SMP

Guilt:  Awareness, feeling of having done wrong; remorse.

My mind wandered back through my pre-recovery life during my Quiet Time this morning.  Sometimes I feel weirdly uncomfortable with all of the blessings I have in my life, especially in post-fire and post-mudslide SoCal.  A lot of people lost a lot of stuff and too many people lost their lives.

I did have a couple of things on my mind that I thought I could bring up to fill any dead air time during my last therapy session.  Being on a smooth path is a nice problem to have when dealing with a mental health professional.  I wanted to talk a little bit about money, ironically while I was mentally calculating my per minute charges to sit in a room without anything pressing to talk about.

I have a group of close friends who know in a general sense how I'm doing financially.  This is important to a guy raised in a household where money talk was strictly verboten.  It's no wonder I made a mess of my finances - it was as welcome a topic around the dinner table as head lice or projectile vomiting.  In some ways this is OK - I'd rather be low-key about what I do or don't have in the Sex! Money!! Power!!! department than the other way around.  Nothing worse than listening to a humble-brag from someone dying to let you know how much Sex! Money!!  Power!!! they're enjoying.

I talked in specific numbers.  I include my nice house - fixed-up, my adequate bank account, and our Very Expensive Cars in the Gratitude List part of my morning meditation.  I voice this gratitude at the end of my Gratitude List, rightly recognizing that my relationships with people are what really counts.  Nonetheless, I wanted to make sure I wasn't hiding any sneakiness or heaping any unwarranted guilt on my own shoulders.

I think in a general sense a financial buffer is a security blanket.  I know it was for my parents - they were happy enough with the stuff they had so they viewed their savings as a hedge against a future calamity, one that never came if you want to dip a toe into the irony pool.  I think they were unconcerned that there was money left over when they died.  I don't sense that they felt deprived of any stuff.  I laugh at myself pondering various selections in the day-old baked goods bin or the slightly rotten vegetable section.  I can afford top shelf stuff but I've been making due with the edgier shit for so long it just feels natural to stay that course.

I also ponder how miserable I was for much of my life before I got sober.  I was drunk, I was stoned, or I was anxious.  No matter what I got accomplished each day I felt the burden of the next day weighing me down.  I was never relaxed.

I'm goddam relaxed now.  Most of the time.  Some of the time.  Every now and then.