but dead-sober, at the same time.

They would watch us make a screw-up that added hours to our hike for the day, and say nothing. It drove me nuts, not to know, but know they knew. And, to be powerless about it.

We could only set provisional goals, hoping we were correct. Once we reached our provisional goal, we prayed to be right, so we could stop, cook water, rest while it cooled, and DRINK. Change the moleskin on our blisters, dry our bog-wetted sodden feet and boots and socks. Gnaw our hardtack until our stomachs quit growling. And then, set up camp, and escape to blissful unconsciousness.

But, if we were wrong, about our provisional location, we were just told so by the leaders, and told to re-start, then and there, goal not accomplished. So we never knew, until we spent the day laboring toward a provisional goal and achieved it, whether it was the end of the day, or a cruel second beginning. Talk about punishment....

Thing is, with a concrete goal, it's much easier to endure, because you focus on an end point. Every minute of agony is focused on achieving that end point, and relief. But when you know that your end point might just be a mind-fuck, it's in itself a mind-fuck, and that SO plays with your head, you can't believe it, unless you've endured it.

When we were deep into bog underbrush, it was like hiking through a privet hedge - so dense our hands were six inches in front of our faces, pulling at the hedge, finding a way to climb through, with backpacks. In this terrain, there is no navigating by hills, or ravines, etc. You trust the compass, and find a tree you can see 50 feet in front of you, estimate how many degrees off your goal direction it is, then head for that tree, and hope your degrees off is accurate, so you don't orienteer your way into a big ol' circle, through the bog branches, with wet, aching feet. And you feel a twisted joy if a spot opens up, such that you can see a tree 100 feet ahead of you, and it's pretty much in the right direction you need to go. A major landmark, for orienteering.

Is any of this metaphor hitting home, with recovery, folks? I am reminded back to those days, now, with how my life goes. Oh, how it reminds me.

OK, let's reset to the beginning of our tale, today.

That it's about time for me to take a disciplined look at what I'm doing, and think about some goals. I let things swim around conceptually in my head a lot of times, and sort of sleaze past actually defining important things. But I need to find myself some landmarks, for orienteering - can't just wander aimlessly. Whatever landmarks I can reliably use to orienteer, the bigger and farther, the better.

I remember the horror some days, of being chosen to be the orienteer-er of the day. Because, if you screwed up and led the group in circles, by tiny mis-calculations off to one side each time, too many times, you were not well received. And, it happened, more times than I want to remember.

Recovery is a lot like this, with relapse built in, such that we land back a few spaces - tired, and fed-up, and wanting to vomit expletives at life on life's terms. Sit down, and give up. Wail in self-pity.

But we all do it. Relapse, on whatever scale - whether it's full-blown going out, or smaller things like stinkin' thinkin' oozing back into our habits - is inherent to recovery. I doubt anybody has a straight path, and doesn't circle sometimes.

But there are things we can do, to orienteer better, to do our part. Having a sponsor, and using them appropriately, is like a compass. Sticking with winners, and learning their lessons, is like choosing tall, unique trees for orienteering - easier to keep in sight, to get to the next micro-goal in our path. And keeping in mind that some days, our provisional goals will prove to be mirages, that, once we get there, we may be asked to start all over, even in our state of exhaustion. Yes, mind-fucks are inherent to recovery, and we must accept this, and be bolstered to get past them with our tools.

These things I keep in mind, to stay the course. The wilderness ain't easy, but you can get through it. I did it once, years ago, in a physical sense. This time it's a different iteration, but the same principles apply.

And now, I'm off to think more in depth about my particular goals. Perhaps I will write about them later, but this is long enough, already.

-The Traveler

Much Ado About Nothing... Or Is It?

Do you ever have that experience where you read something, or experience something, and it just sort of fleets by you in the moment - not noteworthy - but then later you find yourself steeped in reviewing it? You push it out of your thoughts, but it revisits itself anon?

That something in that "nothing" loomed large, and seized your subconscious, and has been working its way up to emerge into conscious thought, like some sort of deep boil underneath your skin?

I was reading about staying in the moment the other day, and I glossed over it. Yeah, yeah, nice, fine. I went on to something more interesting - with movement, with story line, with angst, with color. There was nothing there to THINK about - staying in the moment. It's not a sexy concept. It's dry, and boring. End of idea.

And yet, it wasn't.

Ever since then, I've been realizing, slowly, how deficient I am in this.

Perhaps it's the lefty side of my brain, that is always evaluating, planning, projecting into the future. Setting goals and breaking them down into a hurdles course I see ahead of me. I personally live predominantly in the future, and the present is just the starting block, an instant with the gun as I twitch in anticipation.

And on the other hand, the righty-brain in me spins nostalgic, and tragic, and theatrical, on the past. It replays the past with different filters, ever looking at what was, pondering how I got there, and why I chose that path, how things unrolled. At how I was made, what things happened to me, what experiences I had, such that I am what I am today.

I bring my ponderings up to the present, and as soon as I get here, I re-set back, again, and play it over in a slightly different iteration, and study it, again.

To me, the past and future are full of flavor, texture, and richness. But the present is tediously slow, and one-dimensional. I just never want to dwell in, stay in, the present. I think it's because there's a certain amount of discipline required. It's easy to wax nostalgic in the past, or launch dreams of what if, in the future.

You can work with agility in either, indulging creativity. But the present is what it is, and must be accepted. It's not negotiable. I don't like that, so much. And so I avoid it, I've come to realize.

Now there's a paradox: avoiding the present. The only place and time where you can actually be. LOL.

They talk in the rooms about having a foot in the past and a foot in the future, leaving us to piss on the present. I've heard that many times, and it never resonated with me, that it was my mode. Denial reigns supreme.

It's curious how denial works. We are so comfortable, and blind in it. Like the shock after a trauma, when one feels no pain. And then some day, the bubble pops, and we see things differently, all of a sudden. Like a slap in the face, awakening us. Hellooooooooo, pain. Shit!

I realized that the entire family Thanksgiving dinner, and the surrounding time socializing, I was preoccupied - I know not what with. But I realize that I was not there, at all. I had conversations, yes. But I was off thinking of other things with my Second Me, and somehow meaningless drivel was going back and forth between myself and the other party while I was far away. I didn't care what they were saying. And I don't remember, either. It wasn't registering on my value scale. It was merely noise.

How profoundly ungrateful of me, I have come to realize.

Staying in the moment means you feel the things in that moment, are attentive to them. And I should have felt grateful, for my life, for these people. I should have taken time, and energy, to listen to them, to connect, to enrich, to encourage. Instead, I passed the time, got myself into the future, where I wanted to be. Again, I know not why. Just because it's my habit to gloss over the present, rather than inhabit it.

I'm grateful to have this realization, and need to discuss it with my sponsor. It's not the way to live. It's not the way to treat those around me. It's not how I should allot value.

And now, you're bored, having skimmed through this dry entry, and itching to get onto another blog, where maybe there's some titillating angst. But I'll bet this will surface, later, and you'll find yourself thinking about it, too.

You let me know.

-The Traveler

My thanks to BoyGrowsUp, for getting me to think about it. Unlike yesterday, sometimes I don't mind, when what goes around, comes around.

HQFT: I Feel a RANT Comin' On!!!

OK, so the toxic state of waaaaaaaaaay too many blood lipids has worked its way off, helped this morning by a large dose of diet coke and no more food, and the cloudy mental state is clearing. The espresso machine is warming up, as I type.

I'm cruising through some blogs for fun (I do a wide variety of cruising, you might be shocked at just exactly what I look at, heh heh.... Oh, but I digress...) I think FIOS service is enabling, truth be told.

And I hit a page, and yet ANOTHER cheesey little sticker appears, some self-administered blog award sent - re-recycled - on to another blog-buddy in their circles, and then the responding post of effusive thanks, etc.

Did I just never get properly socialized? I thought by this age and stage in life that I had made it to adulthood, but this made me feel retro-launched right back into junior high. Those types of things make me want to hurl, and repeatedly.

Because they are meaningless, and not discerning.

I mean, if you want to encourage or support someone, say something meaningful, with content, unique to them. This act of spraying out cutesy blog award stickers means nothing, they go around and come around and are just another iteration of the junior high popularity game. Does this never go away? UGHHHHHHH!

When we waste our lifespans on that which is meaningless, and, worse yet, base our self-esteem on lauding that is also meaningless, what does that say about us as people?

I like this quote my sponsor recently shared with me:

Say what you mean, mean what you say, say it with love.

And to that, I would add, use your OWN WORDS. Don't be so lazy to use pre-packaged junk food.

Oh, and in case you think this is sour grapes or some such thing, you would be mistaken. I was the kid off to the sidelines, watching that popular group do all their doings, but I wasn't the kid longing to be part of them. They never appealed to me, at all. I was just morbidly amused at their chatterings and cluckings. That's why I even bothered to watch them.

And now, I'm going to edit some of the blogs on my cruising list. I have quality control. Yeah, I'm feeling edgy today. That's what toxic eating seems to do to me, or the hangover from it, at least. BWAHAHAH!!

Ah. I feel MUCH better, now.

Two outta three ain't bad, I guess. I'm not exactly brimming with love, here.

-The Traveler