I have the power to do things that I don’t want to do.
And so do you.
That's right: you are a decision maker. And you do have the power to respond differently to the things you do have control over. This includes the holidays.
But my happiness -- or contentment it's coming at time when the world is on fire. Another friend who is in a great place now after years of grief said it's an odd place to be. To feel like you have arrived in your life and feel so much joy, while also simultaneously trying to process the institutional violence that rears its head every single day.
So it's good, this season of quiet, of quiet work.
But I'm also a little restless, because it's a bridge season. God has me sitting here, making smoothies and being quiet, because He's preparing something else. I love that and I trust it. The truth is it also drives me bonkers and staring at my walls. It's coming though.
God knew what He was doing the day that all of my bosses went away. As the perennial people pleaser, getting laid off and being bossless for the first time gave me a chance to exist in an atmosphere where I wasn’t judging myself based on the latest performance review or hallway comment. I know it’s messed up to say that, but even till recently I put too much stock in that. Too much of my own self-worth. (Which is bonkers because hi, I’m pretty awesome.)
The most important thing is that we think about this language, and that people in recovery have a seat at the table in the creation of media accounts surrounding drug and alcohol use and/or addiction. It's a complex, present, and every day discussion. Ask them to be a part of it. Ask us. Because this is an "us" issue, not a "them."
“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.”
I am 18 months sober.
I belong to myself.
If you told me two year ago that I would be sitting here at my brother’s wedding, that my father was walking in to officiate, that my mother would be able to make the trip halfway around the world despite the disease that attacked her body, I wouldn’t have believed you. If you told me that our country would have elected a reality TV star who wanted to take away the rights of people like my brother, of people who wanted to fight for this country and make a life in this country, I would not believe you.
If you told me that I would not have had a drop of alcohol in my bloodstream for nearly a year and a half, and that on this day I was seeing everything with the clearest of eyes, I would not have believed you.
But here we were.
Two days, one lot of velvet paintings, two squirrels in a canoe, unlimited vintage clothes and cookbooks. Why you need to mark your calendar for next year's World's Longest Yard Sale.
"How come that time was different? What switch got flipped?
I don't know. Grace. A miracle. There was a radical, radical grace that day."
I just told my story on a podcast. Like a 50-minute podcast.
This morning I woke up to strawberry cake crumbs on china. To paintbrushes and paper plates and empty La Croix cans, remnants of the night before. I used to have get togethers at my house all the time, elaborate Santa parties and back to school nights and book clubs. That stopped when I had to start fighting for my life. But I have a big glass table, and serving ware, and the ability to cut cheese into squares. Does one need anything else to entertain?
A guide to what to eat, where to ship, and what to do in Venice, California.