Time is funny that way
To my friends in our sober chat group,
You were my witness on my one year soberversary trip to Orange Beach, Alabama. I am back in Orange Beach, three years later, having celebrated my four years of sobriety earlier this year. It is March, not January, but I cannot help but walk down memory lane as a storm was rolling in over the ocean, just as it was then. The beach was deserted, just as it was then. I stopped in at the same beachside restaurant as I did then.
I feel different, and the same. Looking back to that one year, I can see that I was still a mess of emotion, of loneliness, of shame. I can see that it all still felt like I was holding on so very tightly with all of my grip. I was one year sober, but looking back, I can tell you that, in so many ways, it felt like it had only been hours, days, or weeks. Time is funny that way.
I was trying to answer the question What Next? That big burning question that is always in front of me. I wanted to already know how it was going to all work out. I wanted to already know when I would stop feeling lost and confused. I wanted to already know when the joy would come, when the peace would arrive, when the promises of sobriety would manifest themselves. Because I did not know those things but knew I had given up my thing, I carried inside me an enormous hope for the future. Straddling the line of shame and hope is a very weird and uncertain place to be.
I wonder if I feel much differently now. I do not carry shame like I did. I have found forgiveness for myself and forgiveness gives me freedom. I do not feel lost and confused. I have experienced the miracle of joy, and I live with peace as a fairly constant companion. I could not tell you what the promises of sobriety are, but I am grateful for my sobriety. I do not think about it that much in the grand scheme of everything I think about. Time is funny that way - in the course of the 1,523 days of being sober, the force of my addictions no longer move as an unavoidable storm in me, but rather stand anchored as a signpost to remind me of my path.
However, I am still trying to answer the question What Next? And the soft voice of my soul and my heart (otherwise known as Love) whisper back Who Cares? And I stamp my metaphysical foot and say I Do. And Love says, slow down my girl and enjoy the ride, you only get it this once. I think Love is trying to be reassuring and wise. But Fear creeps in. Fear doesn’t want to be reminded that I only get once. Fear teams up with Perfection and Worry(ies) that I will get it not quite right. So Love whispers again, it’s okay, I got you.
I want to find Trust so I can choose Love, but oh wow, that is undoing a lifetime of work that Fear, Perfection and Worry have put in to stay in the game.
Anyway, back to then and now, I feel different, and the same. Time is funny that way. In most ways, I feel as though I have lived a lifetime since that time spent at the beach three years ago. You know the saying “time flies”? You look back and think how fast it all went? But in this, as my feet wander down the beach and my steps feel the echo of my steps that went before, it doesn’t feel fast at all. Time has stretched into timelessness and I feel the passage of each moment, each day, each year.
For those of you who know who you are, thank you for witnessing the journey. Thank you for being along for the ride. Thank you for helping me all the times I needed to hear Hope and Love and Encouragement. Thank you for all the times you helped me loosen my grip on it all so that now I stand on a pier with an open hand and wait for the miracles to happen. I love you all,
Casey
P. S. Thank you for witnessing ALL the photos of the ocean over these past four years.
