I just read an article by William White about the difference between Relapse Prevention (RP) and Recovery Management (RM). In a nut shell, he opines that one focuses on “deficits and vulnerabilities” and the other on “assets”. RP implies we are running from monsters (waking up the ghost?). RM suggests we are “being positively drawn toward something of great value of one’s own choosing.”

The four-year experiment…

It came at a perfect time. Because, I was reflecting on the Thanksgiving weekend and my own, four-year psychosocial experiment in sobriety. And I was feeling pretty full of myself this morning. In fact, for the first time in four years, I actually broke my typical cycle. I think I have begun to trick my own brain!

Let me explain.

My son Jonathan and his girlfriend Kallie were visiting. And it was a fantastic weekend of family, hikes, great food and conversation. Even the Up North winter cooperated with unseasonable warmth (other than the 25 mph winds off Lake Michigan).

Jonathan asked me if it was still difficult for me to be with people who were drinking. He wanted to know if I still craved wine – if it was still an “issue for me”. (This asked while he sipped a Coppola Cabernet…) I answered truthfully, that I never thought about drinking anymore. It took a long while, but I have not had that out-of-nowhere, punch in the gut desire to DRINK! in about a year…

What I have done, is replace my addiction to wine with candy, coffee and food. And exercise. Hiking in the Michigan wilds has been a staple of my recovery, and I talk about it all the time. But, so has anesthetizing myself with the fast food equivalent of white wine shooters in the glove-box. That, I don’t talk about much…

Cultivating wellness…

Yesterday, Jonathan and Kallie left at 4 AM. I experienced the usual feelings one feels – tired, a bit lonely, a touch of anticlimax. And I also experienced the feelings that plague the person with a substance use disorder. That empty, bleak, icky feeling that used to send me to bed with a jumbo bottle of chardonnay and a party bag of M&Ms.

I have to admit, when I got home I felt the momentary desire to eat up the frayed remains on the charcuterie plate. And I wanted to scrounge for anything containing Karo syrup. Stuffing my mouth with processed, sugary foods has been my go-to panacea to fill the void since I quit drinking.

But after a nap and a cup or two of coffee, I had the out-of-nowhere, punch in the gut desire to go for a walk. It was a beautiful, sunny day. And I had no desire to hole-up and eat. The feeling was so shocking, I didn’t quite know how to handle it. I even opened the refrigerator and looked inside to test myself. Rattled the Skinny Pop bag because I am a glutton for punishment. Nothing. 

Talk about being drawn to something of great value of one’s own choosing…

Learning positive reinforcement…

The only explanation I have is that after four years of sobriety and two years of actively trying to rewire my brain – it is working! When I had the moment to fill an empty day, I chose the positive reinforcement of a walk.

Recovery is so much more than just not drinking. So much more than looking over one’s shoulder for the next relapse. It requires an overhaul of an entire life. And positive, healthy choices after the cravings for alcohol or other drugs dissipate.

Bill White says, “If recovery is more than the removal of alcohol and other drugs from an otherwise unchanged life, then the focus of recovery support interventions should shift from a strict RP focus (a process of problem subtraction) to an RM focus on achieving global health (a process of addition) and increasing one’s potential for a both personal fulfillment and social contribution (a process of multiplication). There is a difference between the prevention of illness and the promotion, achievement, and transcendence of wellness.” Relapse Prevention, Recovery Management, Recovery Transcendence – William White

I might not be at transcendence yet…

Full disclosure. I came home from the walk and ate a bag of Boom Chick a Boom caramel and sea salt popcorn. I also watched some smutty TV. But the difference is that I was not compelled to do so. And although I am a work in progress, my brain is rewiring in the right direction. The fact is, I like popcorn. Almost as much as the choice to walk along the lake on a cold, bright new day.

E2E – We always think of your well-being…

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The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead When the skies of November turn gloomy… Gordon Lightfoot

It would not have been a trip to Marquette without thinking of the time my brother almost got swept off a break wall there, during a storm. A couple of days ago I said the UP was fashioned by God’s kinder, gentler hand. That was compared to the force majeure in Florida, and it was unseasonably warm. But it was a fluke. There is nothing quite so terrifying as a storm on Lake Superior in the winter.

A drink called the “smorgasbord”

I was in college. My brother and his wife Bonnie came to visit. And my boyfriend at the time was famous for a drink he called the “smorgasbord”. This was a vile, unpredictable concoction made of any leftover liquor he had in his apartment. Spare rum, vodka, whisky, creme de menthe,  and the leavings from a year-old, gift bottle of Kahlua would be slopped into a tumbler. Sometimes, for effect, he’d light it on fire… He and Tim had several.

I was a big wine drinker even then. Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill – mixed with Squirt to cut the sweetness. And I was drunk. My brother and Mark were drunker. Bonnie was the designated driver (possibly drunk as well…). And for some reason, as drunks often do, we decided to load up in the car and check out the storm blowing in off the big lake they call “gitchee gumee.”

Why do drunks do dangerous things?

Drunks do stupid things like storm chase, because each drink affects the brain’s chemical messengers that tell us, “that’s a bad idea.” The neurotransmitters in the brain either excite or inhibit all of our control signals.  And alcohol increases GABA, an inhibitory neurotransmitter, while it decreases glutamate, an excitatory neurotransmitter.

This causes the clumsiness and slurred speech we boozers know so well.  But, alcohol also boosts dopamine – the pleasure chemical – tricking us into thinking we are having a blast. This combination is as bad as, well, a smorgasbord, because it causes us to chase a temporary “good feeling.”

Until it’s not good anymore. And when we drink, we might do something ill-advised, but we just don’t care as much about the outcome.

That my friends, is how one might find oneself slumped in the backseat of a car on a late night, back street. Watching the rain pelt the windshield, while your beloved brother decides to commune with nature. On a break wall being slammed with twelve-foot, Lake Superior waves.

Think about those scenes…

I can kind of remember the scene. It went the way many drunken scenes go after the dopamine begins to taper. We were sitting on a tar-black road looking at the storm and my brother opened the door and got out. He was still carrying his drink. I think my sister-in-law and I were crying. Yelling for my brother to stop. He, full of bravado and stale bourbon staggered onto the break wall, looking up at the heavens like the jester in The Tempest.

And we could barely see him in the rain. Mark was going to get out to rescue him when a huge wave hit and knocked Tim to the rocks. We could see that – we assumed he would be dead, swept out to sea (lake?). More crying and yelling. Sometimes I think drunkenness saves us – the disjointed looseness. Because there is no reason he stayed on the wall, except he was like a sack of sand.

He crawled back. Wet, everyone angry and relieved. And Bonnie backed off a two foot drop-off while scolding him and we had to be towed. We did not end up in jail, but should have…

It’s funny the things you remember…

I have forgotten so many things I did when I was drinking. And I don’t recall the details of that night. But, I remember like yesterday the blue-black horizon, the steel girders and the broken rocks. I remember the shape of my brother’s shoulders, barely there in the dark…

The old break wall is gone, I think. I looked for it, but it has been moved closer to Presque Isle. A solid slab of concrete with a warning sign. Plenty of parking and when I walked the length of it (agile as a cat), a lake like glass.

I have been sober for four years now. And I have become a person who heeds the warning signs. I am no longer misguided by a hodgepodge of contradictory brain chemistry. My brother died – just not that night. And (God forgive me) I still remember how dazzling it was to be that young and crazy. Don’t go back to your college town if you want to forget that, right?

But, we live. We learn.

E2E – Read the signs…

The post Read the Signs: Turbulent Water! Violent Waves! first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I have talked about this before, but I climb a set of stairs in Grand Rapids for exercise. It is part of what Craig and I call, “David’s Loop” – a walk that begins in front of David’s house, down the hill into town, over a bridge and past the statue of Jerry Ford in the park. (I have pepper spray, we vary our times and we don’t carry cash, so don’t get any ideas…)

Are Challenges Always Painful?

The walk ends up at the stairs, and although Craig seems to do it without too much trouble, David and I struggle a bit. Whenever David says he doesn’t understand why it doesn’t get easier after all the times we have scaled its heights, I say, “That’s the thing with cardio – when it feels good, you have to do more. It’s supposed to hurt.” I learned this from my best friend Kim. The kind of person who, when I tell her I am tired, says, “Run (walk, climb) faster.” A theory I have never fully understood, but which seemed like the right advice to give David anyway.

It’s raining this morning and I slept in, but yesterday I was on my own and I climbed the stairs three times. Three times. I had great music in my earphones and there were a lot of super fit types on hand for inspiration. I observed that everyone has a different approach to conquering this challenge.

There was the dude (tool) who ran it, and stopped occasionally to do pushups on the stairs. And the blonde in Lulu Lemon with the topknot and the determined look, getting it all done without pause – at least five times. There was the woman who treated the climb like sets at the gym, resting between each go-round and furiously texting (help me?). Oh, and a guy who broad jumped the whole way. And the woman who was clearly there because her husband suggested it – he was all stretching and light-footed.  She paused at every landing and didn’t even try to look like she was not going to need the EMTs.

The bottom line is that every single person on the stairs was breathing hard at the top. It was painful for everyone. No matter what level of fitness…

The Hardest Thing I’ve Ever Done…

I believe that challenges are always painful. It’s what makes them feel so good when you’re done. The hardest thing I’ve ever done is quit drinking. Bar none. It’s not just the quitting, but all the bells and whistles of alcoholism that goes with it. Making amends, putting shame and guilt on the back burner, restarting a life that seemed to be unresponsive…

But you have to accomplish a challenge your own way.

And I am always annoyed when I think someone is pushing their agenda for sobriety on me, as if there is only one way to get sober. As if, my way is doomed to fail because I have not followed some hard and fast rule. It’s like the guy who is broad-jumping the stairs telling me that walking the stairs, or even pausing on each landing, doesn’t count. As if EMT girl and I are not working hard enough.

That is not to say that a well meaning suggestion (or one of those staircase, sitting elevators) is not welcome, when the going gets tough.

The post How Do You Challenge Yourself? Is It Always Painful? first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

In The Bahamas they have an expression, “Things happen.” Those two little words seem to sum up the national psyche. They explain away all of life’s travails in the islands. The expression “things happen,” covers everything from the inappropriate behavior on a drunken night, to the irrevocable destruction of  force majeure. The words are uttered with an ironic raised eyebrow and a shrug. Kind of like the Midwestern expression “Don’t cry over spilt milk,” but with a lot more at stake…

The expression, “things happen…” goes hand in hand with another, hopeful Bahamian aphorism, “It’s all good.” I have always loved the way these words feel. Their lack of judgment – the hint that once you are in “the club”, it would take a lot to toss you out. The implied notion that life happens to all of us and stressing (or apologizing) too much is a waste of time.

Of course everything sounds better with a Bahamian accent.

It’s why my recovery affirmations usually include a caveat…

Anyway, I was going for a walk this morning and the sign below made me laugh out loud. The arrows pointing up as if the sky were about to fall.  And the lack of instructions about how to avoid deadly icicles raining down unexpectedly. Was I to turn around and go another way? Make a run for it? Wear a helmet? Scurry home and hide like Henny Penny? It made me think of The Bahamas…

“Why,” you may ask, would a sign about falling ice make me think of The (sunny) Bahamas? But, it did. It made me think of my recovery.  Because in life and in recovery, “things happen”. Sometimes it seems like the sky is falling in, even when it’s “all good” in the end. So, here I was standing on a street corner with my IPhone, taking a photo and laughing at this crazy thing called life. Because I relate so much to the unforeseen pitfall.

Things Happen…

One of things that was the hardest for me to UNDERSTAND, when I got sober, was that there were still going to be problems. Sobriety was not going to make everything okay. Loved ones might die, I might lose a job, fall out of love, be bored, not be able to pay the electric bill… My car might break down in Tifton Georgia on a Sunday.

And that is why, my friends, recovery is not just about stopping your drug of choice. It’s about filling the void with other options. Because when the inevitable problems happen, you must be ready to respond. And you can’t go back to the old days, when every one of life’s exigencies, joys or apathies caused you to guzzle a party bottle of white wine. You have to look at the problem with clear eyes and face it like a boss.

After I took my photos, I looked up. I was about to pass under a skywalk, stretching from one building to another across Michigan Avenue. As far as I could see, there was no ice to clobber me. I was safe. It’s been warm for a few days and it seemed the danger had melted away…

The sky was not falling…

(although a truck could have a flat tire, jump the curb and run me over when I’m not paying attention). But these days I have a lot less to worry about. And I am not in the business of fretting about things that are unlikely to happen. It is always prudent to look up when a sign tells you there is the potential of falling ice, because things do happen.

But when I look at my life now, it’s pretty much ALL GOOD…

The post The Sky is Falling! The Sky is Falling! (Things Happen, But It’s All Good…) first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

Try, try again…

Get ready – I’m about to use climbing mountains as a metaphor for quitting drinking again. I can’t help myself, it’s too symbolic. Especially since the first time I tried to climb the “big hill” on my vacation in Puerto Rico last week, I failed. Let me explain. The road to get to the big hill is a few miles long, with three rather high, sloping hills and many smaller rises along the way. There is a long dry stretch, where the wind rarely blows and it gets hot. The surface is loose sand, littered with small, ankle turning rocks. And the hill itself is steep and long, curling up a narrow, rocky path.

It’s not that hard, really…

Kim says it’s not really that tough. It’s not like you need carabineers. You don’t have to dangle from cliffs. But the walk is challenging and for some reason, it’s  immensely difficult for me. But I want to do it every time I go to Puerto Rico. Right now, in my mind’s eye, I can see it – every rock and curve through the green… Going up, up forever…

And the fact is, I am not as proud of myself for getting up the hill – finally – as I am for wanting to get up the hill the next day, after my failure.

Even though I pretty much almost died the first time I tried. Seriously, the top of my head was exploding and my legs were soggy noodles with thigh weights and I would make it a foot or two up the hill (mountain) and I could actually see birdies flying around my head like the cartoons… So I would have to sit down. Eventually, I turned back shamefaced without getting close to the top. I met up with Kim and was able to talk myself out of collapsing inconveniently in the wilderness (stumbling along like some old plow horse ready to be made into Elmer’s), but as soon as we hit the paved road I gave up. This was a first, but I sat down in the grass and I said, “I cannot do it. I can’t make it back.”

You’ve Done it Before – You Learned From the Experience…

But I’ve climbed that hill so many times before. I have memorized the route. So the next day, I was up and ready to try, try again.  And I made it – no sweat. And then I got an email from H who says she has been trying to quit drinking for two years now. She quits drinking for two weeks, a few days, a month, but always goes back to the bottle. H feels defeated. She said she “wants what I have – the freedom.”

And I thought, Holy crumb – let’s look at this positively – she’s quit a few times before, so H knows what it feels like to not drink. It’s like climbing a big, huge hill. And all is not lost with a relapse, or a failure. Especially if she learned something along the way. And what’s more, H is looking at quitting as freedom. Freedom, like standing at the top of a hill after a long climb with your arms in the air…

Mountains of Booze Bottles…

So, for H and everyone else out there who knows they have to quit drinking, but can’t seem to make it stick, let’s talk about the tools you need to quit for good. You don’t need carabineers – no hanging off the face of a cliff. But you do need gumption – the belief that you will not drink again. Ever. And you need friends who will tell you “it’s not that tough,” but who will walk down the hill with you (without judgment) when you are finding it way too hard to get to the top.

Yes, I am using that tired, mountain metaphor again. But it is so apt – taking the first step, knowing it’s going to be a challenge and going for it anyway. And if you’ve faltered before, if you didn’t make it, there is no crime in trying, trying , trying again until you get it right. You just keep thinking about the way it’s going to feel – the freedom of standing at the top – sweaty and tired and breathing hard, but there. With your arms in the air. Free.

The post What if Quitting Drinking Doesn’t Stick the First (Fifth, Tenth) Time You Try? first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I am currently obsessing about climbing a set of stairs. The stairs begin at a feeder road to the expressway in Grand Rapids and end, like Jack’s beanstalk, high and steep enough above the ground to disappear into the early morning mist. I am obsessing (and I don’t use that word lightly), because this staircase is a big challenge. And it doesn’t seem to be getting any easier. Even after a two-week long, daily dose of its cardio hellishness.

No Instant Results

I’ve been  thinking about the stairs at odd times. I’ll be in a meeting and it will pop into my mind. Wait. Maybe I should pack a lunch this weekend and go up and down the stairs a bunch of times. Once doesn’t seem like enough any more, because I want to be the BEST stair climber in the whole world.  I am an instant gratification seeker, so the fact I still heave like a dying mule and go into  slow-mo as I get to the final steps up top, bothers me. I don’t understand why both David (who has joined me in this quest) and I can’t run up the hill by now.

It should be easier.

This kind of thinking is probably one of the reasons I became an alcoholic. And one of the reasons I was able to quit with such dogged determination. Once I start something, I go huge. This morning, I am mercifully in Puerto Rico. So I have an excuse to not be kitting up at the crack of dawn to stair climb again. But, it has me thinking about what it takes to quit drinking.

It’s not that big of a stretch…

It’s not a big stretch to think of quitting drinking like climbing a staircase. (Which reminds me I should stretch before and after…) Especially when you imagine the whole, painful project at once. There is a reason difficult tasks are best broken up into small, attainable parts. Standing at the bottom of the stairs and looking up is daunting. There are certainly other ways to get around Grand Rapids. Or you could just stay in bed and pretend the staircase isn’t there…

But if you look at the first landing, you can tell yourself (a lie) that you will only go that far today. And when you get to the landing you look to the next landing – and so on till you reach the top. I’m assuming you get the symbolism here. It works for every overwhelming challenge…

And the things you will see

I am never sorry I have gone for a challenging hike. When it’s all over. And the things I will see at the very top of a hill are a big incentive to get the job done.

I’m tired today. And as I mentioned, I am basking in PR. However, after my second cup of coffee I am off to climb a mountain. In Puerto Rico they call it “the hill”. The things I will see.

The things I will see at the top of that hill.

The post Thinking About Quitting Drinking? It’s a Pretty Big Climb… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

The post It’s Not About Getting Sober So Much as STAYING Sober… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

Winds in the east, mist coming in,  Like somethin’ is brewin’ and bout to begin.  Can’t put me finger on what lies in store,  But I fear what’s to happen all happened before… 

I don’t actually have Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). I have some version of old fashioned melancholia, I think. The exquisite, nostalgia of autumn in a northern clime is something I had forgotten. I am in Michigan for the whole shebang this year: the leaves on the cusp of crimson, the hint of what is to come… And I love this season, but it makes me feel kind of sentimental and sad.

Even mums make me tear up… All photos by Claire O’Brien

But in a good way…

The smell of a cider mill, pumpkins stacked like river rocks, apples ripening in gnarled orchards, even bales of hay give me this weird yen. Like something is going to happen or maybe something should happen. I feel like Bert in the musical Mary Poppins, singing longingly about “what lies in store”.  That song is the closest thing I can think of, to how I feel. Hopefully some snooty nanny in witch boots and a hacking jacket won’t drop from my ceiling.  It’s not Buckingham Palace. Still it’s clean…

Does anyone else feel this way? Not that a nanny will fall out of the sky and do the white glove test on your coffee table, but the feeling there is something missing…

In the old days, did anyone else “fix” this feeling with an enormous mug of hot, mulled wine?

What Is Seasonal Affective Disorder?

Seasonal Affective Disorder or SAD is a type of depressive disorder, where mood and behavior changes with the seasons, usually at the onset of winter. SAD can present a challenge to recovery.

The symptoms of SAD are:

•  A drop in energy level
•  Depression
•  Isolation
•  Anxiety
• Lack of interest in activities and
• Weight gain.

A few of my least favorite things (to mix old musical metaphors)… And all them used to have me reaching for a bottle of chardonnay for a quick remedy.

SAD is actually quite common. Between 4% and 6% of people in the United States suffer from SAD. Another 10% to 20% may experience a mild form of winter-onset SAD.  The symptoms are more common in women than in men. More common in the colder months, although some folks feel sad at the coming of summer. And interestingly enough, SAD is an adult condition. It usually doesn’t start in people younger than 20 years of age.

And perhaps that explains things…

The feelings I am feeling are born of a long life of experience. A few regrets. When I asked friends about this melancholy feeling, they said the fall made them think of “change”. They referred to children growing up, thoughts of their college days and the harbinger of winter. I am reminded of shuffled leaves in the yard in Darien, graveyard hunting in Scotland and my children (young then) in their Halloween costumes…

Sigh… I am going hiking this weekend. Up North where the leaves are changing and the wind is biting in the morning. I recommend getting outside if you’re feeling like I’m feeling. Fresh air. Exercise. The smell of logs on a fire. Hot mulled cider….

The post Sigh – As Autumn Leaves Fall I’m SAD… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I yack all the time about getting out and exploring in recovery. “Hike,” I say with conviction. “Fill your hands with a camera and your head with passion for something rigorous.” Climb a mountain, snowshoe across an unmarred wilderness! Take the path less traveled by!

Adventuring Without Pepper Spray…

The photo above was taken when I ventured off the highway near Luther, Michigan and down a dirt track to a deserted farm. The farm was for sale according to a battered sign by the side of the road. It had clearly seen it’s heyday a few decades earlier. The house had settled into the nettles with a sigh. Spent looking wheat and goldenrod waved in barren fields.

The homestead had a photogenic, Ansel Adams bleakness. As if the hopes of the previous tenant had drifted out the windowless dormers and floated up to a periwinkle sky…

I parked and wandered around. The thought skittered across the back of my mind that I was without protection. If a panel van turned in the drive, my best defense would have been to lob Granny Smith apples. Or as it turns out, rub the perp with whatever poisonous plant I encountered on my walk. It has been driving me mad ever since my madcap diversion…

Here’s the Caveat…

It is unseemly for this paragon of recovery, to scratch my affected arm till it bleeds. (When exactly does the lotion my pharmacist recommended make a dent in the unbearable, burning, itchy mess that is my elbow?) Kim can attest to the fact, that in the old days we used to head off into the wilds on long hikes with no water, ID or sense. Hung-over and dehydrated, we plowed up Colorado mountains during moose calving season. We plodded across fields, surprising bulls or angry dogs. No pepper spray, first aid kits or cell phones.

I thought I had learned my lesson.

Anyway, I still say find a passion and get your heart pumping. It is good for your health and wellbeing and good for your recovery. Be curious and exploratory. But I keep forgetting to say, “Be careful out there. Buy a bear canister, an EpiPen and a book on poisonous (but pretty) plants.”

The world is your oyster now that you’re sober. Just make sure you’re not allergic to shell fish…

The post Exploring Sober Life in Fields of Poison Ivy… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

Do you ever think to yourself, “Ok, I did some lousy stuff when I was drinking, but just how much do I have to atone for my bad behavior, and for how much longer?” I mean I’m not the only one who was prideful or wasteful or an unpleasant drunk, right? Enough is enough – it seems like it should be my time to shine, right about now.

I left work last night and my car wouldn’t start. Recently, when I have turned it on, the dashboard has flashed the little word “service” like a subliminal message from on high, but I’ve ignored it. You are going to shake your heads and think the Lord helps those who help themselves, but I can explain. I had my car completely vetted five months ago, before I drove from Florida to Michigan, and it got a clean bill of health.

But I do have a little electrical problem that causes the dashboard to light up like a one-armed-bandit when the car does start, and it tells me I need air in my tires and oil in my tank when I don’t. So I have taken to ignoring my car’s error messages…

Anyway, I just left my car in the parking lot at work and walked home, because I couldn’t deal with it last night. I told myself, “Tomorrow will be a new day and you will be brimming with energy and ideas in the morning – Pinterest probably has all kinds of clever suggestions on what to do with a dead car. Add window boxes and fashion a play house for the kids? Hang ribbons, hook it to a couple of draft horses and sleigh rides!”

Of course, now it’s tomorrow and I have to figure out how to get my car to a repair shop and muster up some gratefulness, that this didn’t happen when I was camped in some backwoods State Park.

Susan reminded me yesterday in a Facebook message, to take my “gratefulness walks”. She does this thing where she lists all the reasons she’s thankful, for the entire time she is trucking three miles or so, along a beach or a city street. And I agree it’s best to remember all the good things in life. Food and friends and the health of my children, for example. I even wrote a blog post called “Training My Brain to Think Positive” yesterday.

But as I sit here, the only idea that has sprung to mind (positive, grateful or otherwise) is to wear shoes that are attractive but comfortable, as I will be walking to work. I think there should be degrees of “gratefulness walks”. I am grateful to be alive. I am grateful to be sober. I am grateful for rainbows and flowers and a meaningful job. I am grateful for my comfortable footwear…

But I’d be more grateful if I also had a car that worked…

The post The Degrees of Gratefulness… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.